Chapter 3

In front of me, tied to a metal chair, sat Eliot. His face was pale, his lips cracked, and his eyes, when they met mine, begged for something I didn't know how to give him.

"Tell him," Luka whispered beside my ear, his voice calm, almost gentle, which made it even more chilling. "Tell him how much you like it when I fuck you."

"Luka, please," I whispered, my voice breaking.

"Tell him," he repeated, tightening his grip on my fingers as a warning. "Tell him how you scream while I destroy your pussy."

I shook my head, tears already streaming down my cheeks, but I couldn't make myself say those vile words, not in front of him, not in front of Eliot, whose eyes were now full of disbelief, betrayal, fear.

Luka sighed, like a disappointed parent, and turned to one of his men standing in the shadows.

"The bag."

"No—" I tried to pull away, but his hand wouldn't loosen. "No, please, don't, I'll do whatever you want, just let him go—"

It was too late. A black bag covered Eliot's head, and a second later, a bucket of water was poured over it, muffling his scream into something that sounded like drowning. His body jerked against the ropes, his legs kicking against the concrete floor, and I was screaming, trying to pull free, to get to him, to do anything.

"Watch," Luka said, forcing my face back toward the sight, his fingers on my chin. "This is because of you, Vivian. Every time you say his name, this will happen again."

"Please," I sobbed, my voice breaking into something that no longer resembled words. "Please, let him go, I'll do anything, just stop—"

But Luka didn't stop. And deep inside, as I watched the man I had truly believed I would spend the rest of my life with choke in front of me, I realized that the other man, the one I once loved as a child wasn't sleeping somewhere beneath a thick façade. He simply no longer existed.

Five das ago

After the funeral, we all returned to our respective homes. My mother cried the entire ride home, while my father heatedly explained to someone on the phone how he was going to destroy the Devereaux family, one by one. By the time we arrived home, it was almost dark, and since I no longer had the strength for anything, I left my mother and grandmother in the living room while Mom recounted what had happened at the funeral, and went to bed.

The next morning, Olivia woke me earlier than I would have liked, telling me to come downstairs immediately because my mother and father were waiting for me in his office. Still half-asleep and disoriented, I walked in and heard them arguing about the inheritance.

“Get ready. Thomas’s lawyer called us and the Devereauxs to his office. He’s going to read the will.” My father told me. Without asking any questions, I went upstairs to get ready quickly, although I was intensely curious as to why the lawyer would want both us and them there to hear the will. I thought that Uncle Thomas had most likely divided everything equally between the two families, and that gave me hope that the conflicts might finally come to an end, and that perhaps I could finally mend my relationship with Luka.

After a few hours of driving, we arrived in the very center of Pennsylvania, where my uncle’s lawyer’s office was located. This wasn’t my first time here, and every time, I found myself thinking again and again about how the building that housed the office gave away absolutely nothing from the outside, especially not the story of everything that happened within its walls. It looked completely ordinary. And my uncle had run his illegal operations from there for decades.

None of us said a word on the way from home, and I knew perfectly well what both of them were thinking, even though neither said it aloud. They believed that now, finally, everything Thomas had built over the years would belong to us. I had seen it in my father’s eyes the night before, after we returned from the funeral, when he drank whiskey alone in his office and stared at maps of the territory he normally never even opened.

When we arrived, another car was already parked in front of the building—a black SUV from which Victor, Claire, and Luka were getting out. Our car stopped directly behind theirs, and for a moment, as the doors opened, I felt time slow down, as though even the air knew that something was about to break.

Luka didn’t look at me or at my father. He stepped out of the car with the same cold composure I had seen in the courtyard the day before, dressed in a dark coat, his hands in his pockets, and walked past us as though we were complete strangers. Claire walked beside him, while Victor followed a step behind, exchanging a look with my father that was anything but friendly.

“Let’s go,” my father said quietly, placing a hand on my back, and we went inside, one after the other, like two armies that had temporarily and silently agreed to a truce simply because the lawyer demanded it.

The office was larger than I had expected, with a long mahogany table surrounded by chairs on both sides—the Hawthornes on one, the Devereauxs on the other, as though someone had drawn a line in advance that no one was allowed to cross. I sat beside my mother, across from Luka, who was staring out the window behind the lawyer as if the view of the parking lot were more interesting than anything happening in the room.

Mr. Bellamy, Thomas’s lawyer, a man in his late sixties with glasses he was constantly pushing back up his nose, sat at the head of the table, with a folder in front of him that he did not hurry to open.

“Thank you all for coming,” he began, in the voice of a man accustomed to being the only calm person in a room full of dangerous people. “I know this is a difficult time for both families, and I appreciate your patience.”

“Let’s get to the point, Frank,” my father said, crossing his arms. “We all know why we’re here.”

Bellamy nodded, opened the folder, and pulled out several sheets of paper covered in dense text.

“Mr. Thomas amended his will fifteen days ago,” he said, and the information echoed through the room like the first sign that something was not right. I saw Victor frown, while my father exchanged a glance with my mother. I furrowed my brows and closed my eyes, a feeling in my stomach telling me that chaos was about to erupt all over again.

“Fifteen days?” Victor asked. “Why would he change his will fifteen days before he died?”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Thomas has passed away, and I am no longer authorized to speak on his behalf,” Bellamy said quietly, but firmly, like a true attorney. However, something in his voice, a certain sense of resignation, made me feel the first real wave of unease.

He began to read.

The first few paragraphs were ordinary—the formal language, a list of smaller gifts to some of Thomas’s longtime associates, a donation to the hospital where he had once been a patient. I could feel my father growing increasingly impatient beside me, his fingers lightly tapping against the armrest of his chair. My mother, just like Victor and Claire, fixed the lawyer with an impatient stare, eagerly awaiting the conclusion.

And then Bellamy reached the part that changed everything.

“All of my controlling interests, including but not limited to companies, real estate, financial assets, and territorial rights associated with the Crouse estate”—he read, deliberately slowing his voice—“shall belong to neither the Hawthorne nor the Devereaux family.”

The room fell silent.

“What?” Claire whisper-yelled incredulously.

“What does that mean?” my father asked in a very sharp voice.

Bellamy lifted his eyes from the papers, and for the first time since we had entered, I saw his hands trembling slightly, and the way he swallowed hard as he tried to continue reading. This was the moment when, ironically, I felt a great sense of relief. Was it possible that I would no longer be part of a mafia family? Did this mean I could finally have a normal life? The lawyer cleared his throat and continued reading, his voice slightly thinner than before.

“…Upon my death, control of the Crouse organization shall be transferred to the Ortega Organization of Mexico… unless… ahem, I apologize. Unless Vivian Hawthorne and Luka Devereaux enter into a lawful marriage within five days of my passing, remain married for at least one year, and have a child. If they fail to meet these requirements, on the first day following exactly one year from my death, the Ortega Organization shall assume control over everything I acquired, built, and controlled throughout my life.”

Someone gasped. I think more than one person did. Maybe it was me, I couldn’t tell. For a moment, I wasn’t sure I had heard correctly.

“Excuse me?” I said, my voice coming out thinner than I wanted it to.

Luka finally turned away from the window. For the first time since we had entered the building, he looked directly into my eyes, and there was not a trace of what I thought I had seen in his gaze yesterday in the courtyard. Only shock, just as raw as mine, and just as overwhelmingly intense.

“This is absurd,” Victor said, rising from his chair so abruptly that it rocked backward. “Are you telling us that Thomas was prepared to hand over everything he had spent decades building to a Mexican cartel that hates both our families, unless my son marries her daughter?”

“Your son?” My father rose as well, his voice becoming thunderous. “You think I would ever allow my daughter to marry a Devereaux?”

“Richard…” Bellamy attempted to calm him, but I don’t think my father even heard him.

“This is some kind of revenge,” my father said, pointing a finger at Victor. “This is your plan, isn’t it? You convinced the old man to…”

“Do you hear yourself?” Victor shot back, his voice icy. “Thomas was more of a father to me than he was ever a father-in-law to you. I suspect you’re behind all of this! You’ve had your eye on the buildings I’m developing in Manhattan, so now you’re trying to get your hands on everything through my son?”

Their voices began overlapping, both fathers shouting over each other, my mother trying to grab my father’s arm, while Claire sat frozen, staring at Bellamy as though she expected him to say that this was all some terrible mistake.

The lawyer straightened his back and, it seemed to me, didn’t have the courage to get up from his chair and come to eye level with our fathers. He adjusted his tie and shouted, “Everyone, it’s important that you understand that this is not a fraud of any kind, according to the laws of the state of Pennsylvania—”

“Shut up!” Claire screamed. “I don’t care about your legal procedures or you trying to clear your name. This was never supposed to happen!”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I felt a full-blown panic attack coming on and abruptly stood up. Everything inside me was screaming at me to run from that room, from that building, from the entire nightmare unfolding around me faster than I could process it.

“This is not going to happen,” I said, and although my voice trembled, it was loud enough to cut through the shouting in the room. Everyone looked at me. I looked at Luka one last time—and in his eyes, I saw the same emptiness I had noticed yesterday. I couldn’t tell whether he agreed with me or whether he was willing to go through with this marriage. I didn’t care anymore. I turned around and walked out, without waiting for an answer, without waiting for my father to tell me to sit down, without waiting for anything.

My parents caught up with me in the parking lot. My mother called my name, but I was already opening the car door and getting inside, trembling with anger and fear that I didn’t know how to separate from one another. Through the window, as my parents got into the car, I saw the Devereauxs emerge from the building as well—Victor was passionately gesturing with his hands, Claire stood beside him, her face pale, gripping his shoulder with one hand as though she might faint at any moment, while Luka simply stood there, his face carved from stone, staring somewhere into the distance, like a man who had just realized that his entire life had, once again, been taken out of his hands.

The drive home lasted both too long and too little at the same time. My mother and father talked the entire way, occasionally trying to pull me into the conversation, but their voices sounded so distant, as though I were hearing them whispering from the next room. As though I wasn’t even there.

When we arrived, I didn’t wait until we were inside the house before I started. I was already babbling on the stairs.

“I’m not going to do it,” I said as soon as we walked through the door, my voice breaking. “You don’t understand, I’m not going to marry him. I haven’t spoken to him in fifteen years, I don’t know what kind of person he is now, Dad, he’s a stranger to me, he’s—”

“Vivian,” my father said, his voice trying to sound calm, but I could see the tension in his jaw. “You have to understand what’s at stake.”

“What’s at stake is my life!” I screamed. “You want to sell me for the sake of territory!”

“That territory controls all imports and exports along the East Coast, legal and illegal,” my father said, stepping closer to me. “If Ortega takes control of it, we’re finished. The Devereauxs are finished. Everything we’ve built for generations, everything your grandfather left behind, will disappear in an instant.”

“Then let it disappear!” I said, even as I felt tears welling in my eyes. “I can’t do this, Dad. Please.” He looked at me irritably, as though he were running out of patience with me. I turned toward my mother, searching for something in her that I couldn’t find in my father—at least a trace of understanding.

“Mom,” I whispered. “Please, tell him I can’t do this.”

Eleanor stood silently, her arms crossed, and for the first time that evening, I saw something wistful in her eyes, something I hadn’t expected from her. Not compassion. A memory.

“I didn’t want to marry your father either,” she snapped at me. I froze, feeling the ground shift beneath my feet. “I cried every night, Vivian, just like you’re crying now. But I realized there are things bigger than what we want.”

“No.” I shook my head, taking a step backward, as though physical distance could protect me from what I had just heard. “No, that’s not the same, Mom. It can’t be the same.”

“This is your duty to the family,” my father said, his voice growing harder. “Just as it was my duty, just as it was the duty of every Hawthorne before me. Thomas knew what he was doing. This is the last way he could prevent a war that would destroy us all.”

“Then let someone else pay the price!” I screamed, but even as I said it, I knew, somewhere deep down, that there was no one else. That I was the only one who could, and that everyone in this house except me had already accepted it as inevitable.

My grandmother came out of the living room and approached us, asking what was going on and why we were shouting so loudly. I turned toward her hopefully. She had always supported me, no matter what it was. I told her they wanted to marry me off to Luka. Instead of the support I had hoped for, for the last time that day, my grandmother smiled so widely that she showed us every tooth in her jaw.

“Darling, that’s wonderful! You two are best friends. When you’re a little older, we’ll have a beautiful wedding for you!”

“Margaret, for the love of God…” My father exhaled.

“Grandma, that was years ago!” I shouted at her, even though I instantly regretted it. Her progressive dementia wasn’t going to help me, so I turned toward the stairs so they wouldn’t have to watch me cry. I couldn’t stay in that room any longer. I ran up the stairs, my heart pounding so hard that I could feel the pain in my chest, and when I opened the door to my room, I stopped in the doorway, completely paralyzed by what I saw.