Chapter 2

Anna POV

The oldest man, my new adoptive father, introduces himself as Marco Falcone. His older son with the severe expression is Giovanni, and his younger son with amusement written all over his face is Leandro. I guess I'll have to get used to their names.

“You adopted me?” I ask, the words not making sense. The nuns must've done real damage to my head if I'm hearing a trio of strange men talk about adoption.

Marco nods. “That's why we were at the orphanage at that time. Although, seeing the nuns’ abuse firsthand was unexpected.”

If he's surprised by the abuse, he doesn't show it. But I have to ask, “What happened to the nuns? Are the other kids okay?”

“After having them fill out the adoption paperwork, the nuns and headmaster have all been arrested. The authorities are working on taking statements from the children who were living there with you, and once that's done, they'll be split among other orphanages.”

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding at the relief that the other kids will be sent to better locations. “But who are you, and why me? When you're a teenager, nobody wants to adopt you.”

It’s true that teenagers at the orphanage are always left behind. It gets to the point where the nuns didn’t even try to introduce us to prospective families. However, that’s only part of the reason why I’m asking.

Looking at them, it feels like I’m just going from one dangerous situation to another. Sure, they got proper healthcare for me, but they don’t look like people who adopt and save orphans out of the goodness of their hearts.

“I knew your father,” he says. “He was my consigliere. Unfortunately, he died in a recent incident, so it falls to me to take care of the daughter he left behind.”

My mind gets caught on that word. Consigliere.

I once heard it from a neighbor before I was sent to the orphanage. He told me it means an advisor for the Don, which means the head of a mafia family.

The Don—from what I can tell based on his phrasing—must be the man currently sitting in my hospital room with his sons. Or, as he said himself, my new adoptive dad and adoptive brothers.

My self-appointed new father continues. “Being my adoptive daughter comes with benefits, of course. You’ll live with us in our mansion, and you’ll receive a monthly allowance of $100,000 that you can use as you wish.”

Mafias are rich. I remember my neighbor also said. It’s a life of great risks and even greater rewards where the women are draped in furs and jewels.

The houses are large, he said. Places that blend business and pleasure, where they live and kill in the same halls. A different car to drive each day of the week.

I thought my neighbor was exaggerating, but my new insane monthly allowance leaves me wondering if he spoke with first-hand knowledge about this level of wealth.

He must be looking for a reaction from me about this mention of wealth on a scale I wouldn’t know as an orphan, because he studies my face. Maybe he thinks I’ll be excited about the wealth and agree to live with him without complaints, like a gold digger who doesn’t care about the requirements as long as money flows into their pockets.

When he doesn’t find what he wants, or expects, to see, his brow furrows, and that confusion is the most honest emotion I’ve seen from him yet.

His offer sounds too good to be true, and if he’s the Don, there’s no way that he would adopt me out of the goodness of his heart. I learned a long time ago not to trust easily. So, I ask, “Why should I trust you just because you knew my father?”

Marco's smile goes from strained to shrewd. “Naturally, you have no reason to believe me, but your father was a bit of a playboy. He’d have an affair one night, and he’d be with a different woman the next morning.”

That explains why I never even knew my dad's name. But it also stings to hear that my mom—and by extension, me—didn't mean anything to him. I just thought he died before I was born, and that was easier to handle than this is to hear.

It was also an easier explanation as to why my mom never talked about him. If the truth is that she was abandoned and that's why she never wanted to bring up the topic, well, there are a lot of mixed feelings that twist my stomach in that case.

“It's possible your mother was just another affair,” Marco says with the unbothered tone of somebody talking about the weather. “But if that were the case, Mike—your father—wouldn’t have bothered to keep your mother's contact information or a photo of you as a baby with it.”

Marco gestures to Leandro, who approaches my bedside slowly like he's afraid he'll startle me. He takes a photo from the pocket of his suit jacket and hands it to me.

True to Marco’s words, it's me in the photo. Around my first birthday, maybe.

When Leandro takes the photo back, Marco says, “It took us a while to find you with what little information we had, but we managed. And here you are.”

“That doesn't make sense,” I say. “If he cared, why wouldn't he ever come to see us?”

I remember winter nights where my mom struggled to keep us warm because we could barely afford a place to live, much less afford the energy to heat it. Then, there were the nights where she made sure I had a meal even if it meant she'd go to bed hungry.

All that time, my dad just let it happen?

“It wasn't his choice,” Marco says. “I don't know how he felt, but it's unusual for him to keep a woman's contact information and a baby picture if she's just another affair. I do know that Mike's love life could be complicated at best.”

That doesn't answer anything, but I suspect Marco won't tell me more than that right now. Instead, I switch to the other topic that's on my mind. “You aren't the type to adopt me out of the goodness of your heart or because of an old debt to my dad.”

Marco pauses for a moment, like he's deciding if I'm worth explaining his reasoning to. “You're right that your late father being my consigliere isn't the only reason I'm adopting you. I need a daughter for the sake of a marriage alliance with another family.”

“A marriage alliance?” I ask.

He doesn't seem to hear me and instead looks at me like he's appraising an antique. “The nuns did quite a bit of damage, but you're still acceptable as far as appearances go.”

I can feel what he means about the damage the nuns did to me with the way that my body is a map of dull pain even under the influence of hospital painkillers. However, that's not the comment that's bothering me the most right now. “You want to adopt me just to marry me off?”

Marco shrugs. “I only have sons, so I need an adopted daughter for this alliance. If that daughter is you, then I also get to look like the hero who took in the orphaned child of a man who worked for me, and that gives me a good reputation.”

Marco leans closer, a satisfied glint in his eyes, saying, “And it’s not like you’ll be left wanting in this marriage. Your husband-to-be is a wealthy man who can make sure you have anything you could ever want. It’s a life of luxury, and you don’t have to do anything to earn it except becoming my daughter and being this man’s wife, which is a deal that any woman would be thrilled to accept.”

Any woman?

“No,” I say. “Absolutely not. I'm not joining your family just to be married off like I'm not even a person.”

Marco looks like I've struck him with how shocked he is at my immediate refusal. Even Giovanni’s expressionless mask cracks as he looks straight at me and raises one eyebrow.

What are they surprised for? They expect me to just go along with his plan and marry a man I don't know? A man who also seems to be involved with a mafia family?

Leandro, I realize, might be the closest thing I have to an ally in this room, and not just because he looks friendlier, as his reaction to my refusal is to burst into laughter.