Chapter 6

I couldn't sleep that night.

The clock on the nightstand showed 2:47 AM.

Outside the door, I could hear the sound of footsteps pacing back and forth. Two people, maybe more. Men in black suits ordered by Luca to watch me.

My phone was still in my hand. The screen was cracked in the upper right corner, the battery at twelve percent. I'd already opened airplane mode, searching for any possibility. International airlines. Contact numbers for the American embassy in Mexico City. Even local police numbers I'd probably never call.

But it was all useless.

I didn't have any money. My wallet only had a credit card my father had blocked since yesterday, and Luca Vitale's business card.

I turned the card over between my fingers. Thick cream-colored paper with gold embossed lettering, luxurious, expensive, just like its owner.

4 AM.

I didn't have much time left.

The wedding would take place at eight at San Miguel Church. I knew that church. Small, old, with peeling white walls here and there. The same place where my father and my biological mother got married thirty years ago.

Maybe my father chose that church on purpose. Maybe he thought reminding me of my mother would make me soften and obey.

He was wrong.

I got up from the bed.

My feet touched the cold ceramic floor. I walked to the window with quiet, silent steps. I pulled aside the white lace curtain a little.

Two men stood in the front yard. Sturdy postures, hands in front, eyes straight ahead. No visible weapons, but I was sure they were armed. People like Luca never traveled without security.

I looked to the side. The bathroom window.

I sighed.

Even if I managed to escape, where would I go? I had nowhere to stay in Mexico. I had no friends here. I'd been gone for eight years, all my connections were severed, and my father... would my father let me go? Or would he chase me down, because his life depended on this marriage?

I went back to the bed.

My body fell onto the mattress that was too soft. My eyes stared at the cracked ceiling.

"Tomorrow at eight in the morning. After that, we fly to Rome."

Rome.

The city I'd always dreamed of visiting. The Colosseum. The Trevi Fountain. Authentic Italian food. I'd once promised myself that one day I'd go there as a tourist, with a camera around my neck and gelato in my hand.

I never imagined I'd go there as the forced wife of a blue-eyed mafia man.

The clock showed 5:30 AM.

I heard sounds from outside the room. My stepmother was probably already up preparing breakfast, or Sofia was still crying. Or my father was checking to see if I was still here.

At 6:00 AM, my bedroom door opened.

My stepmother walked in with a tray of eggs, tortillas, and a glass of orange juice. She wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Eat," she said.

"I'm not hungry."

"Your father said you have to eat. You can't faint at the church."

I laughed bitterly. "Worried his two-million-dollar investment might pass out?"

My stepmother was silent. She set the tray down on the nightstand, then turned. At the doorway, she stopped.

"Camila."

I looked at her.

"I know you hate me and you hate your father right now, but what your father did, he truly had no choice. That company is the only inheritance he could leave for you and Sofia."

She left.

The door closed.

At 7:00 AM.

My stepmother came back. This time with a white dress.

Not a real wedding gown. Just a long white dress, a little loose at the waist, with simple lace at the chest. Maybe from my mother's closet, or maybe from a thrift store. I didn't care.

"You need to shower," she said.

I obeyed.

The water in the small bathroom was cold, but I didn't care. I let the water run over my face, over my hair, over my trembling body, and it wasn't from the cold. I closed my eyes and tried to remember my biological mother's face. The woman with the warm smile who died when I was twelve.

"You can be anything you want to be, Camila. Don't let anyone decide your life for you."

Forgive me, Mother. I failed.