My father says something. Alessandro nods, but his eyes never leave mine.
A strange heat unfurls in my stomach, part terror, part something else I’ve never felt.
This man is my enemy.
My future husband.
And he is nothing like the monster I was ready to fight.
I force myself to breathe. To remember.
This man is my jailer, not my savior.
The intelligence burning in those dark eyes has orchestrated destruction.
The mouth that quirks slightly at the corner has ordered executions.
"Isabella." My name in his mouth sounds different. Richer. It sends strange sensations through my body.
I dip my head in respect. "Don Dante."
He studies me, his expression unreadable. Is he pleased with his purchase? Disappointed? Does it matter?
My father watches our exchange.
I recognize the gleam in his eye.
He's tallying profits, estimating returns.
I am nothing but a transaction to him.
Yet for all my preparation to resist becoming a shadow person like my mother, I find myself wondering who Alessandro Dante truly is beneath his perfect façade.
Is he the monster I’ve heard about?
Or is he something else entirely?
4
ALESSANDRO
On the drive to Don Vitale’s home, all I felt was dread moving closer to a commitment I never wanted.
What am I going to do with a wife?
A wife who was raised by the man who wants to bring me down.
I ruminated over what my father would think about this decision I’ve made.
Lorenzo Dante was many things, ruthless, unforgiving, but he was never a fool.
And this arrangement with the Vitales feels close to foolishness.
"The girl could be just like her father," I’d argued.
My consiglieri had countered, "Or she could be our greatest asset. Marco Vitale's own daughter, bringing us information from within."
Both arguments hold weight. Both leave me uneasy.
