Chapter Thirty-nine
Serena
This trip had been a dream. Florence wasn’t just about art, history, and breathtaking views, it was where I learned the layers of Lorenzo I never thought I’d see.
Where I saw the man who can command a room kneel down to feed swans in the garden with me.
Where he let me in, completely. Where he told me he loved me.
God. He loves me. And I love him.
But now… my gaze is locked on the marriage contract lying on the coffee table like it’s mocking me.
A thick, cold weight in my chest tightens every time I look at it.
My father promised we’d “discuss my terms” today, meaning I told him I would never sign it, and he told me he would “handle” my resistance.
It’s been two days since we landed back in New York.
Two days of trying to slip back into normal life if you can call this normal.
I’ve moved most of my clothes and essentials into Lorenzo’s house, though I keep telling myself I haven’t fully moved in.
Truth is, it already feels like home. Bianca’s warm smile when she brings out breakfast. Milkshake and Pancake leaping on me every time I walk through the door.
Even the evening walks with Lorenzo feel like we’re some old married couple.
I’ve even… made progress with Andres. He still glares, still grumbles, but I think I’ve earned something that might pass for tolerance.
Everything should feel perfect.
But it doesn’t. Not with that contract sitting there. Not with my father’s voice still lingering in the back of my mind.
A sharp knock slices through my thoughts. My stomach sinks.
I know exactly who it is.
When I open the door, the coldness hits me before the winter air does.
My father’s face is stone, no warmth, no pretense.
My mother stands beside him, lips curved in something that technically counts as a smile but feels like a knife edge.
The kind of smile that warns you not to get too comfortable.
“Father,” I manage, then turn to her. “Mother.”
They don’t greet me. They don’t even look at me, just step inside like they own the air I’m breathing. Which, to them, I suppose they do.
“Thank you for coming,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s really important for me to clarify this.”
My father sits without a word. His eyes are cold enough to freeze water. He tosses an envelope onto the table, the sound sharp in the silence.
“Look inside,” he says, voice flat and lethal. “Then I’ll do the talking.”
I hesitate, then slide the photos out. My breath catches.
Pictures. Dozens of them. Me and Lorenzo at the Moretti Anniversary party. At the airport. In Florence. Kissing. Laughing. Holding hands. Him wrapping his arms around me like the world doesn’t exist. Every single moment captured and stripped bare for them to see.
I feel my stomach twist, sick, violated. I knew our relationship wasn’t exactly a secret, but this… this is surveillance. This is a message: We see you. We own you.
“Since when did my daughter become a criminal’s whore?” my father says, his voice a blade, slicing clean through me.
I freeze. That word. That tone. He’s spoken to me sharply before, but never like this. Never with such disgust that it makes me want to fold in on myself.
“I thought we made ourselves clear,” my mother says, her voice clipped and precise. “You are to marry Ian. No discussions. No negotiations. We gave you a month to prepare yourself for the idea, but it was never a choice. It’s an obligation.”
Their faces are mirrors of the same emotion, disappointment laced with contempt.
Something hot and sharp sparks in my chest. My voice comes before I can stop it.
“First of all, mind your fucking language when you talk to me, Father.”
His eyes flash, but I push forward, refusing to let the tremble in my voice show.
“Lorenzo is my boyfriend. We’re together. And I am not marrying Ian.”
The silence is thick enough to choke on.
I glance between them, the fury in my blood threatening to spill over. “Now, if that’s all you wanted to say, get out of my fucking house.” My voice cracks, but I force it to sound like steel.
He smirks. It’s worse than if he’d shouted.
“Your house?” he repeats, like the word tastes ridiculous in his mouth. “You have nothing, Serena. Every single thing you own exists because of me. And just as easily, I can take it all away.”
I stare at him, my hands curling into fists at my sides.
“I’m sorry if I made it sound like you had a choice,” he goes on, voice calm and deadly. “But mark my words, you will marry Ian. Very soon.”
I let out a short, bitter laugh that tastes of salt and ash. Because I realize in this moment… they’re not here to negotiate. They never were. They came to remind me exactly where my chains are.
And it makes me want to break them so badly I could scream.
“Do you think your little boyfriend will still want you after he finds out you’re engaged?”
My mother’s voice is syrupy sweet, but her smile is pure venom.
“What?” The word barely makes it past my lips. My stomach drops so violently I feel dizzy. “What are you talking about? I’m not engaged.”
“Oh, my darling, of course you are.” She reaches for the stack of papers on the table with the grace of someone delivering a gift. “Here’s the agreement you signed to get engaged to Ian.”
I take it from her, my pulse thundering in my ears. The contract stares back at me, formal and crisp, with my signature scrawled in perfect, damning ink. And Ian’s.
My signature.
The room tilts. My vision narrows to that one mocking curve of my name.
I never signed this.
But the handwriting… it’s identical.
My chest tightens until I can barely breathe. “This is fake,” I whisper, though it comes out shaky and weak.
“Is it?” my father asks, his tone unreadable, his eyes dark.
How many times have they done this? How many papers, how many deals, have I ‘signed’ without knowing?
“It doesn’t matter,” I force out, my voice trembling but louder now.
“It’s just a paper. I’m not going to marry him.
” My eyes flick between them, willing them to understand, but they’re as still as stone statues.
The date on the document mocks me, it’s from right before the Moretti anniversary party. The night my life began to change.
My father leans forward, voice heavy with authority.
“I want you to listen to me. Even if you don’t end this, he will.
I don’t want tantrums. You will marry Ian.
That’s the least you can do after what we’ve done for you.
” His lip curls like he’s speaking about something filthy.
“The shame you’ve put me through, parading yourself around with that criminal.
My partners questioning me. The endless explanations to John just to keep the wedding on track. ”
He shakes his head slowly, like I’m a disappointment he saw coming all along. “You’re going to beg Ian for forgiveness, for acting like a worthless whore, and then you’re going to be a good wife to him. Is that clear?”
I can’t breathe. My throat feels raw, my lungs too small. My parents’ faces blur with the tears gathering in my eyes. I don’t recognize them anymore. Did they ever love me? Or have they always been like this, hiding behind polite smiles until the knife was ready?
“Get out!” The words rip from me, cracked and sharp. My voice echoes off the walls.
My father laughs, low, cruel, and stands, moving toward the door with slow, deliberate steps. My mother stays seated, legs crossed, calm like a queen in her court.
Is there a reason for this? Or are they simply… evil?
“If you want him out of jail, you will marry,” she says, her tone almost bored. She drops another envelope on the table. When I open it, I wish I hadn’t.
Photographs spill out like poison. Lorenzo. Andres. Lev. Dante. Men I don’t recognize. Some laughing in restaurants, others talking in shadowed streets. Surveillance, every one of them.
“Do you know who they are?” she asks, almost smiling.
“Russian mafia. Italian mafia. Wanted men, every one of them. John can have him rotting in jail just for breathing the same air as these people. And if he does, well… even a short sentence would be enough to have him beaten to a pulp inside.” She laughs softly, the sound making my skin crawl.
“So, if you love him…” She laughs again at the word, as if it’s a punchline.
“…you’ll leave him alone and marry Ian. Although, I doubt he’ll want you back after what I’ve sent him. ”
The air freezes in my lungs. “What?”
“The contract you signed, dated and all, was sent to that club, Cursed, under Lorenzo’s name. Five hours ago.” She winks. “We didn’t have his home address, but I’m sure it’ll find its way to him.”
No. No, no, no. My chest feels like it’s caving in. I’ll fix this. I’ll make him believe me. He loves me.
But my heart pounds so hard I think it might burst, and my stomach twists until I can’t stop it,
I vomit right there on the floor.
“Pathetic,” my mother says, wrinkling her nose as she rises.
“Why?” I choke out, my voice shaking so violently I barely recognize it.
She pauses at the doorway, glancing over her shoulder. “Why what?”
“Why do you hate me so much?” My vision blurs, my chest heaves, and my voice cracks into sobs. “What have I ever done to you?”
Her face twists into something unrecognizable, rage and something deeper, something ugly.
“You were born!” she spits, the words hitting me like slaps.
“You destroyed my life the day you came into it. I gained weight because of you, and he started cheating. I lost my career because of you. We didn’t have time for each other because of you.
” Her voice climbs higher, sharper. “Because of you, I lost my husband. Everything. You’ll pay for what you’ve done to me! ”
Her face is blotched red, her voice shrill as she slams the door so hard I swear the walls shake.