"Don Salvatore is a powerful man who runs one of the most respected families—"
"I don't care about power!" The words exploded out of me. "I don't care about respect or alliances or any of it! I care about living, Papa. Actually living, not just existing as someone's property."
I was shaking now, tears burning behind my eyes but I refused to let them fall.
"Do you know what I want? College. That's it. Just four years at a normal university where I can study art history or literature or anything that isn't 'How to Be a Mafia Wife 101.' I want to live in a dorm and complain about professors and eat terrible cafeteriafood. I want to figure out who Aria Romano is before I become Mrs. Salvatore Accardi and lose myself completely."
Papa's expression was unreadable. "You've been trained for this your entire life—"
"I know! God, I know. I can host a dinner party for fifty people. I know which fork goes with which course. I speak three languages. I can smile at men who make my skin crawl and never show how much I want to throw my wine in their faces. I've been the perfect daughter, Papa. The perfect little mafia princess."
I leaned forward, my hands pressed flat against his desk.
"But Mama is dead. And watching her die showed me something—life is short and fragile and it can be stolen from you in a heartbeat. So please, please help me understand why I should waste mine on a man I don't love, don't respect, and honestly kind of fear."
The silence that followed felt like it lasted forever.
Papa took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. When he looked up at me, something in his face had shifted. Like he was actually seeing me—really seeing me—for the first time in years.
"You've never spoken to me like this before."
"You've never given me a reason to before." My voice softened. "I've always trusted you to do what was best. But this isn't what's best for me, Papa. This is what's convenient for everyone else."
He stood, walking to the window that overlooked our garden. Mama's roses were still blooming, bright red against the morning light. She'd loved those roses.
"Your mother—" His voice caught, and I realized with shock that Papa was actually showing emotion. "She asked me, before she died. Asked me if the marriage was truly necessary. If there wasn't another way."
My heart stopped. "What did you tell her?"
"I told her I'd think about it." He turned to face me. "And I have been. Thinking about it. About what she'd want for you. About what I want for you beyond just securing alliances and maintaining power."
"Papa—"
"Let me finish." He moved back to his desk, looking older than I'dever seen him. "You're right. About Salvatore. About his wives. I've looked the other way because the alliance was important, but—" He stopped, jaw working. "You're my daughter. My only child. And losing your mother has made me realize exactly how precious that is."
Hope fluttered in my chest, fragile and terrifying.
"I'll call Don Salvatore tonight. Discuss... alternatives. Perhaps there's another way to maintain peace between our families without—" He couldn't finish the sentence.
"You mean it?" I could barely breathe. "You're really going to—"
"I'm not making promises, Aria. This is complicated. There are expectations, agreements that have been in place for years. But yes, I'll try to find another way." He reached out, touching my cheek like he used to when I was small. "You deserve a chance to live. Your mother would have wanted that."
I threw my arms around him, not caring that Romano daughters were supposed to be composed and controlled. "Thank you. Thank you, Papa."
He patted my back awkwardly, then gently extracted himself. "Go. It's your birthday. Enjoy it. We'll talk more after I've spoken with Salvatore."
I practically floated out of his study, my entire body buzzing with something I hadn't felt in months.
Hope.
Actual, real, tangible hope that maybe—just maybe—I wasn't going to end up as the third Mrs. Accardi after all.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Sophie.
Happy birthday! Please tell me you're sneaking out tonight. There's a new club downtown and I have a fake ID with your name on it.
I stared at the text. The old Aria would have said no. Would have stayed home like a good girl, spent her birthday reading in her room, gone to bed early.
