The dining room is arranged with deliberate formality: white linens dress the table, silver cutlery frames the porcelain plates, and crystal glasses catch the soft glow of the ancient chandelier above.At the head of the table, in a charcoal suit, my father swirls a glass of whiskey.The tight line of his shoulders contrasts with the casual-looking way he leans against the chair.And his chiseled features exude power and severity.His sixty-three years haven’t diminished his good looks.Joe’s inherited Father’s square jaw and tall frame.
“Serena.”He gestures to the seat on his right.“You look well.”
I take the seat without responding.A piping-hot slice of lasagna awaits.It’s my favorite dish, as Dad knows quite well, which means he’s either in an excellent mood or he’s setting a trap.I would bet serious money on alternative ‘B’.
“This wedding was quite sudden,” he says, as if we’re discussing the weather instead of my life.“Shelby Boyle is a capable man, certainly.But this move was too impulsive.Driven by emotion rather than logic.”
“Emotions drive people in love,” I reply, keeping my voice level and spinning the narrative that my Vegas wedding was born of an impulse dictated by love.I pause and chew on a buttery morsel, watching my father.He’s the best poker player, so I get nothing.I swallow and add another piece of the story my husband and I have come up with, “Shelby and I have been secretly dating for a while.We were going to make it official soon.But you forced our hand by announcing your plans for me and Cesare.”
Father’s raised eyebrow isn’t a reassuring sign.“Is that so?You and Shelby?Under my nose?You positive about that?”
Shit, I scream inside my head.How did I forget my dad’s paranoid tendencies?He’s undoubtedly been tracking me behind my back.I bet my bodyguards report to him before they talk to me.
I lift my chin, holding his probing stare.“Anyway, our marriage contract is binding.”
“Contracts can be annulled, Serena.”Father sets down his untouched glass with more force than necessary.“Particularly those signed under dubious circumstances.For instance, when the bride was acting under duress from a man who was manipulating her.”
I see where he’s going with this reasoning.He’s laying the ground for his arguments in a future litigation.
Raising both hands, I cut him off, “Dad, stop it right there.I wasnotunder duress, and Shelby didnotmanipulate me.”
“No?”The intensity of his green eyes burns my face.“Then why did you feel the need to run off to Vegas like a foolish teenager instead of handling this through proper channels?”
Is he serious right now?I wonder, scanning my father’s face, trying to decipher his intentions.There’s narcissistic behavior, which Dad has always displayed, and then there’s self-delusional fantasyland.I ask myself where exactly my dad is on that spectrum.
“Because you were going to sell me to Cesare Dellamare like I was a piece of property.”My voice comes out too shrill, so I force myself to modulate it as I continue, “Because you didn’t care what I wanted or my well-being.”
“And Shelby cares about your well-being?”Father’s smile is sharp.“Or does he care more about an alliance with our family?Did he bother to mention that his brother Dave has been encroaching on Italian territory?”
The suggestion burns my chest like a poisonous snake’s bite.I’ve asked myself these questions a thousand times in the last few days.I’ve looked for signs that Shelby was using me, that there was a calculation on his part when he accepted my proposal.And every time, I’ve come back to the certainty that he wasn’t.That he chose me.
What if that conclusion came from my heart instead of my head?
Motherfucker!Doubt is my father’s favorite weapon, and he wields it expertly.He’s done it.He’s planted a seed in my brain that I must stifle right away.Even if Shelby has his own motives, marrying him beats hitching myself to Sleazy Cesare.
Squaring my shoulders, I state, “If that were true, it’d still be my choice to make.”
“Your choice.”He takes a sip of whiskey, his expression contemplative.“You’re only twenty-five.You’ve lived your entire life under the protection of this family and the Syndicate.You think you’re equipped to make choices about marriage?About alliances?You think your judgment is sound when you’re under the influence of a man who specializes in manipulation?”
“Shelby would never?—”
“Shelby is a soldier and an enforcer,” Father interrupts.“The man was trained to follow orders, to execute plans, to find people’s weaknesses.He’ll use whatever means necessary to achieve his objectives.You’re a strategic asset, Serena.Don’t mistake desire for devotion.”
I set down my fork to hide the fact that my hands are beginning to shake.The second course arrives, a steak beautifully presented, but rendered inedible to me by my dad’s insinuations.Gemma, one of the housemaids, pours more whiskey into Father’s glass and retreats to the kitchen.
“I know what you’re trying to do, Dad.It’s not working.I’m not annulling my marriage.And I’m not discussing this any further.”
He leans forward until his forehead almost touches mine.He grips my cheeks with his large hand, his fingers digging deep to the point of pain.His voice drops to the menacing tone I know too well as he whispers, “Oh, youwilldiscuss it, Serena, because I’m still your father, and your loyalty is first to me, to this family.It doesn’t matter that you signed some meaningless papers.I don’t care how many times you opened your legs to that Irish enforcer.Youwilldo as I say.”
Something inside me breaks.
I stand up so abruptly that my chair scrapes the Persian rug before toppling backward, the sound harsh in the silence of the dining room.All the rage I’ve been swallowing—at his control, his manipulation, his absolute certainty that my life belongs to him—erupts like a volcano.
“You can’t talk to me like that.I’m not a stray cat in heat.I’m not a commodity,” I counter, my voice shaking as fury churns inside me.“My loyalty is absolutely, irrevocably to myself.You can either accept my marriage to Shelby, or you can accept that you’re going to lose me.”
Father’s face darkens.He opens his mouth to respond, but I’m already moving toward the door.
“Enjoy your steak,” I mutter.
