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Alessia

I knew something was wrong the moment Sister Eileen knocked. Not because she ever smiled—she didn’t—but because this time, she wouldn’t meet my eyes.

"Pack your things, Alessia. Your mother is here."

I blinked at her from behind my history textbook, my heart skipping once, then twice. “My… mother?”

She gave a curt nod. "Now, Alessia."

I hadn’t seen my mother in over two years. Not for holidays, not even after I turned eighteen. While the rest of the girls at Saint Theresa’s went home to their families, I’d spent every break here. They said it was for my safety, that being a Romano meant distance was survival.

So why was she here now?

By the time I stepped outside with my suitcase in tow, the answer was already staring back at me: a black Escalade flanked by two matte Range Rovers. Men in black shirts and darker expressions lined the entrance of the school. Girls gathered at the arched windows behind me, their whispers loud enough.

"Who are they?"

"Is she a V.I.P or something?"

“Or something,” I muttered under my breath.

I'd managed to keep a low profile here, the quiet scholarship girl from Room 204. Until now.

Mother’s gaze swept over me, like she was appraising whether I still fit the mold she had sent away two years ago. "You’ve grown," she said at last. It sounded more like a problem than a compliment.

The drive back was silent for ten full minutes before I finally dared to speak.

"Is everything okay?"

Mother’s fingers tightened around the handle of her clutch. “Your questions can wait until we’re home.”

So no, everything was not okay.

Home— if I could even call it that— was a gated estate buried deep in Oak Brook. A house designed like an Italian villa, complete with armed guards, surveillance cameras, a wine cellar we weren’t allowed in and a chapel no one ever used.

I barely had time to get out of the car before Arianna came running at me full speed, her braids bouncing, nearly knocking me over. "Alessia!" She squealed.

I laughed despite myself, lifting her into a hug. "You got taller.”

“I turned ten last month!”

Aurelia appeared behind her like a shadow, her small fingers clutching a stuffed rabbit so old its ears drooped. She stared up at me, eyes wide and unsure. The last time I saw her, she couldn’t even form a full sentence.

“Lia,” I whispered.

She took a hesitant step forward, and then another before wrapping her arms around my leg.

“Inside,” Mother said, already walking ahead. “Your father is waiting.”

I stiffened.

Arianna stopped smiling.

Aurelia clutched my leg tighter.

Even the guards seemed to hold their breath.

Because no one liked being summoned by the Boss.

★★★★★

I paused at Father's office door, trying not to wring my hands like some nervous child. But the old instinct returned.

Keep your spine straight, chin up, don’t speak unless spoken to.

I knocked.

“Come in.”

I stepped into the room that hadn’t changed in decades. The same shelves were lined with leather-bound books, most of them unread. A framed portrait of Saint Michael glared down from above the fireplace like a silent threat. My father sat behind the mahogany desk, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back.

He didn’t look up immediately. Just turned a page in the file in front of him. “Sit.”

I lowered myself into the leather chair across from him, smoothing my dress across my knees. There was a long pause before he finally looked up, his brown eyes blank. "You look thinner."

I didn’t answer.

His voice dropped an octave, colder than before. "I thought keeping you away from the family would protect you. I was wrong."

I swallowed. My hands curled slightly in my lap.

"Do you know how many threats we face now, figlia mia? How many men want to see our blood on the pavement?"

Why was he telling me this?

He stood and moved to the window, arms behind his back. “They say blood is thicker than water, but I’ve learned it’s only thicker when spilled. We can’t afford more enemies. Not now. So we’re choosing our battles." He turned slightly. “Yesterday, I finalized a decision with Rafael Moretti.”

My breath caught. Our feud with the New York famiglia had been going on long before I was born. It was a silent war everyone in our world pretended didn't exist, and I knew better than to think this was routine.

He folded his hands. “To solidify the alliance, you will marry his only son, Nico. The future Capo dei Capi.”

I stared at him like he’d spoken a foreign language. Maybe he had. Maybe the words only made sense in a dialect where daughters were pawns and weddings were war strategies.

I shook my head slowly. "No."

"You’re eighteen, Alessia. Legally, you can refuse. But you won’t.”

I knew exactly two things about Nico Moretti: he was next in line to lead New York’s most ruthless crime family, and he had once shoved a man’s face through a glass table for speaking out of turn. Some called him methodical. Some called him cold. Most didn’t call him anything at all—not if they wanted to keep their tongues.

He was twenty-eight. Ten years older than me. Practically ancient in my world. Practically a stranger.

“Father,” I said, barely recognizing my own voice. “Please don’t do this.”

His expression didn’t shift, but something in his eyes grew colder. “You think this is about you? Alessia, I’d burn in hell myself if it meant keeping this family afloat. You’ll do what needs to be done.”

"What does that make me? A bargaining chip?"

"You’re a Romano. And with that name comes responsibility."

"To be traded off like property?”

“You’ll marry Nico. It’s already done.”

“Then undo it.”

His brow twitched. “I shook hands with his father. That means something in our world. You will honor it.”

Tears threatened to rise, but I forced them down. He’d taught me better than to cry in front of him. Or anyone. Weakness got you nothing. Except maybe bruises.

“There will be a party,” he continued, as if my entire life wasn’t burning to ash between us. “A celebration. The families will attend. Nico will want to meet you in person.”

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“So he can size me up?” I asked quietly. “Like a car he’s thinking of buying?”

Father’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll act with grace. Like a Romano. I won't warn you twice. Understood?”

I nodded numbly, the motion barely there. “When?” My voice cracked, and I hated it.

“Next week.”

That gave me barely seven days to pretend I had a future. Seven days to cling to whatever scraps of freedom I had left. “So… Can I go back to school?” I asked.

Not that it mattered. There’d be no college. No career. My life was already mapped out in blood and vows, and a bed I’d be forced to share.

“There’s no more school,” he said. “You’ll finish the remaining semester at home.”

My throat tightened further and tears pricked in my eyes, but I willed them not to fall. Father hated it when we lost control. “Is that all?” I whispered.

“For now.”

I stood before my knees could give out. Walked out before he could take anything else from me.

My hand was on the doorknob when he spoke again. “Alessia.”

I turned.

“You’ll do your duty.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. I was already drowning in it.