He's right, and we both know it.
They would never accept me, no matter what I did or how well I performed.
"So instead you're marrying me off like I'm some kind of medieval princess," I say, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice.
"I'm protecting you the only way I know how." He reaches out and touches my face gently. "By marrying you to Santino, I'm ensuring that the family stays strong and united. That our territory stays protected. That you stay safe."
"At the cost of absolutely everything I've worked for my entire life."
"At the cost of your pride, yes." He drops his hand back to his side. "Which is a small price to pay for your life and your safety."
We've had this exact conversation before, multiple times over the past few months. It never ends any differently than this.
"Does Santino know?" I ask, changing tactics slightly. "Does he know how much I actually know about the business?"
"His father knows that you've been trained properly and that you understand the basic operations."
"But does Santino himself know the full extent of my involvement?"
Papa hesitates, which tells me everything I need to know. "He knows you're intelligent and well-educated. But I didn't detail the full extent of your involvement in daily business operations."
"Why not?"
"Because it's easier if he sees you as a wife first and foremost. A partner in the family business second, after he's had time to get to know you properly." Papa starts walking again, and I follow. "Let him get to know you as a woman first, establish that relationship and connection. Then gradually he'll begin to see your true value to the business."
"And if he doesn't see it? If he never values what I can contribute?"
"Then you'll convince him eventually. You're certainly smart enough and persistent enough to figure it out."
I'm smart enough to run this entire operation by myself without any help from anyone. But apparently that's not an option that's available to me.
We reach the end of the dock, where the water laps against the concrete pilings. Papa's phone rings, and he answers it immediately, speaking in rapid Italian. Business matters, from the sound of the conversation.
I look out at the water, at the massive ships coming and going, at the port that I help run every single day.
In three weeks, none of this will be mine anymore.
It'll belong to Santino.
Unless my plan actually works.
Unless I can somehow make him walk away before we reach Day Forty.
But after last night—after seeing the genuine guilt and confusion on his face—I'm not entirely sure the plan is still working the way it's supposed to.
I'm not sure what I'm doing anymore, or what I actually want.
Papa finishes his call and pockets his phone. "I need to go meet with the Greco family."
"Is this about the wedding itself?"
"It's about the alliance and the territory agreements. Old Tony wants to discuss several specific points before the marriage is officially finalized." He kisses my forehead in the same gesture he's used since I was a child. "You'll be here tomorrow morning at the same time?"
"Same time as always."
"Good girl." He starts walking toward his waiting car, then stops and turns back. "Liana?"
"Yes, Papa?"
