Chapter 4 Beatrice
BEATRICE
The apartment is beautiful.
Every corner gleams with curated perfection—glass and chrome, marble and silk. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the Manhattan skyline like art. A breeze carries the scent of roses from the vase near the piano, blending with leather and cedarwood.
This place breathes money and power.
All the things I now associate with Giacomo Feriama.
Giacomo speaks on the phone in hushed, muffled Italian. I don’t understand much—my father never taught me—but I pick up a few things. From what I can tell, he’s upset.
And that alone makes me nervous.
I’m miles away from home, taken from my family, and every hope I had for the future is now gone, lost somewhere I can’t reach.
I sit on the edge of the velvet sofa, legs crossed, fingers twisted in my lap. I’ve been here for three weeks now.
I keep circling the same thoughts.
My mother’s tear-stained face when she met me on the tarmac before I boarded the jet Giacomo chartered.
She didn’t want me to go, but we both knew what would happen if I stayed. Holding her on the tarmac, I felt how frail the sickness had made her.
I twiddle my thumbs and wait for my fiancé to finish his call. The ring he gave me last week glistens in the sunlight streaming through the windows.
It’s gaudy and huge—a far cry from what I would’ve chosen. But I’ve come to realize nothing in my life will ever be what I want again. I’m no longer my own; I belong to Giacomo.
My father traded me to save my mother, like I was a deal to be made.
I keep telling myself to accept it… but the truth is, it’s breaking me.
I want to be angry. I want to hate him. But I can’t.
I would’ve done the exact same thing. I would’ve laid my head on the chopping block and made the same decision if Giacomo had approached me.
“You like it?” Giacomo’s thick voice shifts to English. When I lift my head, he’s staring right at me.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper. “And… overwhelming.”
“It’s different from the place you had on the third floor,” he says, watching me closely. “This is the penthouse. More space. More privacy. I’d say I chose well.”
I’m sure three of my old townhouses could fit inside this place.
Giacomo stands by the window, his profile carved in golden sunlight and shadow. Then he walks over to the piano not far from where I sit, picks up a black folder, and approaches me. He sets it gently in my lap.
“I bought it,” he says casually as he moves toward the bar. “The apartment. It’s yours now.”
I blink.
“What?”
He pours himself a glass of something clear, then turns back to me. “One of two penthouses in this building. Now it’s yours.”
My stomach twists.
I should be over the moon, but instead unease spreads through me. Gifts like this don’t feel like gifts. They feel like price tags, ones I’m not sure I’m ready to pay.
“That’s… unnecessary,” I murmur. “I don’t need a place this big.”
“It’s a gesture,” he says, walking back toward me with his glass in hand. “I know this isn’t how you imagined your wedding—much less your marriage—would happen. But I want you to feel safe. Taken care of.”
I have no words, so I simply nod. I look away from him and down at the folder. When I open it, there’s my name on the deed.
I’ve never owned anything remotely this expensive. I’m afraid to even ask how much it cost him.
“You don’t need to be afraid of me, Beatrice,” he says gently, crouching so we’re at eye level. “I know the kind of world I come from. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to treat a woman well.”
He reaches out, lightly brushing a strand of my hair away—more a claim than comfort. I feel… nothing. Just a distant awareness of his fingers and the instinct to keep my expression neutral.
“What world do you come from?” I ask, though I don’t need the answer. I already know who he is. A few Google searches told me everything I needed. “How dangerous are you, Giacomo? Truly?”
“You know already, cara.” He cups my cheek and draws my face closer.
I can smell the vodka on his breath; it burns the inside of my nostrils.
“You forget, cara, nothing you do in my home is private. You know who I am… what I am. But I’ll tell you this—there is no need to be afraid.
I’m not your enemy. Not unless you make me one. ”
I gulp. “So you… head the mafia?”
He chuckles, low and deep from his chest. “Of sorts. I’m building my syndicate, and one day I’ll be the king of this jungle you now call home. And you…”
He traces my cheek with a soft touch. My body tenses on instinct, but I mask it and stay still.
“…you will be my queen.”
I swallow hard but say nothing. Giacomo watches my eyes, searching them for something—what, I’m not sure. When he finds whatever he’s looking for, he rises to his feet, and I sink back into the couch, breath caught in my throat.
Then comes the part I’ve been dreading.
“If you truly don’t want this, Beatrice… if this life is so deplorable to you,” he says softly, “you may leave.”
My eyes snap to his.
It will never be that easy with him.
“But,” he continues, “that would mean your father pays me back the full amount. Immediately, and with interest. And as you know, I spent over half a million dollars on your mother’s treatment. Who will handle that bill, may I ask?”
He pauses, letting the threat—because that’s what it is—sink into my bones.
“And if he can’t,” he adds, “well… I suppose my hand would be forced to collect what is mine. His restaurant—gone. Your home—gone. Your mother. And any dream you had of fashion school? It would vanish with them.”
My throat tightens.
“I want to help him,” Giacomo says, and his smile softens rather than grows. “Truly, I do. But a deal is a deal. And you… you were never just a transaction to me. From the moment you handed me that coffee, I saw something in you I couldn’t ignore.”
He pauses, almost shy in the way he looks at me.
“I know this isn’t easy. I know you didn’t choose any of it. And I hope, eventually, you’ll see I’m not your enemy. I hope the way you feel now won’t be the way you feel forever.”
I don’t trust my voice. I just hold his stare, refusing to look away and appear weak.
His smile turns razor sharp. “This can be pleasant, Beatrice…”
He straightens his jacket. His tone never changes—cool, calm, collected. But the edge underneath, that subtle warning, never leaves.
“…or it can be complicated. The choice truly is up to you.”
He watches me, letting the weight of his words seep into the walls like smoke.
Giacomo has a talent for weaponizing stillness. He doesn’t need to raise his voice or slam a fist on the table. He speaks softly and lets the consequences speak louder.
I own you. The unspoken words echo through my skull.
“I know this is difficult,” he says at last, like he’s soothing a stray that might scratch. “But I’m offering you more than most men would.”
I look at him now—really look.
He’s clean-cut, impossibly tailored, every inch designed to disarm. Jaw sharp, smile sharper. He could be beautiful, if he didn’t reek of menace beneath all that charm. He walks like he already owns everything in the room… including me. And he knows it.
I finally manage a breath. “But this isn’t generosity, Giacomo. You’re painting the picture of a perfect castle fit for a queen. But all I see is a golden cage.”
I lick my lips and let the words carry me.
“You know I won’t run. You’re using the love I have for my parents against me. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect them. That includes remaining in this agreement—this marriage.”
“Smart girl. I knew there was a reason I was drawn to you. You look tame, but there’s a fire deep in your belly.” He tilts his head. “But make no mistake, cara.”
I rise from the couch and walk toward the window, needing space from him. The folder is still in my hand as I stop before the floor-to-ceiling glass.
“I know it may not seem like it now, but I hope, in time, this grows into love. We could be formidable together.”
I should be terrified. Maybe I am. But I’d be stupid to let it show.
I turn to him. “Then let’s make this work, Giacomo. I’d hate to see your investment go to waste.”
A slow smile climbs his lips.
He kisses my cheek, a gesture I accept without moving.
Because I have no choice but to play along with the man who holds all the power… for now.