"I don't care if you dumped her or?—"
"Your family needs this alliance." His voice stays calm, reasonable. Like we're discussing stock options instead of my life. "My father's connections open doors yours can't reach. Political influence. Things the Sartoris need to expand beyond Chicago."
"We're doing fine without you."
"Are you?" He tilts his head. "Bruno's crippled. Pietro's struggling to maintain control. The Torrinos might be handled, but there are other families circling. The Corsettis. The Morettis. Even the Russians are making moves."
My jaw clenches at the mention of Russians. At the thought of Dmitri, who canceled our plans for a family emergency and hasn't texted since then.
"My family can handle our own business."
"Your family is vulnerable." James's fingers drum against the table. "And getting weaker. How long before someone decides the Sartoris aren't worth respecting anymore?"
"Is that a threat?"
"It's reality." He signals the waiter for menus. "Your brothers know it. That's why they're shopping you around like merchandise."
The words hit exactly where he intended. Because he's not wrong. That's exactly what this is. What I am. Currency in a man's world.
"I said no."
"And I'm saying that doesn't matter." He opens his menu, casual as anything. "The salmon here is excellent, by the way."
I stare at him. This entitled piece of shit sitting across from me, calmly discussing fish while planning to buy me like a car from one of his dealerships.
"I'll tell them about your fiancée."
"Ex-fiancée. And go ahead." He doesn't even look up from the menu. "Tell them I had a relationship before meeting you. You think they'll care? Men have pasts, Vittoria. It's expected."
He's right. God, I hate that he's right. Pietro had other women before Nora. Lorenzo had that disaster with Luna. Even Nico probably has history we don't know about. But for them, it's just experience. For women, it's damage.
"I won't marry you."
"You will." He sets down the menu, those cold eyes meeting mine. "Because your family needs this. Because you're a good daughter who does what's necessary. And because, honestly? You don't have a choice."
"Everyone has a choice."
"No." He leans back, completely relaxed. "They don't. Your mother's already planning the wedding. Did she tell you? Sheand my mother had lunch yesterday. Apparently, June is lovely for ceremonies."
My fingers curl around the edge of the tablecloth. The linen is expensive, smooth against my skin. I focus on that sensation because everything else feels like it's spinning.
"You're lying."
"Am I?" James picks up his wine glass, swirling the red liquid with practiced ease. "Call her. Ask her yourself."
I won't give him the satisfaction. But my stomach drops anyway, because I can see it. Mamma in some upscale café, discussing flower arrangements and guest lists while I sat in my room thinking I had any control over my own life.
"Even if that's true?—"
"It is."
"—it doesn't change my answer." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "I'm not marrying you."
James opens his mouth to respond.
And then I hear it.
That voice. Low, with just enough of an accent to make the consonants sharper than they should be.
