As if caught in his spell, I glance up at him.
His arms are still crossed, as if he doesn’t have a single care in the world.
But his eyes…
Damn him.
They’re gleaming with predatory intent.
The air between us thickens again, charged with unspoken threats, and I swallow hard, the motion pulling at the dryness in my throat.
“Where are you?”
I don’t know.Houston is my guess.But does it really matter?“This is about preventing war.”
“He just fucking started one.”
“Papa…” My heart hammers against my ribs, and each moment amplifies the chasm between who I was yesterday and who I am now.
Moretti’s property.
My father continues ranting, and this is the first time in my entire life that I’ve seen him out of control.“Papa.Stop.Please.”
That gets to him.Finally.
“He’s proposing a marriage between us.”The wordmarriagelodges in my chest, heavy and foreign, sending a fresh wave of heat flushing my cheeks.
My father’s silence stretches, fraught and heavy, and I picture him in his study, fist clenched on the desk, veins bulging in his neck as he processes the outrage.
“Marriage?”He repeats it like a curse, disbelief warring with rage, his voice dropping to that dangerous low timbre I’ve heard before hits are ordered.
The ache in my chest deepens to a hollow throb that mirrors the pulse in my temples.
But I push through, steadying my breath as I infuse my tone with consigliere precision, acting as his most trusted adviser, rather than as his daughter.“This makes sense.It’s the path to peace.There will be no blood spilled.”Except for the satisfying trickle down Moretti’s temple.
Still, my reassurance is for my father’s sake, to temper the storm I know is building in him.
“You expect me to stand by while he—” His words cut off, a ragged breath filling the line, and I feel the fracture in him, the paternal protectiveness clashing with pragmatic calculation.
My eyes are burning now.And the room blurs slightly at the edges.
I blink back my tears.
I am a mafia princess.And I refuse to let a Moretti scumbag see me crumble.
“Valentina—”
“Listen to me.”I straighten my back and force a firm note into my voice.Each syllable is deliberate, and my words are clearly enunciated.“I’ll do this.”We both hear the lie in my words.
Every part of me will work to be sure I never walk down the aisle toward my hated enemy.
My first step is to buy time, giving me a chance to escape, find a way out, or for my family to rescue me.“I’ll call you when the date has been arranged.”
Dante speaks for the first time.“He’s not invited to the wedding.”
I blink?
Not invited?
