Chapter 7 #2
The reason I’m here, dressed like a doll and playing pretend for an audience of criminals and corrupt politicians.
The territorial alliance that requires my captivity and cooperation.
“Miss Conti,” Viktor says, his accent placing him somewhere in Eastern Europe decades ago.
It pisses me off to be called ‘Miss’ instead of ‘Doctor.’ He takes my hand with old-world courtesy, his blue eyes studying me intently.
“You are even lovelier than Luca described. He’s been quite secretive about you.
We were beginning to think you were a fiction. ”
“I assure you, I’m very real,” I manage to say, my voice steady despite the horror churning in my stomach.
“Indeed.” Viktor smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “And you’ve agreed to marry this dangerous man? You must be either very brave or very foolish.”
The comment is clearly a test disguised as a joke.
I feel Luca’s hand tighten against my back, a warning to tread carefully.
“I prefer to think of it as very lucky,” I say, forcing warmth into my voice. “Not many women get to marry their best friend.”
Natasha’s perfectly shaped eyebrows rise slightly, and something flickers in her expression that I can’t read.
Viktor laughs, a booming sound that draws attention from nearby conversations.
“Well said, my dear! Luca, you’ve found yourself a clever one.” He claps Luca on the shoulder with the familiarity of equals. “We should discuss the North Side arrangements over drinks. If you’ll excuse us, ladies?”
The men move away toward the bar, leaving me alone with Natasha Torrino, who studies me like I’m a particularly interesting specimen under glass.
“Shall we get some air?” she suggests, her voice carrying the kind of authority that makes it clear this isn’t really a request. It’s an order. “It’s stifling in here.”
Part of me wants to object, but I know better than that. I follow her through the crowd toward a set of French doors that open onto a terrace overlooking Michigan Avenue.
The October air is cool against my overheated skin, and I breathe deeply, savoring the brief escape from the ballroom’s suffocating atmosphere.
Natasha leans against the stone balustrade, her white gown glowing in the light spilling from the ballroom.
Up close, she’s even more beautiful—perfect features, flawless skin, and the kind of effortless elegance that comes from a lifetime of privilege.
“So,” she says, studying her manicured nails with studied casualness, “how did you really meet Luca?”
The question catches me off guard. “I-I’m sorry?”
“Come now, Dr. Conti. We’re both intelligent women.” She looks up at me, and her blue eyes are sharp despite her friendly tone.
My heart pounds against my chest at her use of my title.
Someone has been researching me.
Who else has?
“Luca Marchetti has been eligible for years,” Natasha continues. “He’s wealthy, powerful, and devastatingly handsome. Every woman in our circles has tried to catch his attention at some point. Including me, I’ll admit. And he’s never shown the slightest interest in any of us.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. “Maybe he was waiting for the right person.”
“Or maybe,” Natasha continues, her voice dropping lower, “his sudden engagement is about something other than romance. My father has been negotiating this territorial alliance for quite a while. The timing is convenient, don’t you think?”
She knows. Or she suspects. And she’s testing me, trying to see if I’ll crack under pressure.
“I don’t know what you’re implying—”
“I’m not implying anything,” she interrupts smoothly. “I’m simply noting that Luca’s behavior is uncharacteristic, which makes people curious. And in our world, Dr. Conti, curiosity can be dangerous.”
She steps closer. Despite her elegant appearance, there’s something predatory in her movement. “You should be careful. A woman attached to a man like Luca becomes a target—for his enemies, for anyone looking to gain leverage, for rival families who see vulnerability where there was none before.”
The words send ice through my veins. “Is that a threat?” My voice trembles slightly and I hate myself for it.
Natasha smirks, noting the sound. “It’s a warning.
” Her smile turns is cold and beautiful.
“I’m sure Luca has explained the risks, but let me be perfectly clear: your very existence makes him more vulnerable.
His enemies will study you for weaknesses, test you for exploitable fears, and use you to hurt him if given the opportunity. ”
God, I’m going to pass out.
My knees feel weak and I nonchalantly place my hand on the railing for support.
They’ll come after me.
Torture me.
Kill me.
And Luca won’t care because I’m just a tool to him anyway. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because despite my disappointment that Luca chose someone else, I’m not cruel.” She straightens, smoothing her gown as she tracks my arm’s movements. “You seem like a decent person, Dr. Conti. It would be a shame to see you destroyed simply because you fell in love with the wrong man.”
Before I can respond, she’s gone, gliding back into the ballroom like a ghost in white silk.
I stand alone on the terrace, her words echoing in my mind as my heart continues to thump wildly. A target. Vulnerable. Exploitable.
I’m not just Luca’s prisoner. I’m also prey for every enemy he has. They’ll come after me. They’ll hurt me. Use me as a weapon against him. And I have no way to protect myself. I have no allies or escape. I’m trapped in his estate, surrounded by his enemies, and I’m completely expendable.
The realization makes my elaborate gown feel like a target painted on my back.
The sound of male voices drifts from around the corner of the terrace, and I press myself against the wall, instinctively hiding. Two men are talking, their voices low but carrying clearly in the cool night air.
“—think this marriage changes anything?” one says, his accent thick with South Side Chicago. “Marchetti’s gettin’ soft, wastin’ time on romance when he should be consolidatin’ territory.”
“Could be an opening,” the other responds. “A man in love makes mistakes. Gets distracted. And that pretty little doctor of his would make excellent leverage if things get messy.”
My stomach drops. Leverage. They’re talking about kidnapping me, hurting me. Using me as a bargaining chip.
“Romano thinks so too. He’s already got people looking into her background, seein’ what buttons we can push.”
Romano. The name sends my heart racing. The casual way these men discuss using me as if I’m nothing makes my blood run cold. They’re planning to come after me. To hurt me. And there’s nothing I can do to stop them.
The second voice sighs. “She’s under heavy guard at the estate. It won’t be easy to get to her.”
“Don’t need to get to her,” the first voice responds. “Jus’ need to make Marchetti think we might. Psychological warfare’s more effective than physical anyway.”
They laugh, a sound that makes my skin crawl, then their footsteps fade as they move back into the ballroom.
I stand frozen against the wall, my mind racing.
I’m not just trapped in a marriage I didn’t choose.
I’m trapped in the center of a war zone where I’m collateral damage waiting to happen.
Where multiple groups of dangerous men see me as something to exploit.
And Luca’s revenge scheme has put me here.
It’s made me a target for every criminal in Chicago while giving me no way to protect myself.
My breath comes in short pants, my ribs still sore.
The French doors open again, and Luca appears, his expression darkening when he sees me pressed against the wall.
“What are you doing out here alone?” His voice carries an edge of anger. “I told you not to wander off.”
I blink at him, hoping he doesn’t see the fear on my face. “I–I was talking to Natasha Torrino. She left a minute ago.”
His eyes flare. “What did she say to you?” he demands.
I swallow. “That your enemies will see me as a weakness. That being engaged to you makes me a target.” I meet his eyes, letting him see my fear and fury. “Is she right?”
Luca’s expression shutters, becoming unreadable.
He closes the distance between us in three strides, his hand gripping my elbow—not painfully, but firmly enough to remind me who’s in control.
“We’re leaving,” he says, guiding me toward the doors with inexorable force.
“You didn’t answer my question.” Is his silence an answer though?
“We’ll discuss this in the car.”
But we don’t discuss it in the car. Luca sits in rigid silence during the forty-minute drive back to the estate, his jaw tight and his eyes fixed on the passing city lights.
I don’t push—partly because I’m afraid of his response, and partly because I already know the answer.
Yes, I’m a target.
Yes, I’m a liability.
Yes, my very existence puts both of us in danger.
And there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.
Back at the estate, Luca walks me to my suite without a word. When we reach my door, he finally speaks.”
“Everything Natasha told you is true,” he says, his voice flat and emotionless. “You are a target. My enemies will look for ways to exploit you, to use you against me. That’s why you remain locked in this estate and why your movements are monitored. It’s why I control every aspect of your life.”
“So I’m not just your prisoner,” I say bitterly. “I’m also bait for every criminal in Chicago who wants to hurt you. You’ve made me a target and given me no way to defend myself.”
He’s unbothered by my words. “You’re a necessary component of a larger strategy.” He reaches past me to unlock the door, and the scent of his cologne makes my traitorous body respond despite my hatred. “What you are to me personally is irrelevant.”
The words shouldn’t hurt. I know he doesn’t care about me. I know I’m nothing but a tool in his revenge against my father. But hearing him confirm it so coldly still fucking hurts. I hate him, but it still stings to know my life means nothing to him.
“Get some rest,” he continues, opening the door. “You performed adequately tonight, but there’s room for improvement.”
Adequately. Like I’m an employee receiving a performance review rather than a human being he's holding captive.
I walk into my prison without another word, listening to the lock click behind me with its now-familiar finality.
The beautiful gown that cost a fortune suddenly feels like a costume from a play I never auditioned for, like a uniform marking me as Luca’s property.
My reflection stares back at me from the mirror—perfect hair, perfect makeup, perfect jewelry, perfect everything.
The woman looking back at me is a stranger, a carefully constructed fiction designed to serve Luca Marchetti’s purposes.
Something inside me snaps.
I reach back and yank at the zipper, not caring when I hear the delicate mechanism catch and tear.
The fabric rips as I pull the gown over my head, and the sound is so satisfying I do it again, grabbing fistfuls of emerald silk and tearing, shredding, destroying this beautiful, expensive thing that represents everything I’ve lost.
The gown comes apart in my hands, seams splitting, fabric tearing with sharp, violent sounds that fill the silent room.
I rip it into pieces, letting the shreds fall to the floor like green snow, and with each tear I feel something loosening in my chest—rage, grief, desperation, all of it pouring out through my hands as I destroy this symbol of my captivity.
When the gown is nothing but tatters scattered across the marble floor, I turn to the jewelry.
The diamond necklace goes first.
I unclasp it and let it drop with a satisfying clatter.
The earrings follow, then the bracelet, all of it piled on top of the ruined silk.
The pins in my hair are next, scattering to the floor with barely a sound.
My hands are shaking, my breathing ragged, but for the first time in nearly two weeks, I feel something other than helpless.
This small act of destruction, this petty rebellion that will probably earn me punishment tomorrow, it’s mine.
He can control where I go, what I say, who I see, but he can’t control this.
He can’t stop me from destroying the pretty costume he dressed me in.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror again.
My hair is disheveled from pulling out bobby pins, my makeup smeared from angry tears I didn’t realize I was crying.
I stand in my underwear surrounded by tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of destroyed clothing and jewelry.
I look like a disaster.
But god, it feels good to fight back, even in this small, ultimately meaningless way.
I roughly wash off the makeup, scrubbing until my face is red and raw.
I pull out some missed bobby pins, letting my hair fall in tangled waves.
I transform myself back from trophy into person, from the perfect accessory into a furious woman.
Fuck him. Fuck him fuck him fuck him.
Once I climb into bed, I stare at the ceiling in the darkness.
My stomach roils and my body feels jittery from the adrenaline of destroying the gown.
I’m not just trapped in this fucking sham of a marriage.
Luca’s enemies want to hurt me.
And Luca doesn’t fucking care. What happens to me is “irrelevant beyond my usefulness.”
The rage burns hotter than the fear.
He paraded me around like property tonight.
He dressed me up like a doll.
He made me smile for criminals and politicians.
And now I’m just supposed to accept it?
Play the obedient captive and wait for whatever he decides to do with me?
Fuck that.
Tomorrow, Luca will see what I did with his precious gown and jewelry.
He’ll know that I’m not completely broken yet.
There’s still fight in me, even if all I can do right now is destroy beautiful things.
It’s not much, but it’s all I have right now.
I’m not done fighting yet. Not by a long shot.