Chapter 5

Selene POV

The car waiting outside my dormitory wasn't the same black sedan from yesterday. This one was sleeker, more expensive a midnight blue Bentley that probably cost more than most people's houses. The driver stood beside it, hands clasped behind his back, wearing the same kind of perfectly tailored suit that seemed to be the uniform of Caspian's world.

He opened the door for me without a word, and I slid across leather seats so soft they felt like silk. The interior smelled of expensive cologne and danger a scent I was beginning to associate with the Santoro family.

We drove through Manhattan as the sun set behind the skyline, painting the city in shades of gold and blood. I watched people on the sidewalks going about their evening routines couples heading to dinner, friends meeting for drinks, families walking home from work. Normal people living normal lives.

Lives I would never have.

The car turned into a private drive I hadn't noticed yesterday, winding through wrought-iron gates that closed behind us with the finality of a prison door. The estate beyond was breathtaking in its understated elegance—manicured gardens, fountain sculptures, and a mansion that looked like it belonged in a European fairy tale.

But fairy tales, I was learning, weren't always about happy endings.

"Miss Marcellus." Vincent appeared at my door as if he'd materialized from the shadows. "He's waiting for you in the library."

The mansion's interior was even more intimidating than its exterior. Marble floors stretched beneath soaring ceilings, and oil paintings that looked like they belonged in museums watched me from gilded frames. Everything whispered of old money, older power, and the kind of influence that could reshape lives with a single word.

Vincent led me through corridors lined with antiques and up a grand staircase that belonged in a palace. Our footsteps echoed in the silence, the only sound in a house that felt frozen in time.

The library doors were mahogany, carved with intricate designs that probably told stories I was better off not knowing. Vincent knocked once, then opened them without waiting for a response.

"Miss Marcellus, sir."

The library was vast, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that stretched up to a second level accessible by rolling ladders. Leather-bound volumes filled every inch of space, their spines catching the light from crystal chandeliers. It was the kind of room that belonged to a man who collected knowledge the way others collected stamps.

And there, seated behind a desk that looked like it had been carved from a single piece of dark wood, was Caspian Santoro.

He didn't look up immediately, focused instead on documents spread across his desk. In the soft lighting, his silver-streaked hair seemed to gleam, and the hard lines of his face were softened just enough to be devastating rather than merely intimidating.

When he finally raised his eyes to meet mine, I felt that same electric shock I'd experienced yesterday. His gaze was steady, calculating, like he was solving a complex equation and I was one of the variables.

"Punctual," he said, his voice carrying that slight accent that made everything sound like a secret. "I appreciate that in a person."

"I had an appointment," I replied, surprised by how steady my own voice sounded. "I keep my appointments."

Something that might have been amusement flickered across his features. "Please, sit."

There were two chairs positioned in front of his desk high-backed leather that probably cost more than my semester's tuition. I chose the one on the right, settling into it with as much dignity as I could manage while my heart hammered against my ribs.

Caspian leaned back in his chair, studying me with those unnerving gray eyes. "You look tired."

"I didn't sleep well."

"Understandable. It's not every day one discovers their entire life has been a carefully constructed lie."

The casual cruelty of the statement made me flinch, but I kept my expression neutral. "Is that what you think this is? A lie?"

"Isn't it?" He gestured to the papers on his desk. "Twenty-three years of believing your father was dead. Twenty-three years of your mother working herself to exhaustion to maintain the illusion. Twenty-three years of living in poverty when you should have been living in palaces."

"We weren't living in poverty," I said, defensive despite myself. "We had everything we needed."

"Did you?" His smile was sharp. "Your mother's medical bills suggest otherwise. Your brother's scholarship applications. Your own financial aid forms, listing your family income as barely above the poverty line."

Heat flashed through me embarrassment and anger in equal measure. "You've been investigating my family."

"I've been protecting my interests." He picked up a folder from his desk, sliding it across to me. "Your father's empire, Miss Marcellus. Take a look."

I didn't want to open it. Didn't want to see whatever evidence would make this nightmare more real. But my hands moved of their own accord, flipping open the cover to reveal photographs, documents, newspaper clippings.

The first photo showed a man I recognized from the wedding picture older now, grayer, but unmistakably my father. He was stepping out of a limousine, surrounded by men in expensive suits. The caption underneath read: "Lucien Marcellus, suspected head of the East Coast Marcellus crime family."

My stomach turned. Crime family. The words seemed to pulse on the page like a heartbeat.

"Keep looking," Caspian said softly.

The next page showed a newspaper headline: "MARCELLUS ORGANIZATION LINKED TO MONEY LAUNDERING OPERATION." Below it, another: "FEDERAL TASK FORCE TARGETS MARCELLUS ENTERPRISES." And another: "THREE FOUND DEAD IN WAREHOUSE LINKED TO MARCELLUS FAMILY."

My hands were shaking now, the papers rustling like dry leaves. "This... this can't be real."

"It's very real. Your father controls shipping, construction, and waste management from Boston to Miami. He has politicians in his pocket, judges on his payroll, and enough legitimate businesses to wash every dirty dollar that passes through his organization."

I closed the folder, unable to look at any more. "Why are you showing me this?"

"Because you need to understand what you're walking into. What you've always been part of, whether you knew it or not."

"I'm not part of anything." The words came out stronger than I felt. "I didn't choose this. I don't want any of it."

"Choice is a luxury, Miss Marcellus. One that people in our position rarely have."

Our position.As if we were equals. As if I belonged in this world of violence and power.

"You said yesterday that my father wants to use me for leverage," I said. "Leverage for what?"

Caspian stood, moving to the window that looked out over the gardens. Even in silhouette, he was imposing, commanding. "There's going to be a war. Between the old families and the new ones moving in from overseas. Russian, Chinese, others who think they can carve up our territory like it's theirs for the taking."

"Our territory?"

He turned back to me, and for a moment his mask slipped. I saw something raw in his expression—grief, maybe, or rage. "My father built this empire with his bare hands. Bled for it. Died for it. I won't let foreign pretenders tear it apart."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Everything." He moved back to his desk, bracing his hands against its surface as he leaned toward me. "Your father needs allies. Strong ones. The marriage between you and Dario would unite our families, create a power block that could withstand any challenge."

"But Dario doesn't want to marry me. He's gay, for God's sake."

"Dario will do what's expected of him. As will you."

The certainty in his voice made my skin crawl. "You can't force people to live lies forever."

"Can't I?" His smile was cold. "I've been doing it for forty-three years."

The admission hung between us like a confession. For a moment, I glimpsed something vulnerable beneath his armor a man who'd sacrificed his own truth for duty, for family, for the kind of power that came with a price too high to calculate.

Then the mask slipped back into place, and he was the Mafia King again.

"The engagement will be announced at a charity gala this weekend," he said, returning to his chair. "Black tie. Very public. Very binding."

"I haven't agreed to anything yet."

"Haven't you?" He opened another folder, this one containing photographs that made my blood freeze. My mother leaving the hospital after her shift. Marcus walking home from soccer practice. Both of them completely unaware that they were being watched, catalogued, targeted.

"Your family's safety depends on your cooperation," Caspian continued, his voice conversational. "Their happiness depends on your compliance. Their lives depend on your loyalty."

I stared at the photos, seeing my loved ones through the eyes of predators. "You're threatening to kill them."

"I'm promising to protect them. There's a difference."

"Is there?"

"In my world, yes." He leaned forward, his gray eyes intense. "Your father isn't the only one who knows you exist, Selene. Word is spreading through the families. Lucien Marcellus has a daughter. An heir. A weakness."

The way he said 'weakness' made something cold settle in my stomach. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that there are people who would hurt you to hurt him. People who would take you to use as leverage against the most powerful crime boss on the East Coast. People who would do things to you that would make death seem like mercy."

My mouth went dry. "But if I marry Dario"

"You become my family. Under my protection. Untouchable."

The word carried weight, finality. In Caspian's world, family meant something different than it did in mine. It meant loyalty unto death, protection at any cost, and bonds that couldn't be broken by law or conscience or love.

"What about what I want?" The question came out smaller than I'd intended.

"What you want is irrelevant." His voice was gentle, almost kind, which somehow made the words more brutal. "This isn't about desire, Selene. It's about survival."

I thought about my mother's tears, about Marcus's dreams, about the life I'd been planning before all of this started. Simple dreams. Achievable dreams. Dreams that now seemed as fragile as soap bubbles.

"If I agree to this," I said slowly, "if I marry Dario, what happens to us? To him and me?"

"You play the role of loving wife in public. What you do in private is your own business, as long as it doesn't embarrass the family."

"And children?"

Something dark flickered across his face. "That will be discussed later."

The evasion told me everything I needed to know. Children would be expected. Heirs to carry on the Santoro name, to cement the alliance between our families. Children who would grow up in this world of violence and secrets, just as Dario had. Just as I should have.

"I need more time," I said.

"You've had twenty-three years." Caspian stood, signaling that our meeting was over. "The car will take you home now. You have until tomorrow morning to make your final decision."

"And if I say no?"

He moved around the desk, stopping directly in front of my chair. Up close, I could see the flecks of silver in his dark hair, smell his cologne—something expensive and dangerous that made my head spin. When he reached out to touch my face, I should have pulled away. Should have slapped his hand, should have run.

Instead, I sat frozen as his thumb traced the line of my cheekbone.

"You won't say no," he said softly. "Because you're your father's daughter, and your father never backs down from a fight. Even when he should."

His touch burned like ice, and when he stepped back, I felt the loss of it like a physical ache.

"Vincent will see you out," he said, already turning back to his desk, dismissing me like I was just another piece of business to be handled.

But as I reached the door, his voice stopped me.

"Selene."

I turned back, and for a moment, his mask slipped again. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. You deserve better than this. But deserving and getting are two different things in our world."

Then he was looking down at his papers again, and I was being escorted through marble corridors toward a decision that would change everything.

The ride back to campus passed in a blur of city lights and impossible choices. When the car pulled up in front of my dormitory, I sat for a moment, staring at the building where I'd lived for three years. Where I'd been happy, hopeful, normal.

Where I'd been living a lie.

My phone buzzed with a text from Dario: How did it go?

I stared at the message, thinking about arranged marriages and family loyalty and the look in Caspian's eyes when he'd touched my face. Then I typed back: We need to talk. Now.

Because whatever choice I made, I wouldn't make it alone. If I was going to enter into this arrangement, Dario and I needed to understand each other completely. We needed to decide what our marriage would really mean, beyond the political maneuvering and family expectations.

We needed to figure out how to survive what was coming next.

The car pulled away, leaving me standing on the sidewalk between two worlds the one I was losing and the one I was afraid to enter. Tomorrow, I would have to choose.

Tonight, I would learn what it really meant to be a Santoro wife.