CHAPTER THREE: THE INTRODUCTION

Present day 

  

   Lena’s pov 

  

    The house was in chaos. Servants darted through the halls, polishing, arranging, whispering about the Morettis like their arrival was a royal decree. 

  

   I sit in my room, while my mother works on my hair. Her fingers tugging and twisting strands into place, until I looked like the daughter she wanted to show off. 

  

   “You look so beautiful, mi amor,” she murmured eyes bright in the mirror. I don’t answer, I stare past my own reflection. She notices my frown 

  

   “Lighten up. It's not that bad.” 

  

   I turn to her, my voice low.

  

   “It’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one marrying a murderer.” Her hands stilled for half a second before she smoothed my hair again, like she could fix this with a comb.

  

   “This is for the best,” she said quietly. “You’ll be safe in that house. You’ll have money, power. Everything I can’t give you now that your father is gone” 

  

    I laughed. Sharp and bitter. 

  

   “I don’t care about those things” I said sharply.

  

   Her eyes softened with pity, and that made it worse.

  

   “I’m only doing this to protect you” she said. 

  

   But I didn’t feel protected. I felt sold. 

  

   She wasn’t done. Her eyes flickered to the door, making sure we were alone before she dropped her voice.

  

   “Our family is in serious trouble, Lena. Trouble that you don’t understand. This marriage fixes what your father’s death started” 

  

   I swallowed the retort biting at my tongue. Arguing wouldn’t change anything, and the last thing I wanted was to see her cry again. So I nodded instead, stiff and silent. 

  

   “All done,“ she said finally, stepping back to study her work. My hair was pinned up in rollers, tight against my scalp. 

  

   “Leave them in for twenty minutes before you take them out,” she instructed, already turning for the door. 

  

   She paused in the doorway, hand on the frame. Her voice softened, like she could smooth this over with one last line.

  

   “And sweetheart… don’t forget to smile”

  

   Then she was gone, and the quiet she left behind felt heavier than anything she’d said. 

  

   I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my own face in the mirror. I couldn’t believe this was really happening to me. 

  

   The thought of running away crossed through my mind, but if I ran, they’d hurt my mother and brother. And I couldn’t truly escape the Morettis, they would find me eventually. 

  

   I pushed to my feet and tore through the dresses my mother had laid out. I decided to pick the plainest one a straight long sundress in dull blue, it showed no cleavage, and it hid all my curves. 

  

   Maybe if I looked boring enough, they’d think twice about this alliance. I yanked the rollers out. My hair bounced around in soft curls. I place a plain headband over it. 

  

   Downstairs, the dining room was already set for war. Platters of food lined the table, dishes I’d never touched before, laid out for people I didn’t want to meet. I stopped in the doorway, chest tight.

  

   Five days.

  

   That’s all it had been since my father died. 

  

   I couldn’t stand here and think about it. Not now 

  

   I slipped away to his study, the one room in the house that still smelled like him old paper tobacco, the faint trace of his favorite cologne. I climbed onto the edge of his desk, knees pulled up, and let the quiet take me.

  

    Everyone else had moved on. But I’m not sure I’m ready to. The door to the study flew open before I could answer myself. 

  

   “There you are,” my mother said, relief flooding her voice. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Come on, they’re here” 

  

   She didn’t wait for me to move. Her hand was already at my elbow pulling me to my feet. 

  

    “I know you don’t believe,” she said quietly as we stepped into the hall. 

  

   “And I know this feels outrageous. But please don’t mess this up.”

  

   I didn’t answer. She didn’t expect me to. 

  

   Together we walked to the living room, where the Morettis were waiting.

  

   We walked in and I noticed ten men present. Three of which I recognized, they were my father's men, now my brother’s. The other seven turned the moment I stepped inside, eyes dragging over me like I was part of a display. 

  

   The oldest of the Morettis leaned forward, voice rough with age and authority.

  

   “So. Is this the girl we were promised?”

  

   My brother smiled too wide, too fast. 

  

   “Yes. Isn’t she beautiful” he said with pride.

  

   The man let out a low laugh, standing and stepping closer. His gaze dropped, assessing me. 

  

   “She’s not bad to look at. Should’ve shown more skin, though.” 

  

   His eyes stayed on me a beat too long, heavy with something that made my skin crawl.

  

   “But I think Dante would like her.” 

  

   He turned to the man on the leather sofa.

  

    “Dante? What do you think? ” 

  

   I turned too, and instantly recognition flashed through my eyes. The jaw. The eyes. The infuriating smirk I’d spent months trying to forget. 

  

   Luca.