“Angelo and I weren’t right for each other.” I sigh.
Val rolls her eyes. “Come on, Abella. You were crazy about him. I’ve never seen you look at Matteo the same way. I just want to know what really happened. It’s been years, and you still won’t tell me.”
“Can we please not talk about this right now?” I dab my makeup a little too vigorously with the sponge. “I need to get downstairs before Papà comes unglued.”
“You never want to talk about it,” she argues. “Something is off with you, and I don’t like all this secrecy. You have a bunchof apartment brochures and a bottle of sleeping pills on your dresser. What am I supposed to think?”
I rub at my aching temples and groan. “I don’t have time for this conversation right now.”
“Or ever,” she huffs.
Silence and tension linger between us as she styles my hair in a sleek ponytail and I finish applying my makeup. Guilt gnaws at me as I meet her gaze. We share some of the same features—black hair, olive skin, high cheekbones. But she looks more like our father, while I inherited most of our mother’s traits.
“I hate it when we argue,” I tell her.
“So do I.” Her voice cracks. “I don’t like seeing you close yourself off like Mom did. You have a support system—there’s a whole army of women who would go to battle for you. Please don’t forget that.”
“I know.” I choke back my emotions as I rise and smooth out my dress. “Do I look okay?”
“Beautiful as always.” She offers me a sad smile.
I thank her and step into a pair of black pumps, steeling myself with a breath.
“Do you think this is about the treaty?” She chews on her bottom lip, trying to hide her nerves.
“What else could it be?” I swallow. “Silvio isn’t doing well, and until Angelo can take over the role ofDon, it will fall to Matteo to serve and fulfill the conditions of the treaty.”
“That’s a lot of pressure,” Val says.
“I know.” I stare at the wall, emotionally bankrupt.
Sensing the direction of my thoughts, Val pulls me in for a hug. “Swear that you’ll be okay.”
I offer her a watery smile as the lie slips from my mouth. “I swear.”
Voices driftfrom my father’s office as I pause on the last stair. There’s never a good occasion to be summoned by him, but things have been particularly tense lately. With the Vitale patriarch on his deathbed, and Angelo in prison, Matteo will have to marry—and soon.
The thought of my father learning our engagement isn’t moving forward fills me with dread. He’s already made it known he isn’t happy every night at the dinner table. At this point, the entire household staff is aware of my failings as a daughter.
I steal a moment for myself as I mentally prepare to face him. As I do, I wonder if my mother felt the same suffocating weight in her chest when he tired of her. He was always cruel to her, but in the end, it was unbearable. For her, death was the only escape.
“Abella,” Papà calls out from the cracked door. “Come to my office now.”
His voice holds a familiar note of anger. Maurizio Moretti doesn’t like to wait on anyone, but least of all females who are of little use to him.
I straighten my spine and walk to his office, slipping into the performative role I’ve played my entire life.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” I meet my father’s stony gaze before I turn to my fiancé and press a modest kiss to his cheek. “Matteo, I wasn’t expecting you.”
He offers me a stiff nod, and it sets me on edge. Together, Silvio and Rosa Vitale raised six sons and one daughter. Matteo is Angelo’s fraternal twin, born second, and it’s a role that’s plagued most aspects of his life. All the Vitale men seem to have been molded after gods. But for every quality Angelo possesses, Matteo’s have always been slightly less. He isn’t quite as tall,nor as muscular. He has brown eyes like his brother, but while Angelo’s are dark and beautiful in a mysterious way, Matteo’s fall flat. On his own, he’s handsome, but next to Angelo, he may as well be a lamppost.
I’ve never felt a riot of butterflies when I look at him, and since I rebuffed his drunken attempt to kiss me, there’s been an unmistakable shift in him. Up until that point, he’d always been a loyal friend, and he respected our situation for what it was. Our engagement was a mutually agreed-on farce that would come to a natural conclusion when he found a more suitable bride. However, six years on, that still hasn’t happened.
“Abella.” My father stubs out his cigar and spares me a disinterested glance. “The time has come for you to fulfill your duty. You will wed Matteo in two weeks’ time.”
My knees nearly buckle as the weight of those words bears down on me. An instinctive refusal settles on my lips, but I can’t give voice to it. My father harbors no love for me. His only role in my life is to act as warden, and he’s an empty well as far as sympathy is concerned.
I glance at Matteo with the misguided hope he’ll say or do something. Surely, he couldn’t have agreed to this. We had an understanding, and for him to go back on his word is a betrayal. But worse than that is the inevitable failure he’s setting me up for.
