Chapter 10
Emilia
T he engagement party was in full swing by the time Adrianna and I arrived. The venue—a sprawling Italian villa nestled on the outskirts of the city—was decorated to perfection, with string lights draped across the gardens and tables adorned with white roses and gold accents. It was the kind of event that screamed wealth and tradition, a celebration meant to remind everyone of the power and prestige behind the union.
But as beautiful as it all was, the atmosphere felt suffocating.
Adrianna stood beside me, her expression carefully neutral as we surveyed the scene. She looked stunning in a deep emerald dress that hugged her curves, her dark hair swept into an elegant updo that framed her sharp, striking features. To anyone else, she could have been mistaken for one of the carefully curated decorations of the evening—flawless, poised, and perfectly in control. But I knew better.
We’d known each other since birth, our families intertwined by the strange, unspoken alliances of our world. Her father ran the Mancini family syndicate, another cornerstone of the Italian mafia, and Adrianna had been born into the same gilded cage I had. She hated it just as much, though she hid it better than I ever could. We’d grown up together, our childhoods filled with whispered secrets and shared rebellions against the rigid expectations placed on us.
When we turned eighteen, escape had seemed impossible— until St. Gabriel University.
It wasn’t just any college. St. Gabriel wasn’t listed in glossy brochures or celebrated in college rankings. You wouldn’t find it by accident, and no one stumbled across it on a road trip. It was an institution cloaked in secrecy, known only to those who belonged to the world of power and crime. The Bratva sent their heirs there. The cartel did, too. Even a few untouchable European dynasties. And, of course, the Italian mafia. St. Gabriel was where the next generation of leaders went to be forged. The only place where all the families had agreed the heirs would be safe.
The campus itself was shrouded in mystery, tucked away somewhere remote—no one ever gave directions, and no one ever needed to. You were sent there, and you didn’t ask questions. Gleaming marble halls, ivy-covered towers, and sprawling grounds that looked more like an old-world estate than a school—it was as beautiful as it was unnerving. To the outside world, it was just another elite private university. To us, it was something much more: a training ground.
Adrianna and I had gone together, our families insisting it was the only choice. For four years, St. Gabriel had been our illusioned escape, a place where the weight of family obligation felt lighter—if only by a fraction. We’d shared late-night study sessions and smuggled bottles of wine, laughing over professors who were probably on payrolls themselves and dreaming of lives unshackled by our last names.
But for all its beauty, St. Gabriel was a breeding ground for power, politics, and control. It was an ecosystem where alliances were forged over group projects and rivalries simmered beneath polite smiles. Who you sat with in the dining hall mattered. Who you partnered with in class could decide the trajectory of your future. Favors were traded like currency, and grudges formed there had a way of following you long after graduation.
Adrianna and I had always stuck together, watching carefully from the sidelines as the games of power played out around us. We didn’t have the luxury of forgetting who we were, no matter how much we wanted to. The families never let us.
Now, we were back where we’d started—two daughters of powerful men, expected to play our roles to perfection. The dreams we’d whispered to each other in college felt farther away than ever, buried beneath the weight of family expectations and the relentless pull of duty.
And yet, sometimes, I wondered if St. Gabriel had prepared us for this in ways we hadn’t realized. All those years of watching the chess pieces move, of learning how to read the subtlest shifts in power, had taught us something valuable.
Because the games we’d once only observed were now ours to play.
I looked to my side and Adrianna’s stiff posture gave her away She didn’t want to be here any more than I did. Her eyes scanned the crowd, sharp and calculating, as if she were looking for something—or someone—to distract her from the reality of the evening.
“Do you think they’ll have you married off next?” she muttered under her breath, her lips barely moving as she kept her gaze fixed on the scene.
I snorted, grateful for her dry humor. “If they can find someone who can put up with me, maybe.”
Her lips curved into a small, wry smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Poor bastard, whoever he is.”
I glanced at her, taking in the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers clutched her champagne flute like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Adrianna had always been the stronger of the two of us—the one who could charm a room and hide her true feelings behind a perfectly crafted mask. But tonight, even she seemed to be struggling.
“You okay?” I asked softly, nudging her shoulder with mine.
She gave a slight shrug, her gaze lingering on a group of men in dark suits who were deep in discussion near the bar. “I’m fine. Just more of the same, you know?” She took a sip of her champagne, her voice dropping slightly. “Another reminder that we’re nothing more than pawns in their game.”
I didn’t respond, because what could I say? She wasn’t wrong. This party, this engagement, the entire evening—it was all a performance, a carefully orchestrated display of power and unity.
Adrianna turned back to me, her expression softening slightly. “But at least I have you to suffer through this with,” she said, her tone teasing but her eyes sincere.
“Always,” I said, giving her a small smile.
She raised her glass, her lips curving into something closer to a real smile this time. “To surviving another night.”
“To surviving,” I echoed, clinking my glass against hers.
For a moment, the weight of the evening didn’t feel quite so heavy. With Adrianna by my side, it was easier to forget the expectations, the power plays, and the endless obligations. At least we had each other, even if the rest of the world was determined to keep us trapped.
“They went all out,” I said, my voice low as I sipped from my champagne flute. The bubbles fizzed against my tongue, but the drink did little to settle my nerves.
Adrianna’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course they did. Appearances are everything in our world.”
Her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. I glanced at her, noting the way her gaze lingered on the center of the room. Her fiancé—a man I barely knew but instinctively disliked—was holding court with a group of his associates, his laughter loud and grating. Adrianna’s smile tightened as she watched him, her fingers clenching around the stem of her glass.
“Is he good to you?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
She turned to me, her expression softening slightly. “Yes,” she said, though the lie was obvious. “It’s just...a marriage?”
I nodded, understanding all too well. Adrianna and I had grown up in the same world, bound by the same rules and expectations. We both knew what it meant to sacrifice our own happiness for the sake of family loyalty. But knowing didn’t make it any easier.
Soon, it would be my turn. My father hadn’t said anything yet, but I could feel it coming—the unspoken pressure tightening like a noose around my throat. A deal would be struck, a marriage arranged, and I’d be handed over like a pawn on a chessboard. It was just a matter of time.
The thought churned in my stomach, bitter and heavy, and before I could stop myself, my mind drifted to Dante’s words. If you were mine…
Heat rushed to my cheeks despite myself. The way he’d said it—low and firm, laced with that dangerous promise—made something twist deep inside me. I hated how easily his words wormed their way back into my thoughts, how they lingered like an uninvited guest.
Because as much as I wanted to dismiss him, to shove every arrogant, maddening thing he’d said out of my mind, I couldn’t. The idea of belonging to someone like Dante terrified me. And worse, it didn’t just terrify me—it thrilled me.
“Come on,” she said, breaking me from my thoughts as she looped her arm through mine. “Let’s mingle. If I have to endure this, you’re suffering with me.”
I let her drag me into the crowd, plastering on a polite smile as we made our way through the throng of guests. The room was filled with familiar faces—family members, associates, and the occasional distant cousin whose name I could never remember. The air buzzed with laughter and conversation, but beneath the surface, there was an undercurrent of tension, the kind that always accompanied events like this.
It didn’t take long for trouble to find me.
“Emilia,” a voice drawled from behind me, smooth but with an edge that sent a chill down my spine. I turned to find Romero standing there, his grin wide and predatory, like a wolf sizing up its prey. He was tall and lean, his tailored suit doing little to soften the sharp, angular lines of his frame. His dark hair was slicked back with precision, not a strand out of place, and his sharp cheekbones only added to the harshness of his features.
Romero was a family associate, one of my father’s most trusted men. Ruthless, calculating, and utterly loyal to the Ricci name—or at least, to the power it promised. But I’d never trusted him for a second. There was something about the way he moved, deliberate and too smooth, like every gesture was designed to unsettle. And the way he looked at me, like I was a prize to be claimed, made my skin crawl.
“Romero,” I said coolly, forcing my expression to remain neutral even as my stomach twisted. “I didn’t realize you were here.”
“Of course I’m here,” he said, stepping closer with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. His cologne hit me before he did, cloying and overpowering, a sharp, synthetic scent that made my nose wrinkle. “Wouldn’t miss a chance to see you.”
His grin widened, his teeth too perfect, too white, as his dark eyes swept over me in a way that made my pulse quicken—not with attraction, but with unease. He had a way of looking at me like I was an object, something he could acquire if he played his cards right.
“How flattering,” I said, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.
“You look beautiful tonight, Emilia. Truly breathtaking,” he said, his eyes roaming over me in a way that made my skin crawl. His voice was smooth, too smooth, dripping with a sweetness that felt anything but sincere.
“Thank you,” I replied stiffly, taking a deliberate step back. But like a shadow, he followed, closing the distance between us with an ease that made my spine straighten.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he said, his tone dropping into something more intimate, conspiratorial. His head tilted slightly, his eyes narrowing like he was letting me in on some secret only he was clever enough to know.
“About your father’s plans for you.”
My heart skipped a beat, but I kept my expression carefully blank, even as my pulse thudded in my ears. “I’m not sure what you mean,” I said, my voice steady despite the tension coiling in my chest.
Romero’s grin sharpened, like he enjoyed this game, like he enjoyed me trying to maintain my composure. He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering as his gaze flicked around the room, ensuring no one else could hear.
“Oh, I think you do.” he said, his grin turning sly. “We both know how these things work. Your father’s been...considering options. And I’d like to think I’m at the top of the list.”
The implication hit me like a blow, and I felt a surge of panic rise in my chest. My father hadn’t mentioned anything about arranging a match for me, but Romero’s confidence made my stomach churn. The idea of being tied to someone like him—someone who saw me as a possession rather than a person—was unbearable.
“I think you’re mistaken,” I said, my voice sharp. “My father hasn’t mentioned anything of the sort.”
Romero chuckled, the sound low and oily, as his hand reached out and grabbed my arm. His touch was rough, it felt like a brand against my skin, making my stomach churn. “Oh, I’m sure he hasn’t. But these things have a way of working themselves out,” he said, his voice smooth, like he was explaining something obvious to a child. His dark eyes gleamed with a smug confidence that made my blood boil. “And when they do, you’ll see that I’m the perfect choice.”
I tried to jerk my arm away, my movements sharp and deliberate, my heart pounding in my chest. It took everything in me not to lash out, not to let him see how much he got under my skin. “Excuse me,” I said, my voice trembling with barely contained anger. “I need to find Adrianna.”
I turned, ready to walk away and put as much distance between us as possible, but before I could take a step, Romero moved in front of me, blocking my path. He smiled, sharp and predatory.
“Not so fast…”