The Romano

POV: JAXON ROMANO (Flashback - Six Years Earlier, Age 28)

Six years earlier...

"You need a wife."

My father's voice cut through the silence of his study like a blade. I looked up from the financial reports I'd been reviewing, not bothering to hide my irritation.

"I'm twenty-eight, not eighteen. I don't need you arranging my life."

Dante Romano stood at the window of his Park Avenue office, hands clasped behind his back, surveying his kingdom. At sixty-two, he was still an imposing figure, tall, broad-shouldered, with silver hair and eyes that could freeze blood. He'd built the Romano empire from nothing, clawing his way up from the streets through a combination of ruthlessness, intelligence, and strategic violence.

He was also the reason I'd spent my entire life trying to prove I was more than just his son.

"This isn't a discussion, Jaxon." He turned to face me, his expression carved from granite. "The Winters family owes us a debt. A significant debt. They've agreed to settle it with their daughter."

I set down my pen. "You're telling me you arranged a marriage without consulting me?"

"I'm telling you that you have an obligation to this family. To our legacy. You're twenty-eight years old and you've been so focused on this technology venture of yours that you've neglected the fundamentals. A Romano man needs a wife. Heirs. Stability."

"Apex Technologies is not a venture. It's a legitimate business that will…"

"That will what? Replace our real work?" His voice hardened. "You think coding computers makes you clean? Makes you different from me? You're a Romano, Jaxon. That blood runs through your veins whether you like it or not."

I'd heard this speech before. Countless times. My father couldn't understand why I'd chosen to build a tech company instead of taking over his "import-export" business, a business we both knew was a front for activities I wanted no part of.

"I'm not having this argument again," I said, standing. "And I'm not marrying some stranger because you made a deal."

"The deal is made. The contracts are drawn. You'll meet her next week, sign the papers, and marry her two weeks after that." He poured himself a scotch, the conversation already over in his mind. "Her name is Isla Winters. Twenty-two years old. Educated. Quiet. Perfect for our purposes."

"What purposes?"

"She'll give you heirs. She'll manage your household. She'll stay out of your way." He took a sip of his drink, studying me over the rim of the glass. "Unlike most women, she won't try to change you or interfere with your work. Richard Winters assures me she's... compliant."

The word made my skin crawl. "You're talking about a person, not a business asset."

"A person who will become a Romano. Who will bear Romano children. Who will secure the future of this family." He set down his glass with a sharp click. "This is not negotiable, Jaxon. You want to play at being legitimate with your technology company? Fine. But you'll do it with a wife and family. Like a proper businessman."

I should have said no. Should have walked out of that office and refused to participate in whatever deal my father had made.

But Dante Romano didn't accept refusal. And I'd learned early, painfully early what happened to people who defied him.

The scar on my ribs from when I was sixteen was a permanent reminder. I'd tried to leave the family business, tried to tell him I wanted a different life. He'd broken three of my ribs with a baseball bat and told me that Romano men didn't have the luxury of wanting. They had duties.

"What's the debt?" I asked finally. "What did Winters owe you that's worth his daughter?"

My father smiled. It wasn't a pleasant expression. "That's between Richard and me. All you need to know is that his family has agreed to the terms. The girl will marry you. You'll treat her with respect, I won't have it said that Romanos abuse their wives publicly. But beyond that, what you do in your marriage is your business."

"How generous."

"It is generous. I'm giving you a wife who won't make demands, who won't interfere, who'll do exactly what's expected of her. Most men would kill for that kind of arrangement." He moved to his desk, pulling out a file folder. "Here's her information. Family background, education, a photograph. You'll meet her next Tuesday to sign the prenuptial agreement."

He slid the folder across the desk. I stared at it like it might bite me.

"What if I say no?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

"Then Apex Technologies will find itself with some very unfortunate technical failures. Supplier problems. Legal complications. I'd hate to see your little project collapse before it really got started."

There it was. The threat wrapped in paternal concern. If I didn't comply, he'd destroy everything I'd built. Everything I'd worked for. The one piece of my life that was mine, not tainted by the Romano name or the blood money that funded it.

I opened the folder.

The photograph was clearly a driver's license photo, poorly lit, unflattering. A young woman with dark hair pulled back, wearing oversized glasses that hid most of her face. She wasn't smiling. She looked... small.

Isla Winters. Age 22. Senior at SUNY, Computer Science major. No criminal record. No social media presence. Lives at home with parents and younger sister.

Computer Science. At least she was educated. At least she had a brain, even if my father seemed to think she'd never use it.

"She's plain," my father observed, reading over my shoulder. "But that's fine. You're not marrying her for her looks. You're marrying her for legitimacy. For heirs. For the optics of being a stable, successful businessman."

"Does she know?" I asked. "About the arrangement? About why she's really marrying me?"

"She knows it's arranged. She knows her family has obligations. That's all she needs to know." He clapped a hand on my shoulder, heavy and possessive. "Don't overthink this, son. It's a simple transaction. She gets security, money, the Romano name. You get a wife who won't interfere with your real life. Everyone wins."

Except the girl who was being sold to pay off her father's debts. She wasn't winning anything.

But I didn't say that. Didn't defend her. Didn't do anything except close the folder and nod.

"When do I meet her?"

"Tuesday, three PM, at my lawyer's office. You'll sign the prenup, answer any questions she has, and set a wedding date. Keep it simple, courthouse wedding, minimal guests. This is about paperwork, not romance."

Romance. As if that had ever been part of the Romano legacy. My parents' marriage had been arranged too. My mother had been beautiful, delicate, completely wrong for the life my father demanded. She'd died when I was eight, officially from an aneurysm, but I'd always wondered if it was really just her heart giving up from years of being married to a man who treated love like a weakness.

I'd sworn I'd never be like him. Never cold. Never cruel. Never someone who broke the people around him.

But standing in his office, agreeing to marry a stranger for business reasons, I realized I'd already become exactly what I'd sworn I wouldn't be.

A Romano man. Cold. Calculating. Putting legacy and obligation above everything else.

"I'll be there Tuesday," I said.

"Good boy." My father smiled, pleased. "This is the right choice, Jaxon. You'll see. A quiet, obedient wife is exactly what a man like you needs. Someone who won't distract you from building your empire."

I left his office with the folder and drove back to my penthouse in Midtown. The space was modern, minimalist, expensive, everything my father's old-world Park Avenue apartment wasn't. I'd bought it with my own money, money I'd made from Apex's early success, trying to create a life that was mine.

But it didn't matter. I was still my father's son. Still following his orders. Still letting him control my life.

I opened the folder again and studied the photograph. Isla Winters. The girl I'd be marrying in two weeks.

She had dark eyes, I could see that much, even behind the glasses. And there was something in her expression, something I couldn't quite name. Not fear, exactly. Not excitement. Just... resignation.

Like she already knew this wouldn't end well.

I closed the folder and poured myself a drink. Then another. Then another.

By the time I went to bed that night, I'd convinced myself this was fine. It was a business arrangement, nothing more. I'd treat her respectfully, provide for her, give her a comfortable life. But I wouldn't pretend this was something it wasn't. Wouldn't let myself feel anything for her beyond basic human decency.

Love was a weakness. Emotion was a liability. My father had taught me that with fists and cold silences and a childhood that felt more like military training than family.

I'd give Isla Winters my name, my protection, my financial support. But I wouldn't give her my heart. Wouldn't let her close enough to become a weakness someone could exploit.

It was better that way. Safer. For both of us.

Tuesday came too quickly.

I arrived at my father's lawyer's office in Tribeca at 2:55 PM, five minutes early because Romano men were never late. The receptionist directed me to a conference room where my father was already seated, along with his lawyer, Mr. Finch, a man whose moral flexibility made him invaluable to my father's less-than-legal operations.

"Jaxon." My father stood, checking his watch. "Punctual. Good. The Winters family should be here any moment."

"Family? I thought it was just the girl."

"Richard is bringing her. Wants to make sure she signs properly." He said it like she was a child who couldn't be trusted to read a contract.

Five minutes later, the door opened. Richard Winters entered first, fifties, balding, with the look of a man who'd made money but never quite enough. Behind him was a woman I assumed was his wife, elegant but cold. And behind her

Isla Winters stepped into the room, and I got my first real look at my future wife.

The photograph hadn't done her justice. Or maybe it had done exactly what it was supposed to, made her look forgettable so I wouldn't object.

She was small, five-four, maybe five-five. Wearing a simple dress that looked like she'd bought it at a department store, not a boutique. The same oversized glasses from the photo. Hair pulled back severely. No makeup that I could see. She kept her eyes down, her shoulders hunched, like she was trying to take up as little space as possible.

"Jaxon Romano, this is my daughter Isla." Richard pushed her forward slightly. "Isla, this is your fiancé."

She looked up at me then, and for just a moment, I saw something in her eyes. Fear? Hope? I couldn't tell. But it was there, just for a second, before she dropped her gaze again.

"Hello," she said softly. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Isla." I extended my hand because it seemed like the polite thing to do.

She stared at my hand for a moment before taking it. Her grip was light, hesitant, like she was afraid to commit even to a handshake. Her hand was small and cold in mine.

"Nice to meet you," I said, because what else did you say to the stranger you'd be marrying in two weeks?

She nodded but didn't speak.

"Shall we get started?" Finch gestured to the conference table. "We have quite a bit of paperwork to review."

The next hour was excruciating. Finch went through the prenuptial agreement page by page, what Isla would receive in the marriage (a monthly allowance, access to household accounts, health insurance), what she wouldn't receive (any stake in Apex Technologies, any claim to Romano family assets, any spousal support if the marriage ended within the first five years).

It was brutal and clinical. A contract for indentured servitude dressed up as a marriage agreement.

Isla sat next to her father and said nothing. Didn't ask questions. Didn't object to any terms, no matter how one-sided. Just sat there with her hands folded in her lap, occasionally glancing at the papers in front of her.

"Do you understand the terms?" Finch asked her directly.

"Yes." That same soft voice.

"And you agree to them?"

"Yes."

"Isla, you have the right to have your own lawyer review this," Finch said, and I could hear the performative nature of the offer. He knew she wouldn't take it.

"That won't be necessary," Richard answered for her. "My daughter understands what's expected."

I wanted to object. Wanted to tell her she should have representation, should have someone advocating for her interests. But I said nothing. Because I was a coward. Because I wanted this over with. Because some part of me had already decided that Isla Winters wasn't really my problem.

She signed the papers with a shaking hand. Her father signed as witness. My father signed. I signed.

Just like that, Isla Winters became my fiancée.

"The wedding will be two weeks from this Saturday," my father announced. "Courthouse ceremony. Small reception after. Isla, you'll move into Jaxon's penthouse immediately following the ceremony."

She nodded.

"Do you have any questions?" I asked her directly, trying to engage with her, trying to see some sign of personality beneath the scared, silent exterior.

She looked up at me briefly. "No. I understand."

"Are you sure? This is a big change. If you need anything…"

"She's fine," Richard interrupted. "Aren't you, Isla?"

"Yes, Father."

And that was it. The meeting ended. The Winters family left. And I was engaged to a woman I'd spoken maybe twenty words to.

"She's perfect," my father said after they'd gone. "Quiet. Obedient. She'll give you no trouble at all."

He was right about that. Isla Winters would give me no trouble.

But years later, when I finally understood what I'd done, I realized that wasn't because she was perfect.

It was because I'd been too blind to see her at all.