ONE

MATTEO

The familiar smell of disinfectant vanished the instant I stepped through the revolving doors at the hospital's entrance.

I pulled my jacket tighter to keep out the chill of the evening breeze.

I headed toward my car thinking of my bedridden twin sister, Sofia.

She had looked the same today, just like she always had for the past three years.

She had lain in the bed in the VIP room, pale and unmoving, in coma.

Sofia was still trapped somewhere between life and death while the machines around her helped her to breathe.

I had sat beside her bed for an hour, talking about nothing genuinely important.

The weather has been the conversation starter, swiftly followed by a book I had started to read about two nights ago.

She never answered.

She hadn't answered in three years and I missed her so much it ached physically.

But I was glad that at least she was safe here, away from him—our father.

She was safe from the monstrosity of that house and the venom that dripped from every word our father spoke.

The man just had to make life miserable for us as if it was our fault his wife left.

Our mother had packed up her bags when we were about twelve years old and quietly but sadly eloped with her lover, never once looking back.

This deed had enraged that monster, not more than the fact she left us behind.

And that pained bastard had made us regret never following our mother.

I don't know why she never took us.

The sick wacko had even had the guts to remarry a woman with children.

And he proceeded to dote on those two as if they were his own flesh and blood.

It was so wild, the things he did.

Our lives which had been devoid of love quickly morphed into a living hell.

That was why I have never blamed Sofia for the mistake that she made.

She had gone out to look for the love father never gave her and gotten pregnant.

That pregnancy had brought complications that had left her comatose.

So, it was his fault, my father's, that she was lying in a hospital bed, frozen.

The drive home took about twenty minutes of dreading what waited for me.

I parked in the driveway and stepped out to stare at the Leone estate.

It was beautiful and expensive, brimming with everything my father valued.

The lights in the windows promised a comfort that the house had never actually made to provide.

I braced myself and walked inside.

"Oh, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence."

It was my step-mother, Clara.

I crossed the threshold and found her standing in the hallway.

She had her arms crossed with a sour expression sitting in her face.

"Have you been out wasting money on that vegetable again?" She asked.

She must have caught a sniff of the clingy hospital disinfectant when I walked past.

I ignored her and kept walking.

"Mother is talking to you," Luca, my step brother, called from the sitting room.

A glance in his direction found him draped across the sofa like he owned it.

The obnoxious brat was only nineteen, yet he already had Father's arrogance without any of the intelligence to back it up.

Gianna, my step sister, giggled beside him.

"Maybe he didn't hear," she mused. "He has always been a bit slow, you know?"

I wondered what the found funny in that line, laughing like infected dragons.

Yet, I didn't ask. I simply ignored it young fool and headed for the stairs.

"Matteo."

My father's cold voice stopped me.

I looked up and found him standing at the top of the landing, staring at me.

He was in a perfectly pressed burgundy suit and red tie despite the hour.

He was supposed to be at work.

"My office, now," he added and turned away before I could even speak.

My stomach dropped.

He never summoned me to his office unless I had done something wrong.

And lately, just existing seemed to count.

My heart thundered as I climbed the stairs and followed him down the hall.

His office was full of dark wood and leather which was designed to intimidate.

Guess what? It actually worked.

He took a seat behind his large desk and gestured at the chair across from him.

I swallowed softly.

I sat down, discovering my hands were clammy when I clasped them.

"Where have you been?" He demanded, his sea green eye burrowing into mine.

My breath quickened.

"At the hospital," I replied him in a small voice, my throat getting tighter.

He leaned back to stare at me.

"Useless," he began, "just like your sister, and your stupid horny mother."

My teeth dug into my upper lip as I lowered my head in a mix of shame and rage.

"At least I've found some use for your lazy ass," he started with a tsk sound.

My head shot up to look at him, tilting slightly as my eyes narrowed.

What did he mean by that?

"You know Matteo, the family business is failing," he said without preamble.

I leaned forward, nodding my head slowly at him with furrowed brows.

"We're bleeding money. If things continue, we'll lose everything within six months."

There was a short pause.

I waited because I was unsure why he was giving me all of this information.

This had nothing to do with me.

"Thankfully, I have found a solution," he announced with bright eyes.

That familiar look in his eyes, it made me uneasy, my stomach queasy.

"There is an alliance through marriage," he continued as he steepled his fingers.

My eyes widened.

"You're getting married."

I blinked, my jaw going slack.

"What?"

"You heard me," he said dismissively. "The wedding will be held in three days."

My mind raced.

Married?

To whom?

 

"Father, you can't mean that," I protested, rising to my feet.

 

Blood roared in my ears as he lifted his chin and slowly gave me a once over.

 

Then, he spoke.

 

"Yes, you will be married."

 

I scoffed in disbelief.

"You must be joking," I said.

My chest thumped hard because there was no way on earth my father would be joking about something like this with me.

 

"Father, I don't even have a girlfriend. I haven't dated anyone since—"

 

He snickered.

 

"This isn't a love match Matteo," he pointed out to be. "This is purely business."

 

My brows quirked questioningly.

 

"It is a strategic alliance that will save this family. I have chosen a good partner."

 

Realization instantly dawned on me.

 

My father had already chosen a partner to wed me to without my own consent.

 

The room spun before my eyes.

 

"No, no," I began in a week voice.

 

I gripped the armrests.

 

"You can't just arrange a marriage for me, Father! This isn't the 1800s."

 

He said nothing, simply staring at me like he regretted every having me.

 

I knew the look.

 

And, it didn't bother me.

 

Honestly, I was used to it.

"Sit," he ordered me. "You look like you'll pass out and I don't need you sick before this wedding takes place."

A bitter laugh bubbled through my chest as I lowered myself into the seat.

Silence reigned for a bit.

"Who is she?" I finally asked him.

Father's eyes were cold, assessing.

"It is not she. It's a he."

"He?"

The word came out strangled.

"Yes, Matteo," he said with a shrug. "Is that going to be a problem here?"

The room stated to tilt before my eyes.

I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't think.

A man.

My father wanted me to marry a man.

"You want me to marry a man?!" I snapped when I found my voice back.

Now this had just better be a silly joke.

There was no way it was real.

But the dead look in his eyes when he spoke again cancelled all of my doubts.

"His name is Alessandro De Luca. And he has agreed to invest in the company in exchange for your hand in marriage."

The world stopped.