Chapter 1

THE TRANSACTION

~GISELLE POV~

The chandelier in the hallway cost more than what my biological parents made in a lifetime.

I knew this because Isabella, my adoptive mother, liked to remind me of the price tag attached to everything in the Castellano mansion.

The Persian rugs I wasn’t allowed to walk on with shoes. The porcelain vases I was terrified to breathe near. And me.

Especially me.

I adjusted the silk strap of my dress, staring at my reflection in the Gold mirror outside my adoptive father’s study. ‘Perfect, I told myself. ‘Be perfect, Giselle. Be the daughter they paid for.’

Tonight was the annual Syndicate Gala, the one night a year where the five families of New York pretended not to be at war. I was expected to be on Julio Castellano’s arm, smiling, waving, and looking like the perfect, untouched princess of the Castellano empire.

But Julio hadn’t come downstairs yet.

I knocked softly on the doors of his study. "Papa? The car is waiting."

No answer.

I reached for the handle, but a voice from inside froze my hand in mid-air. It wasn't the deep, strong voice Julio usually had. It was quiet, tight, and full of fear.

"You can’t be serious, Don Castellano. The Romanos will tear us apart if we default again."

It was Vincent, the family lawyer. Vincent, who usually had a smile for me and a peppermint candy in his pocket, sounded like a man standing on the edge of a cliff.

"I am not defaulting, Vincent," my adoptive father’s voice growled, calm and terrifyingly cold. "The debt is settled. I made the call an hour ago."

I shouldn't listen. I knew the rules of this house: ‘See nothing, hear nothing, say nothing.’ But my feet felt like they had been nailed to the floorboards.

"Settled?" Vincent asked, doubtful. "With what money? You lost the shipping routes last week. The casino revenue is down forty percent. The Romanos want blood, Julio. They want fifty million dollars by midnight, or they start taking heads."

"They don't want money," Julio said. The sound of liquid pouring into a glass echoed through the wood. "Lorenzo Romano is old school. He doesn't care about cash; he has enough of it. He wants a legacy. He wants a truce to secure his northern territories."

"So?"

"So, we came to an agreement. A trade."

My heart hammered against my ribs. A trade. In our world, a trade usually meant drugs, guns, or territory. But the tone of Julio’s voice made the hair on my arms stand up. It was the tone he used when he looked at a racehorse he was about to sell to the glue factory.

"What did you trade, Julio?" Vincent whispered.

"My daughter."

The world stopped. The air left my lungs in a quick, silent rush. I pressed my hand over my mouth to choke the gasp that threatened to tear out of my throat.

‘No. He doesn’t mean me. He can’t mean me.’

"Giselle?" Vincent sounded horrified. "She’s… she’s a child, Julio. She’s top of her class in law school. She has a future."

"She is an investment!" Julio snapped, his fist hitting the desk. "I took that stray in when she was twelve. I fed her, clothed her in silk, educated her at the best schools. I scrubbed the gutter off her skin and polished her until she shined. Did you think I did that out of the goodness of my heart?"

Tears pricked my eyes, hot and stinging. For eleven years, I had tried so hard. I had learned five languages. I had perfected my etiquette. I had memorized piano sonatas until my fingers bled. I thought if I was good enough, if I was perfect enough, they would finally love me.

But I was never a daughter. I was a savings bond. And I had just matured.

"Who?" Vincent asked, his voice defeated. "Who is the buyer?"

"Lorenzo wants her for his son."

The silence that followed was deep, suffocating. I prayed to a God I hadn't spoken to in years. ‘Please let it be a cousin. Please let it be some distant relative who wants a trophy wife.’

"Which son?" Vincent asked.

"The eldest."

"Alessandro?" Vincent choked on the name. "Julio, you can’t. They call him The Reaper for a reason. The man is a sociopath. He doesn't have wives; he has victims. He will break her before the wedding night is over."

‘Alessandro Romano.’

Hearing the name hit me hard, like a punch. The heir to the Romano empire. The man who supposedly cut a man’s tongue out in a crowded restaurant for interrupting his dinner. He was twenty-six, cold as ice, and terrifyingly beautiful in the way a loaded gun is beautiful.

"He won’t break her," Julio said dismissively. "Giselle is resilient. She survived the streets; she will survive Alessandro’s bed."

"And the debt?"

"Wiped clean. Fifty million dollars, plus a non-aggression pact for the port authority. It’s the deal of the century, Vincent."

Fifty million dollars.

That was what I was worth. Not love. Not loyalty. Fifty million dollars and a signature on a peace treaty.

"Does she know?" Vincent asked.

"I will tell her tonight after the Gala. The wedding is in three days."

"Three days?! That’s madness!"

"It’s necessary. Alessandro insisted on immediate possession. He’s... eager."

I felt like I might be sick. ‘Immediate possession.’ Like I was a car. Like I was a piece of furniture being delivered.

I couldn't stand there anymore. I couldn't listen to them haggle over the price of my life. I stepped back, my heels quiet on the plush runner, and turned. I walked down the hallway with stiff movements and my vision was blurred.

I walked past the family portraits…Julio, Isabella, Marcus, and me. We looked so happy in the oil painting. A perfect family.

A lie.

I made it to the powder room before my legs gave out. I collapsed onto the cold tile floor, squeezing the edge of the marble sink. My reflection stared back at me….dark curls, cinnamon skin, wide brown eyes.

I looked expensive.

I looked like fifty million dollars.

I traced the line of my jaw. I had spent my life afraid of the monsters outside these walls. I had run into Julio’s car when I was twelve to escape a man who wanted to hurt me. I thought Julio had saved me.

I realized now that he hadn't saved me. He had just collected me. He had kept me safe and clean so that one day, when the market was right, he could sell me to a bigger, badder monster.

‘Alessandro Romano.’

I remembered seeing him once, six months ago, at a charity event. He had been standing in the shadows, wearing a black tuxedo that fit his broad shoulders like a second skin. He hadn’t been drinking, hadn’t been smiling. He had just been watching.

And now I knew what he had been watching.

He had been window shopping.

I stood up, wiping the tears from my cheeks with a shaking hand. I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't give Julio the satisfaction of seeing my fear. I fixed my lipstick, smoothing the red stain over my trembling lips. I fluffed my curls. I adjusted the diamond earrings that weren't gifts, but price tags.

The door to the study opened down the hall. I heard Julio’s heavy footsteps approaching.

"Giselle!" he called out, his voice booming with fake warmth. "There you are, principessa. The car is ready."

I opened the bathroom door and stepped out. I forced my lips into the smile I had practiced for a decade…the smile of the dutiful, grateful, perfect daughter.

"I am ready, Papa," I said, my voice steady, though my soul was screaming.

He offered me his arm. I took it. I let him lead me toward the front door, toward the car, toward the Gala where my buyer was waiting.

I wasn't walking down an aisle. I was walking toward an altar.

This wasn't a marriage. It was a human sacrifice. And the war hadn't ended.

For me, it was just beginning.