My blood freezes.
“They did. I’d hate to waste her on someone as unworthy as a Dante,” Father says.
I want to feel relieved, but my father’s response wasn’t a no.
"She's of age," Enrico stresses. "Beautiful enough to turn heads. Obedient. Silent when needed."
I almost laugh at that last part. If only he knew the thoughts that rage behind my smile.
"A marriage would satisfy them, bind the families without bloodshed,” Father muses. “And Isabella will do as she's told. Perhaps we can control Dante from within his own house."
I want to scream.
Being born a female in a world of powerful men means I’m theirs to do whatever they want.
I’m an asset, like stocks or bonds, and can be traded or used as currency.
I’ve watched my entire life as my mother shrank under my father’s thumb, her spirit crushed until she’s a shadow of a person.
Is that to be my future as well?
"Does Alessandro even want a wife?" Enrico ponders.
"What Alessandro wants is irrelevant. His council will recognize the strategic advantage. Peace without surrender. Strength through unity."
My future slides into focus with terrifying clarity.
My body is the bargaining chip in my family's bid for power.
I imagine being chained to the infamous Alessandro Dante, the man known for ruthlessness and brutality.
They can sell me off, but I don’t have to wither away under their dominance.
My mother chose submission.
I won't make the same mistake.
If I'm to be traded like cattle, I'll find ways to preserve who I am.
I slip away from the door, moving to the stairs and up to my bedroom before they discover me eavesdropping.
But even in my room, I can’t escape reality.
Father's words echo through my mind. Words he’s drilled it into me since I was a child, trying to exert my own will.
"A woman's value is in how well she serves the men around her. Support your father and later, your husband. Produce healthy sons,” he'd told me on my sixteenth birthday, examining my face like I was a broodmare. "Your beauty is an asset to our family."
I've always known this day would come.
The fantasy that I might somehow escape my birthright was a childish dream.
I’d been naive to believe my education might lead somewhere.
Beyond a basic high school education, I’ve taken it upon myself to read and study about the world, about people, about life.
I imagined being like other women my age who attend university, build careers, choose their own lives.
But I’m not allowed to be my own woman, something my father reminded me of last month at cousin Guilia’s wedding when he caught me laughing too loudly with the groomsmen. "Rememberwho you are. A Vitale woman is dignified. Restrained. Don’t embarrass the family."
