BOUND TO KILL, BOUND TO LOVE

Mia's POV

The epoxy floors of the De Luca estate looked expensive enough to make you forget the amount of blood that paid for them. I stood in the hallway outside my father's study, counting the seconds until someone remembered I existed. I was at eight minutes, forty-three seconds already which was actually a new record. 

"Mia." My stepmother's voice cut through the silence, her voice was hoarse and filled with resentment for me for no particular reason. "Your father will see you now."

I turned to face Elena De Luca, a woman who'd perfected the art of looking disappointed without having to move a single muscle. "How generous of him, I was starting to think he'd forgotten he had three daughters instead of two."

"Don't be dramatic." She walked past me, her eyes rolling in spite, as her expensive perfume filled the air. "It's unbecoming."

Right, because being forgotten is so becoming. I followed her into the study, where my father sat behind his desk like a Godfather that was ordered from Temu surrounded by books he'd never read and weed pots.

Vittorio De Luca didn't look up, of course he wouldn't. Eye contact might accidentally convey paternal affection, and we couldn't have that. 

"Sit," he barked with a commanding voice like he was talking to one of his slackers and not his daughter. But then again, that's exactly what I've been since mom died. Another one of his slackers.

I sat. Good dog, Mia, want a treat? I joked around in my mind.

Martha and Clara were already sitting on the sofa looking like matching dinosaurs in designer dresses. Martha's smile was filled with mischief and Clara's fake sympathy face was in full effect, the one that said “I'm so sorry this is happening to you” while secretly hoping it gets worse.

"We have an opportunity," my father began, finally gracing me with his attention. "One that requires your...particular expertise."

Oh good, nothing that starts with “particular expertise” has ever ended badly. "What kind of opportunity?"

"One that involved you getting married." He said still not sparing a glass in my direction.

I laughed and stopped, then started laughing again so hard until my tummy started to ache. "You're joking right?"

The silence that followed confirmed he was not, in fact, joking. The universe really did hate me more than I'd thought.

"Jonathan Mysterio," my father continued, as if he hadn't just detonated a grenade in the room. "The billionaire, you know him."

Know him, what a spectacularly inadequate verb for what Jonathan and I had been.

"I'm aware of who he is," I said carefully, grateful that my voice didn't crack even though everything inside me was.

Martha leaned forward cheerfully since her hobby had always been watching me reel in misery."We know you two had a...relationship. Last year, wasn't it? Before he dumped you?"

There it is, I'd wondered how long it would take for her to twist that knife. Apparently, thirty seconds was her personal best.

"How romantic," Clara added, her voice dripping with fake passion. "A second chance at love."

"This isn't about love," my father said immediately, his gaze rising to meet mine. "This is business, Jonathan needs investors and International connections. We need access to his empire and his networks."

"And you need me because...?" I asked, my eyebrows raising as I struggled to comprehend what they were saying.

"Because you've been in his life once," Elena said, examining her polished nails. "You know everything about him so you're the logical choice."

Logical, as if logic had anything to do with sending your daughter back to the man who broke her heart so she could...what? Smile prettily while gathering intelligence? 

"What's the real goal?" I asked, because in this family, there was always a real goal hiding under the covers of the official story.

My father's expression didn't change, which wasn't really surprising since he always wore a neutral expression no matter the situation. As a kid I always wondered if he still wore the expression while he was pooping.

"You'll marry him, gain his trust and when we give the order..." He paused, and in that moment I knew that nothing good was coming after. "You'll eliminate him."

My stomach dropped so hard I thought I was going to vomit.

Eliminate, such a clean, corporate word for murder, for putting a bullet in the head of the man I'd once loved. 

"You want me to kill Jonathan." I said it out loud, the shock still evident in my voice. 

“Exactly.” Martha exclaimed, her smile sharp and entirely deceitful. "Unless you're not capable? I'm sure Clara could—"

"Clara couldn't seduce a man even if he came with instructions on how to," I snapped, my voice raising. "And this isn't about capability, this is about you using me as your weapon again."

"You're a De Luca," my father said coldly. "You'll do what's required or you'll face the consequences 

I looked at each of them—my father, my stepmother, my step-sisters—and saw exactly what they'd always seen me as. A tool. The unwanted daughter who'd outlived her usefulness the moment her mother died.

"When is the marriage?" I asked finally, hating myself for surrendering.

"Three days," my father said. "Jonathan has already agreed to it, he doesn't know about os or our... business interests."

Of course he doesn't, because Jonathan Mysterio with all his billions had somehow missed that his new bride came from a family that made the peaky blinders look like amateurs.

"What if he finds out?" I asked, my eyebrows raising slightly.

"Then you'll ensure he doesn't live long enough to act on that information," my father replied simply, as if we were talking about something very simple. "Collins will be your contact, call him for anything you need."

My blood went cold the moment I heard the name. "Collins knows about this?"

"Collins helped plan it," Elena said with a satisfied smile. "He's been quite... supportive."

Collins, my secret lover. The man who knew every scar on my body and in my soul, the same man who'd promised to protect me from this family's darkness, even as he pulled the strings that pushed me deeper into it.

"I need to make a call," I said, standing abruptly.

"No calls," my father ordered, reaching for the button under his table that could send guards up here in seconds."Not until after the wedding, we can't risk you warning him or running."

Running, as if I had anywhere to run, as if they hadn't systematically destroyed every exit I'd ever tried to build.

"You'll move into the guest house tonight," Martha said, clearly enjoying her role as herald of my doom. "Collins will brief you on everything you need to know, the wedding is on saturday."

Three days. Three days until I married the man who'd broken my heart and become the weapon aimed at his head.

I walked out of the study with my spine straight, my chin up and my expression blank, because I'd learned long ago that this family fed on weakness like sharks on blood. I made it to my room—the smallest one in the building before the shaking started.

Jonathan.

I leaned against the closed door, memories flooding back aggressively. The way he laughed, even the way he usually played with my hair.

The breakup had been sudden, I didn't see it coming. He called me to his penthouse, poured expensive scotch that he didn't drink, and explained that "our worlds don't align" and "it's better this way" and all the other polite phrases people use when they mean “you're not good enough.”

I'd left with my heart in pieces, and I'd sworn I'd never let anyone hurt me like that again.

Joke's on me, I guess. Because now I'd be hurting him, permanently.

My phone buzzed with a text from Collins. Let's meet on the rooftop at midnight. 

I should've ignored it and just stayed in my room and processed this nightmare alone. But I'd never been good at should've, and Collins was

the only person in this family who'd ever chosen my side, even if he'd apparently just helped seal my fate.