Fiance's Father Takes Me

ANASTASIA POV

TORONTO, Ontario

It's not everyday you meet the devil himself on your Eighteenth birthday. But I did.

Still dizzy and dealing with a huge hangover, I slid under the sheets, my toes rubbing warm skin and rough hair.

So last night, one of my friends threw a graduation house party by her pool and my boyfriend, Liam, had to spend the night here.

Not that it was planned. It was arranged that we would meet up at his house as usual, but I was so drunk to start making arguments about which place to stay the night.

So… yeah… he ended up spending the night here.

It was a big time job sneaking Liam past the house surveillance cameras and my father's security crew but if you grew up with these people for over eighteen years.

Naturally, you would know their routine. I’d been outmaneuvering them for years.

The key? Find one thing they love in their field of work.

Routine.

These guards had one routine and once you get a hang of it, you could do whatever you want with that knowledge.

Papà was the head of one of the seven 'Ndrangheta families operating outside of Toronto—a Mafia network that stretched from Canada to Italy to South America.

When your father runs such a dangerous business, you don't get raised as a normal kid.

No matter where we went, we had men trailing us—suits with pistols tucked inside their jackets. Even school wasn't off-limits. Our activities were limited, our freedoms closely monitored.

So yeah, sometimes I rebelled. Just a little.

As the oldest daughter, I should be the dependable one to raise my sisters after the death of Mamma. It was a bit stressful looking after my two sisters so I deserved to ease stress every now and then.

A knock vibrated through my bedroom door.

“Anastasia. Are you up?”

Papà.

Shit!

Panic surged through me. The one night I let Liam stay over, and now my father was standing outside my room. This couldn’t be happening.

The hangover vanished instantly. I grabbed Liam by the shoulders. “You should get going,” I whispered. “Now.”

He didn't argue and ran around while I kept throwing him his clothing. I turned toward the door. “Papà, wait, I’m not dressed yet.”

“Come out and look decent,” he ordered from the hall. “We have visitors.”

Visitors? This early?

“I need at least an hour,” I tried to bargain.

“You’ve got ten minutes.”

There was no room for argument in his voice.

“ugh fine,” I replied.

Liam got his zip up and roughly wore his shirt while I opened the window, peeping out to make sure no one was outside. It wasn't high grounds from the second floor, so Liam could jump.

“Hang from the ledge, then drop. You’ll be okay.”

His hand brushed over my bare backside. “Maybe it’s time I meet your family, babe.”

I nearly laughed. If Papà even saw Liam, he’d probably strangle him on sight for laying a finger on me. “You have to go now,” I whispered. “Stick to the side path. Follow the endless pot of flowers, it'll take you the crack in the wall. The cameras can’t catch you there. Hurry.”

He grabbed me and gave me a hungry kiss and then proceeded to climb through the window. I stood and watched as he carefully lowered himself, arms straining from the stretch.

Before we graduated last month, he’d been captain of the hockey team and one of the most popular guy in school.

I would really miss him when I get into college this August.

He landed softly, looked up and waved with a smile, I blew a kiss to him and shut the windows quietly. My mind had shifted to Papà and his guests who had no sense of time.

A quick shower, combed and braided my hair, put a little concealer under my eyes and added mascara. I took out a high necked dress— decent and ladylike just as Papà always demanded.

Heels always made me stand tall, and powerful, like I owned the room so I chose them over flats.

There was no sound in the house. My two sisters, Luna and Mira were probably still sleeping by now. There were sixteen and they both loved staying up late doing whatever kids did.

Binging shows, and texting friends. I would miss them too but they didn't really need me that much the way they used to. They will be fine on their own.

My heels echoed against the marble as I headed for Papà’s office. I rarely went in there—I preferred not to know too much about his business.

Rule number one of having a Mafia Boss as a father. No Questions. I knocked, waiting for his voice. “Come in.”

Papà was seated behind his desk in a room filled with men in black suits.

Not one even one color. Just the boring black they wore everyday

There were a few faces I were familiar with. Uncle Vittorrio and Cousin Antonio, others were strangers. And they were all looking at me.

“Come, Aña,” my father ordered as he held out his hands for me. I let out a deep breath and walked to him

“You wanted to speak with me?”

“Yes. This is Santiano Ravazzani.”

The man sat up from one of the chairs and I felt my heart skip a beat. He was handsome.

Not the regular type of handsome. This was the type that took your breath away. He had real thick waves, and his hair was dark. His eyes were blue and his jaws looked sharp enough to cut glass.

He was slim but had broad shoulders and his suit clinged to his frame like it was just made for him.

He looked like a television star or a fashion model on the cover of a magazine, in his late thirties. This kind of body and face were only meant for people who needed it on their career.

But there was no softness to him. No vanity. He exuded raw power, like he was used to being the one who gave orders. The men standing around him weren’t friends—they were protection. This man was a big deal. And dangerous.

I gave a small nod. “Mr. Ravazzani.”

He looked straight at me and I felt the whole room freeze, running me through with his eyes like I was some kind of valuable he's about to purchase.

I had goosebumps all over and I couldn't tell why I was feeling uncomfortable. Even to the extent of my nipples getting hard against my bra.

I prayed he wouldn’t notice. The amused curl of his lips when our eyes met told me he had.

“You’re eighteen?” he asked, the words thick with an Italian accent. My chest tightened. These weren’t my father’s usual contacts. No one in his circle spoke with that kind of accent.

“Yes, sir,” I replied carefully.

He gave a slight nod to my father. “She’ll do.”

She’ll do?

“For what?” I asked sharply.

My father shot me a warning glare, then turned back to Ravazzani. “Excellent. We’ll schedule the wedding for next month.”

I froze. “Wedding?” My voice pitched high. “What wedding?”

My plans—college, freedom, my future—started to crumble. My mother made my father promise all three of us daughters would go to school before marriage. I was counting on that.

“Anastasia, enough,” my father barked.

I turned toward my cousin, desperate for answers, but Antonio wouldn’t meet my eyes. That was all I needed to know—this was serious. He usually took joy in my frustration.

Just then, one of Ravazzani’s men leaned in and murmured something into his ear. Ravazzani smirked as he listened, then waved the man off.

Turning back to my father, he said, “No. The wedding will take place at my villa in Siderno, where Nico is. We leave tomorrow.”

Siderno. Italy. Nico?

What the actual hell?

My father stiffened, lines deepening across his brow. “And what about me? About my family? We have a right to—”

“Careful, Salvatore,” Ravazzani interrupted, his voice low and icy. “You forfeited those rights the moment you lost my shipment.”

The room fell into dead silence. Not a word. The tense room made the air thick and I sucked in my breath as Papà slumped back into his chair. “Mi dispace,” he said.

That seemed to satisfy Ravazzani.

But I needed to know what the actual heck was going on. “I would need someone to explain what this is all about. Now!” I burst out, not having anymore patience to keep quiet anymore.

Ravazzani came closer, and the distance between us wasn't much. He was tall, his icy blue eyes piercing mine with a hint of gray. He wasn't angry.

He found this pleasing.

“You’ve got fire. Good,” he said with a small smile. “You’ll need it, piccolina.”

He circled around me, then headed for the door, trailed by five of his guards. “Have her ready, Mancini,” he called back.

My blood boiled. Have me ready? Like I was a suitcase to pack and ship?

No one was sending me off to Italy. I was going to NYU, not into some twisted mob marriage with a man who looked like he could kill with a glance.

As the door shut behind them, I whirled on my father. “Papà, what the hell is going on?”

He rubbed a hand down his face and slumped into his chair. The rest of the men had filed out, leaving only Uncle Vittoria and Antonio. “Sit, Ana.”

“I’d rather stand until you tell me what this is.”

He slapped his palm on the desk. “Enough. Sit down!”

His voice was cold—professional, like I was one of his soldiers. It stung. Antonio shook his head, clearly thinking I was being dramatic. Uncle Vittoria just frowned like always.

Swallowing my anger, I sat. “Fine. I’m sitting. Now talk. Please.”

“You’ve been chosen to marry Nico Ravazzani, his heir. It’s a strong match, Ana. A privilege, truly.”

A privilege? I stared at the man who once vowed I’d earn a college degree before ever thinking of marriage. Who told me I could choose who I’d marry.

Empty promises. Every single one. “No way. I’m not marrying some stranger across the world. I don’t want a mafia husband. I’m starting school this fall.”

My father’s expression turned cold, a mask I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t the face of my dad—it was the face of a ‘ndrina leader, someone capable of cruelty without flinching.

“You’ll obey, or there will be consequences. People will die. People in this family. Is that what you want?”

That was a threat. A manipulative one but it had weight. My sisters, sweet and innocent. They didn't know I was being sold to keep them out of danger.

As far as I was concerned, I didn’t have a choice at all. I’d do anything for them. Even though I was only two years older, I’d stepped into a mother’s role since ours had passed.

I was the one who explained boys and periods, who took them bra shopping and wiped away their tears.

I managed screen time and bedtime and held it all together. My eyes started to sting. “Why is this happening?”

“Marriages form alliances. That’s how it’s always been in our world. There’s nothing to stop it. You'll do just as others did, you'll be a good companion to Nico.”

My stomach growled and I pressed it down with my palms to keep the noise.How did this happen so fast? “You promised Papà, you did.” I whispered in tears.

His face didn’t flicker. “My oath to the ‘Ndrangheta takes precedence. Do not shame me. This is a way to elevate our position through your husband’s lineage. Ravazzani is among Italy’s richest men and heads one of the most powerful ‘ndrine—his family’s name commands respect.”

Power. Money. That was all that ever mattered. I cleaned my face, not minding the makeup I had smeared all over it. “This is totally wrong, Papà”

“Grow up, Ana,” Antonio snapped. “Ravazzani’s one of the top figures in the ‘Ndrangheta. You’ll be married to his son, the future boss. Any woman in our world would kill for a spot like that.”

“Screw you, Antonio. I don’t want to marry a kingpin,” I shot back. “I want to go to college and build my own life.” Just like I was promised.

College meant escape. It meant freedom from my father and his world. It meant nights in New York City, going to parties and meeting people, falling in love on my own terms.

It meant a degree, a job, and living on my own before settling down. It was everything my mother wanted for her daughters.

Be your own woman, Anastasia. Don’t repeat my mistakes.

She was once a top Italian model before she married my father. Their love story burned bright at first, but she’d confessed that leaving her career behind was her greatest regret.

“Enough,” my father said, voice sharp. “Stop acting like a spoiled child. This decision has been made. Go upstairs and pack. You leave in the morning.”

“But—”

“Not another word. You’re going with Santiano Ravazzani, and that’s final.”

I clamped my mouth shut and stood. No one said a thing as I walked out, likely thinking I’d surrendered.

That I was on board with crossing the ocean to marry a complete stranger, all because my father had messed up some critical delivery.

They should’ve known me better than that.