Chapter 1: She's a Virgin

Enzo's Pov

The day is cloudy; it looks like a storm will break at any moment, a perfect analogy for what is coming in my life. My leather shoes sink into the grass, and I feel the full weight on my shoulders when I arrive at the place.

"Hello, beautiful," I whisper softly as I kneel to clear the dry leaves from the gravestone. "I know it's been a long time since I visited, but I've been really busy, you know, saving that idiot Antonio's ass." I force a laugh, but the truth is I'm just holding back the urge to cry.

"I know you never liked these sappy things," I say, arranging the bouquet of flowers I brought her, "but today it felt appropriate. Maybe this way you'll forgive me for what I'm about to do. I'm getting married, Serena. I'm getting married, and I feel like I'm betraying you." I sob, brusquely wiping away the tear that escapes. "Life's been shit since you left, my love, but I have to do this for them. If you could see how beautiful those children are, I'm sure you'd love them as much as I do."

"We need to secure the power so they can be safe, so they can grow up secure. You know very well the horrible things that would be done to them if we were to fall, and I won't allow it. I know you understand me. Besides, I'm doing that girl a favor. You know how disgusting her father is; he'd sell her to anyone. With me, she'll be safe. I won't hurt her; I don't plan on touching her."

"Forgive me for having to bring her home. I think that's what's costing me the most. I don't want to see any other woman but you there; I don't want anyone to tarnish your memory, but I have no other choice. I promise you everything will remain intact, exactly as it is, exactly as you left it. She will just be a guest; you will always be the sole owner of my house, my life, and my heart."

The phone vibrates in the inner pocket of my jacket, and I take it out to see Antonio's message—it's time to leave.

"I have to go, beautiful. Antonio is waiting for me. We have to go to Chicago to close the deal."

---

The Chicago cold chills me to the bone, and I pull my coat tighter as I step out of the SUV and enter Edoardo's house. The old man is waiting for us at the entrance with a satisfied smile. He couldn't snag a Lucchese for his daughter, but he got the best replacement. The old man, like everyone else, knows my brother would die for me, just as I would for him, because something stronger than blood unites us.

He is accompanied by his second-in-command, Roco, a guy a little younger than him but just as repulsive.

"Don, welcome to my home," he greets me with a bow, which Antonio acknowledges with a slight nod. 

"My future son-in-law," he says, turning to me with an outstretched hand.

I shake his hand to avoid a problem right as we arrive, but what I really want to do is shoot him in the forehead for forcing us into this situation. His second-in-command also greets us.

"Come in," he directs, leading us to the main living room of the house. "My wife is already bringing the bride down," he informs us as we take our seats.

"First, we wanted to clarify a few things," Antonio interjects. "We want this to be quick and simple, no extravagant parties."

Edoardo laughs with sarcasm.

"Come on, Don! It's my eldest daughter who's getting married! She's not just some slut; my family wants to celebrate this."

I can't contain the snort that escapes me.

"This is a business transaction, Edoardo, you're selling her," I snap, annoyed. "It's not a celebration of love."

Antonio clears his throat and gives me a warning look. I take a breath to control myself. I can't send all our effort to hell just because I can't control my temper.

"You're right, Butcher," Edoardo replies, leaning forward in his seat toward me, his gaze sharp, without losing his stupid smile, and using a cutting tone when using the nickname I'm known by in the darkest corners of our world. "This is a business, and I assure you, you're getting prime merchandise."

I feel nauseous hearing him speak about his own daughter like that. No one in this room has scruples, but at least on our side, there are limits. I can't imagine Antonio speaking that way about our principessa.

"The ragazza is the best Chicago has to offer," his second-in-command intervenes. "Many here wanted to close a deal for her."

"Including you, from what I understand," I reply with arrogance, making it clear to them that nothing gets past us.

The man laughs ironically.

"You can't blame me, Romano. I'm not lying when I tell you she's the best piece we have; she's the jewel in our crown. Besides, she's past the optimal age for marriage; we had to act."

"What the hell are you talking about? She's a bambina; she's not even twenty."

"Too old in our world, and you know it. The years for a woman to have good offspring are numbered; we have to take advantage. Besides, tender meat is always sweeter."

---

"She offers me her hand, and I take it, placing a kiss on the back of it like the gentleman I'm not.

"Soon to be Arianna Romano," her father cuts in.

The girl lowers her gaze again, trying to hide her blush.

"Well, now that we're all here, let's finalize the details," the old man states, and we return to our seats.

The girl sits next to me, at her mother's instruction, and I start to get desperate because she won't stop wringing her hands.

"As we said, we want something small and quick," Antonio repeats.

I feel like a teenager when he's the one doing the talking for me.

"It will be quick," Edoardo agrees, "but not small. I want my daughter's wedding to resonate everywhere."

'Idiot.'

"Agreed," Antonio concedes, and I give him a dirty look, but he raises an eyebrow at me.

When I leave here, I'm going to need to lock myself in a cage to fight so I can drain all the rage I'm holding in.

"One week," I propose. I want to be done with this quickly.

His wife gasps when she hears me.

"Excuse me, sir," she interjects, "but a wedding cannot be organized in a week."

"Well, you'll have to manage."

Her husband glares at her, shooting daggers with his eyes, I suppose for having the audacity to speak to me without permission.

"One month," he proposes.

"Two weeks, and that's my final offer."

The old man huffs in displeasure. He looks at Antonio, but I'm sure he won't overrule me, even if he complains about it later.

"Agreed," Edoardo accepts, "but the ceremony will be done our way, following our traditions." I look at him with narrowed eyes; I know he's about to say something stupid. "They will spend their wedding night here. I want our guests to verify that my daughter is pure."

The girl shifts uncomfortably next to me.

"I am not going to display stained sheets as if this were a slaughterhouse. That's absurd."

"It's our proof that she saved herself for you."

"You already gave me the damn report that proves it! That's not necessary."

"It is. You could claim we tricked you, that we falsified it, or that the bambina ran off with someone else before the wedding."

"That is not going to happen. I am not interested in your sadistic guests seeing her blood. They don't need to verify anything. It's more than enough if I verify it."

The girl next to me looks like an ostrich; she must be dying of shame. We're discussing her intimacy, her body, as if it were an object. Her father tries to say something more, but Antonio intervenes:

"We will not be doing that, Edoardo. Don't insist."

"Of course, you people are always stepping on our traditions. What could one expect when the organization's Queen isn't even Italian?"

"Don't you dare speak about my wife, or I swear to God I will walk out," Antonio warns in that tone that allows no argument.

"Our Queen has more balls than you, Edoardo," I scoff. "Dare to say anything against her, and you'll find out why they call me the Butcher."

The old man swallows hard; he knows neither of us is joking. We don't want any more conflict within the organization, which is why we are agreeing to this marriage, but our Queen is untouchable.

"I apologize, gentlemen, I didn't mean to offend you." He has the decency to apologize.

"Good. Then there's nothing left to discuss." Antonio gives me a sign, and I understand what I have to do.

I sigh to brace myself and reach into my pocket to take out the small black box. The girl's breathing next to me becomes erratic, and I have to look away so as not to be distracted by the rise and fall of her breasts.

I take out the diamond ring, take her trembling, sweaty hand, and place it on her finger. Edoardo slams the coffee table in celebration.

"You are getting an excellent wife, Romano," he says with pride. "A woman who is docile, obedient, trained to please her husband, and ready to give you children."

Children?

The mere mention of the word gives me goosebumps. This is not a real marriage and never will be. This is just a pact, a facade. I will never touch this girl, she will never be my wife, and she will certainly never give me children. Never.

!