CHAPTER FOUR — THAT'S FOR ME TO DECIDE

After walking around the house, they settled in the garden, sitting on a stone bench. Neither spoke. The air smelled of roses and damp soil, and the silence between them stretched long and tense.

“So,” Dante finally said, breaking the quiet, “can you tell me more about you, Arabelle?”

She scoffed. “Quite the performance. You don’t have to pretend you like me, it doesn’t suit you. And one thing you should know: I don’t love you, and I don’t give a fuck about you. Do you understand?”

“I guess,” Dante replied calmly.

“And after the marriage,” she added sharply, “don’t take my freedom away from me.”

“That’s for me to decide.” Dante rose, smoothing down his shirt. “I’m leaving now. Let’s head back.”

Arabelle stared at him, confusion tightening her brows. She couldn’t even process what he meant.

“Ritrova la strada da solo (Find your way back yourself),” she said without emotion. 

—

“I hope you enjoyed lunch, Dante?” Vittorio asked as they approached the front door.

“Yes, I did. I had a great time, especially with your daughter.” Dante’s gaze flicked to Arabelle, who didn’t spare him a glance.

“I’m glad. It’s an honor to have you here. I assume the next time we meet will be at the wedding.”

“Yeah. Have a lovely night. Thanks for today.” Dante extended a hand, and Vittorio shook it firmly. Dante cast Arabelle one last look, she still refused to meet his eyes, then turned and left.

The car ride back to the Valerio mansion was dead silent. Not even Massimo spoke. Dante exhaled smoke through his nose, the thick scent of tobacco filling the car.

He was about to speak when the vehicle jolted violently.

“What the hell was that?” Massimo snapped, leaning forward.

“No idea. Maybe we hit something,” the guard in the passenger seat said, his British accent clipped.

“Get out and check,” Dante ordered.

The guard stepped out and crouched beside the tire, but froze when cold metal pressed against his temple.

“If you love your life,” a masked man growled, “run. Don’t look back.”

The guard pretended to tremble,then slammed his elbow into the attacker’s nose, sending the gun flying. In one swift motion, he twisted the man’s arm behind his back.

“What the fuck is going on?” Dante growled as he stepped out.

“Watch out, Dante!” Massimo shouted.

A shot cracked through the air. Massimo fired first, dropping a masked man hiding behind a parked van.

Gunfire erupted everywhere. Within seconds, five bodies lay scattered across the asphalt. The guard still held one man alive, struggling in his grip.

Dante strode over and gripped the attacker’s jaw, forcing his head up. “Who sent you?”

The man spat blood in defiance. “Just kill me. I won’t say a thing. I’d rather die.”

“Very well,” Dante said coldly.

He pulled a dagger from his belt and plunged it into the man’s chest, twisting slowly. The man gasped once, then went limp. Dante wiped the blade with the napkin the guard handed him, tossed it onto the corpse, and walked back toward the car.

“Andiamo (let's go)” he said flatly.

—

Back at the mansion, Dante headed straight to the kitchen with Massimo trailing behind, grinning like a devil.

“So,” Massimo said, leaning on the counter with a wicked smile, “what do you think about her?”

Dante poured himself a glass of whiskey and took a slow sip. “She’s not bad. I like her fire… or maybe her sharp mouth.” He chuckled, remembering her insults at lunch.

“You’d better work hard if you want to win her. She doesn’t like boys, remember?” Massimo teased loudly.

“Vaffanculo bastardo(Fuck off, bastard).” Dante shoved him lightly and headed upstairs to his room.

__

That’s quite an act you put on, figlia (daughter).” Vittorio said as he walked back into the house with Arabelle at his side. He dropped onto the sofa, pulled a cigarette from his pocket, and lit it, the smoke curling lazily into the air. “The marriage will be held in two days. I’ll have someone prepare everything. All you need to do is show up and put on a good act. Don’t embarrass me in front of the guests.”

Arabelle’s jaw tightened. “Do you ever consider me your daughter, or am I just a tool you use to gain more power?”

“I’m doing this for you, Arabelle, so shut the fuck up and stop complaining.”

“You’re doing this for yourself, padre,” she snapped back. “Everything you do is for your empire. This marriage is just another move to expand your mafia and strengthen your alliance with the Valerios.”

Vittorio’s expression turned to stone.

He stood, crossed the room in two strides, and grabbed her by the throat, slamming her against the wall. Her breath hitched as his fingers tightened.

“You have no right to question me,” he hissed. “I’ll do whatever I must for this family. For this mafia. And if that means giving you up—” he leaned in, voice dropping to a deadly whisper, “I won’t hesitate.”

“Ti odio fottutamente (I fucking hate you),” Arabelle choked out, and spit in his face.

“You little bitch.”

Vittorio snapped. He flung her to the ground with brutal force. Pain shot through her spine when she hit the cold marble. She gasped, clutching the floor as he towered above her, breathing hard.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Vittorio wiped her spit from his cheek and flicked it aside like dirt. “Two days, Arabelle,” he said coldly. “Behave. Or I’ll make sure you regret ever raising your voice to me.”

He turned and walked out, leaving smoke and silence in his wake.

Arabelle lay on the floor, her body trembling, she pushed herself up slowly, wiping a tear she refused to let fall. Her throat pulsed where his fingers had been.

“One day,” she whispered into the empty room, her voice low and venomous, “I’ll be free of you. And you’ll wish you never touched me.”

She stood, straightened her dress, and walked toward her room with quiet, burning resolve.

Upon entering her room, Arabelle shut the door with a trembling hand. She didn’t bother turning on the lights. She simply grabbed her phone and dialed the number her heart always ran to first.

“Lucia,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“Hey… , what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“Where have you been?” Arabelle choked out. “Father found out about us. About… everything. And now he’s marrying me off to someone I don’t even know. I don’t know what to do, Lucia.” She sniffed, wiping her cheeks.

“Calm down, babe. We’ll figure this out,” Lucia said quickly. “I’ll come over. We’ll run away. Somewhere no one can find us. We’ll finally live in peace, just the two of us.”

“No,” Arabelle whispered. “We can’t. He’ll find me. And he’ll have you killed.”

“He won’t,” Lucia insisted. “You just have to trust me. I’ll get you out of this—”

“Nothing can be done anymore, Lucia. It’s too dangerous.”

“So you’re going to go with a stranger? A man you don’t know?”

“It’s not like that,” Arabelle said weakly. “I don’t have a choice. What do you expect me to do?”

“You do have a choice, Arabelle,” Lucia snapped. “Now I see—you don’t love me as much as you claim.”

Arabelle’s breath hitched. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You heard me,” Lucia said, voice sharp with hurt. “Do whatever you want. It’s not my business anymore.”

Arabelle felt something inside her crack. “You think I’m happy about this? You think I’m choosing this because I want to?” Her voice shook—anger and heartbreak blending. “I don’t want you to get hurt. And you think this decision is easy for me?”

There was silence.

“Fine.” Her voice dropped to a whisper filled with pain. “If you want to leave… then go.”

Before Lucia could respond, Arabelle ended the call. The moment the line went dead, the tears she had been holding back finally spilled, falling in heavy, trembling drops onto her hands.