Chapter 3 Giuliana #3
“No, listen to me.” She reaches over and grabs my hand.
“I’ve watched you take care of everyone else for years.
Your mom when she was sick, your dad when he started gambling, every stray animal that crosses your path.
But you never let anyone take care of you.
Well, tough shit, because that’s changing now. ”
Tears blur my vision again. She’s going to get herself killed. “You don’t understand what you’re risking.”
“Then help me understand,” she pleads, her brown eyes searching mine. “Who is this guy? What does he want with your family?”
I look out at the lake, watching sailboats drift across the gray water like white ghosts. The deadline Luca gave me is approaching fast, and every minute I delay is another minute closer to a decision that will change everything.
“He wants justice,” I say finally. “For something my father did three years ago. Something that got an innocent man killed.”
Katie is quiet for a long moment, processing this new information. “And marriage is supposed to be justice?”
“Marriage is supposed to be torture.” The words taste acrid in my mouth. “A way to make sure my father suffers by watching his daughter pay for his mistakes.”
“Fuck.” Katie releases my hand and leans back in her seat. “Gigi, you can’t seriously be considering this.”
An ugly laugh tears out of me. “What choice do I have?” The desperation I’ve been holding back all morning finally breaks through.
I tick the choices off on my fingers. “Run, and he kills both of us, along with anyone who helped me. Go to the police, and he kills us before they can do anything about it. Stay and refuse, and I get to watch my father die slowly while I wait for my turn.”
Katie bites her lip and clenches her hands into fists. “There has to be another option.”
“Maybe. But I can’t see it, and I’m running out of time to figure it out.”
We sit in silence as the first drops of rain begin hitting the windshield.
The promised storm is rolling in from the lake, dark clouds swallowing the last of the afternoon light.
I watch the joggers on the lakefront path pick up their pace, hurrying for shelter before the real downpour begins.
Luca Marchetti’s cold eyes and elegant suits dance in my vision.
I think about the casual way he mentioned Katie’s name, and how he knew exactly who she was and where to find her.
I think about my father kneeling in that circle of harsh light, beaten and terrified but still breathing.
And I think about the recording buried in my cloud storage, the one piece of evidence that could change everything if I were brave enough to use it.
But bravery and stupidity often look the same from the outside, and I’m not sure I can tell the difference anymore.
The rain starts in earnest now, drumming against the car roof. It sounds like bullets, and I involuntarily flinch.
Katie looks at me with concern before she starts the engine and turns on the heater.
The car is filled with warm air that smells like her vanilla perfume and her peppermint gum.
“Whatever you decide,” she says quietly, “I’ve got your back. Even if you don’t want me to.”
I close my eyes and let myself have one moment—just one—of imagining what it would be like to be brave enough to run.
To pack a bag and drive to Canada with Katie, to disappear into new identities and quiet lives where the worst thing I’d have to worry about would be whether the local veterinary practice was hiring.
But when I open my eyes, I’m still in Chicago, still trapped by choices I didn’t make and consequences I can’t escape.
“Take me home,” I tell Katie quietly.
She looks concerned, her brown eyes wide. “Gigi—” she starts, but I can’t bear anymore conversation.
“Please. I need to be alone for a while,” I tell her.
She sighs.
The drive back to my apartment passes in heavy silence, broken only by the steady rhythm of rain against the windshield.
Katie parks outside my building but doesn’t turn off the engine.
I turn to open the car door, but Katie grabs me. I look back at her.
“Whatever you’re thinking of doing,” she says, “you don’t have to do it alone.”
I smile sadly at her. “Yes, I do.” I squeeze her hand and drink in her features. Is this the last time I’ll ever see Katie? I can’t see Luca allowing me any freedoms. “Promise me you’ll stay away from this. Promise me you’ll let me handle it.”
“I can’t promise that,” she says fiercely, her eyes welling up with tears.
I was afraid of that. “Then promise me you’ll be careful.”
She nods reluctantly and lets me go.
I carefully slide out of the car and walk as quickly as my lungs allow through the rain to my building’s entrance. I can feel her watching me until I disappear inside.
My apartment feels smaller than usual, the walls pressing in like they’re trying to squeeze the breath from my lungs.
I trudge from room to room touching familiar things, like the throw pillow Mom crocheted before she got too sick, the veterinary school diploma I was so proud of, photos of happier times when Dad still smiled without looking haunted.
My phone sits on the kitchen counter with Luca’s number programmed in, waiting.
The deadline is four hours away.
Four hours. Four hours that will decide if my father lives or dies.
Is he even alive?
The question runs through my mind.
Luca said he’d live if I agreed, but that was before I tried to fight.
Before his man had to beat me down to keep me from interfering.
What if that changed things?
What if they decided Dad wasn’t worth the trouble?
I try to talk myself out of it. I sit on my couch and make lists of alternatives, scenarios where this ends differently.
Maybe I could go to the FBI.
Maybe there’s witness protection for daughters of reluctant informants.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
But every maybe leads back to the same conclusion: Luca Marchetti doesn’t make idle threats, and my father is already living on borrowed time.
I pick up the phone three times and set it back down.
My hands shake so badly I can barely hold it steady.
This is insane.
People don’t get forced into marriage in the twenty-first century.
There have to be laws, protections, someone who can help.
Except the kind of men who burn down veterinary clinics and beat up gambling addicts don’t tend to worry much about laws.
The fourth time I pick up the phone, I dial before I can talk myself out of it.
My ribs throb with each breath, a reminder of what happens when I fight back.
But I have to know.
I have to hear Luca’s voice and know that Dad is still alive.
It rings twice before his voice fills my ear, smooth as silk and twice as dangerous.
“Giuliana.” His voice caresses the syllables of my name.
My throat feels like it’s closing up. “I accept.”
There’s a pause, and I swear I can almost hear him smiling. “Wise choice. My driver will pick you up tomorrow morning at eight. Bring one suitcase. Everything else from your previous life stays behind.”
The line goes dead, and I stare at the phone for a long moment before setting it carefully on the counter.
I’ve just agreed to marry a monster to save my father’s life.
Except I don’t even know if I succeeded. Luca didn’t mention Dad.
He didn’t confirm he was alive.
He didn’t offer any reassurance beyond the original deal we made.
I press my palm against the counter, my other hand clutching my ribs as panic rises in my throat.
What if it’s already too late?
What if I just sold my freedom for nothing?
The rain pounds harder against my windows, and I can’t shake the feeling that this is only the beginning.
That whatever Luca Marchetti has planned for me is going to be far worse than I can imagine.
Somewhere in the darkness, my father is either alive and suffering or dead because I couldn’t save him.