Chapter 2 Luca
The day before my wedding starts the way most days in my life do. With my shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow while a man who needs to be taught a lesson bleeds at my feet.
This asshole won’t be skimming from my dock operations again. Not unless he enjoys pissing blood. Some men only understand fear when it’s wearing my face and breathing down their neck.
I made sure he understood.
By mid-morning, the blood’s scrubbed off my hands and I’m sitting in my father’s study, listening to him discuss tomorrow’s wedding like it’s a contract signing.
Which, in our world, it is.
"The Arcari family will bring legitimacy," he says, not looking up from his newspaper. "Their art business is clean. International connections. Perfect front for our expansion."
I nod. I've heard this speech before. The marriage isn't about love or even lust. It's about power. Territory. The form of strategic alliance that keeps families like ours on top.
“Sofia is acceptable,” my father adds, as if he’s referring to a horse he’s considering buying. “Quiet. Well-educated. Won’t cause problems.”
Acceptable.
I’ve seen Sofia four times in two years. Always in public, always with her father watching. Pretty enough, in a soft, forgettable way. Brown hair, big eyes that never meet mine. Small hands that shake if you raise your voice or move too fast.
She's afraid of me.
Which is a good thing because fear’s a foundation I can work with.
"Any concerns?" my father asks, finally glancing up.
"No." What would be the point? I don't get to choose my wife any more than I got to choose this life. At thirty-two, I've learned to take what comes and make it work for me.
He nods once. In this house, that passes for paternal approval.
My phone buzzes. Paolo, my lieutenant, texting about tonight's shipment. Business doesn't stop for weddings. Tomorrow's ceremony is providing cover for moving three containers of very expensive, very illegal cargo through the port.
"I need to handle some things," I say, standing.
“The bachelor party is at nine,” he says without looking up. It’s not a request
“I’ll be there."
The “party” will be a pack of drunk men pretending to enjoy overpriced whiskey and bored dancers. I’ll show my face, drink just enough to look like I’m celebrating, and then disappear into the VIP room to settle disputes over territory while the music keeps curious ears away.
I leave the study, the portraits of dead Romanos glaring down at me as I pass. They all look like they died angry. Probably did.
This life doesn’t breed happiness, it breeds survivors.
Paolo buzzes my phone again. “Everything’s in place,” he says. “Shipment hits the docks at eleven. And the Mancini problem is handled. The word’s spread. No one else is going to get ideas.”
That’s how you run a business. Make an example once, and ten other problems disappear.
When I hang up, my thoughts drift to tomorrow. Sofia Arcari becomes Sofia Romano. Two families tie themselves together with vows no one means but everyone will enforce. She’ll smile when told, keep her opinions to herself, and look pretty on my arm when the occasion calls for it.
I’ll keep running the empire and expanding our reach. Making decisions that keep our family feared and respected from Naples to Milan.
The only difference is a gold band on my finger.
I walk out onto the terrace. Rome spreads below like a kingdom, all ancient stones and modern corruption.
My kingdom, or it will be when my father steps down soon.
Every politician in the city owes us favors.
Half the police force is on our payroll.
The other half knows better than to ask too many questions.
This is what Sofia's marrying into. Not a man, but an empire.
She has no idea what she's in for.
In those awkward dinners, she asked me once about my “work.” I told her importing. She nodded as if that explained everything, probably picturing crates of wine and olive oil instead of the real contents.
My phone buzzes again. It’s Lucia this time. Red hair, warm mouth. We’ve been fucking for two months, and her message is explicit.
After tomorrow, I'll need to be more discreet. Married men have reputations to maintain. But marriage won't change my appetites. Sofia can have the title and the ring. Other women can have everything else.
I text Lucia back, suggesting she find new entertainment. By tomorrow night, I'll be a married man. Time to clean house.
She responds with a string of angry emojis and a threat to tell my new wife.
Let her try. Men in my world are expected to have affairs. Discretion is the only requirement.
The sun burns the last of the morning haze off the city. In twenty-four hours, I’ll stand at an altar, promising to honor a woman I barely know.
The words will be lies. But they’ll hold weight.
Because marriage isn’t about love.
It’s about ownership.
And tomorrow, Sofia Arcari will be mine.
Whether she’s ready or not.