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Gianna’s POV

I did not sleep that night. I lay in my childhood bed, staring at the ceiling and tried to think of a way out because my other idea is rusty.

The wedding was in two days. Two days until I belonged to a man I had never met, a man who had killed his first wife and would probably kill me too. I have a very sharp mouth that a man that holds a gun won’t mind pulling a trigger on.

My phone was on the pillow beside me, the screen bright in the darkness. I had been searching for hours, looking for anything that might help.

Mafia marriage customs. What do mafia men hate that’ll make them cancel a wedding? How to get out of an arranged marriage. What happens to women who refuse the mob?

The searches blurred together. Articles about mafia wives. Forum posts from women who had escaped. Stories about women who had not. By three in the morning, I had learned more than I ever wanted to know about the world my parents had kept me from.

There’s a comment on a forum, buried deep in a thread about arranged marriages in the underworld. It was from a woman who claimed to have been promised to a mafia boss but escaped by marrying someone else first.

Escapeee: They will not touch you if you belong to another man. It is a matter of pride. They will not take what is already claimed.

I stared at the comment for a long time. It was insane but probably the only chance I had.

I called Maria, my cousin. She answered on the second ring, her voice groggy with sleep. "Gianna? It’s three in the morning. Who died?”

"I know. No one. I need your help."

There was a pause followed by the sound of sheets rustling, a light clicking on. "What is wrong?"

"I will tell you when you get here. And call Chiara and Sofia. I need all of you."

"Chiara and Sofia? What is going on?"

"Please, Maria. Just come."

"I will be there in twenty minutes." She hung up before I could thank her.

***

They arrived just before dawn, slipping through the back door one by one. Maria first, her hair still in a messy bun, her eyes wide with worry. Then Lucia, wearing a silk robe over her pajamas. Then my cousins, Chiara and Sofia, who lived on the other side of the city and had driven through the dark to get here.

We gathered in my bedroom, lockdd the door and drew the curtains. I sat on the bed, my hands clasped in my lap and told them everything. When I finished, the room was silent.

Chiara spoke first. She was twenty-five, married three years ago to a man thirty years her senior. I watched her walk down the aisle, her face pale and eyes so empty and disappear from family gatherings, birthdays and holidays. She became a ghost.

"They will not let you out of it," she said, looking sympathetic. "My parents tried to negotiate. They tried to delay but the Don doesn’t negotiate. He takes what he wants."

"I know." I looked at her, at the shadows under her eyes. "That is why I need to marry someone else first."

The room went desd still that even thr daredevil Lucia didn’t dare breath.

"What?" Maria's voice was hard. "Isabella, that is insane."

"Is it? If I am already married, the Don cannot touch me. It is a matter of pride. He will not take what belongs to another man."

Lucia leaned forward, her eyes bright with something that might have been hope. "Where did you hear that?"

"A forum. A woman who escaped the same way." I pulled out my phone and showed them the comment. "She said they will not touch a married woman. It is about territory."

Sofia shook her head. "That is not how it works, Isabella. They dont care about ownership. They care about power. If the Don wants you, he will take you, married or not."

"No." Chiara's voice was hopeful for me. "She is right. They will not touch a married woman. It is one of their rules. They are territorial like that."

We all looked at her. "How do you know?" Maria asked.

Chiara's jaw tightened, her eyes haunted. "My husband told me. When we first married, he explained the rules. He said the worst thing a woman could do was belong to another man. It was an insult. He would rather kill me than share me."

"That is disgusting," Lucia said with a face.

"That is the world we live in." Chiara shrugged. "But it means Isabella is right. If she marries someone else, the Don will not want her. He will see it as a rejectiom."

I let out a breath I didn’t realized I was holding. "Then we have a plan."

"We have the beginning of a plan," Maria corrected. "Where are you going to find a husband in two days?"

"I will go to a bar and find someone tolerable. Then convince them to marry me for a year or so."

"And what if they say no?"

"I will ask someone else."

Lucia reached across the bed and took my hand. "I will help you. We all will."

We sat there for a moment, with a feeling that is dangerously like hope. And then Chiara spoke again.

"It cannot be tonight. Your mother will never let you leave the house. She’s think you’re going to escape.”

"She will if I lie. And the wedding is tomorrow! I will tell her I am doing a bachelorette night with all of you. She will not like it but she will agree."

***

My mother did not want to let me go like they predicted.

"You should be resting," she said in that queenly voice. "The wedding is in two days. You need to prepare."

"I need to say goodbye to my friends." I met her eyes, trying to look like a daughter who had accepted her fate. "I need one night of freedom. Then I will do whatever you want."

She studied me for a long moment. I could see the suspicion in her eyes. "Fine. But you will be home by midnight. And you will not embarrass this family."

"I won’t."

She nodded, then turned and walked away. I let out a breath.