“You want to keep your daughter, your house, and what’s left of your dignity?” he said flatly. “Then you’re going to marry me.”
The room went too quiet.
My skin turned cold.
“Is that a proposal,” I asked, voice shaking with rage, “or a threat?”
“Both.” He stepped closer. “Do you really think I’d be standing here offering this if I had another option? This is the only move that stops the crisis immediately.” His voice dropped—dangerous, intimate in the worst way. “This isn’t an offer, Valentina. It’s your salvation.”
My stomach clenched.
He watched the reaction and kept going—because Enrico Ferrara never stopped once he found the pressure point.
“I know your situation,” he said calmly. “I know your debts. The mortgage on your bakery. On this house.” His gaze slid around the room like he already owned the air inside it. “How long do you think you can stay standing if you refuse me?”
My breath caught.
“You investigated me,” I whispered, disgust and exposure twisting together. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I did what I had to do,” he said, as if that excused anything. “And it isn’t only about money.” His eyes sharpened. “It’s about Clara.”
My heart lurched at the sound of her name in his mouth.
“If your life collapses,” he continued, “hers goes with it. And I won’t hesitate, Valentina. You took five years from me.” His voice turned colder. “Now I’ll take everything from you.”
Something in me snapped.
“You’re going to buy your daughter’s love with toys and lawyers?” I shot back, unable to believe this was real.
His mouth barely moved.
“No.” A pause. “I’m going to win it.”
Then, quieter—worse—
“And if I can’t…” His eyes held mine. “I’ll take it.”
The threat landed clean.
My vision blurred with rage and helplessness. I swallowed hard, forcing the tears back.
“Why do you always have to destroy everything?” I asked, my voice cracking with hurt I hated him for causing. “Was what you did to me not enough?”
For a second—one single second—something like discomfort flickered across his face.
Then it was gone.
He put the mask back on.
“I’m not here to discuss feelings,” he said. “I’m offering something that benefits both of us.” He took another step. “You get immediate financial security. You keep Clara out of the chaos. You get your town off your throat.”
I shook my head slowly.
He had boxed every part of my life into a corner.
And like always—like the altar, like the courtroom, like my kitchen—Enrico Ferrara was the one dictating the rules.
“You call this an offer?” I whispered, bitter. “It’s blackmail. You always play dirty.”
