31 | Old man
The car hums softly beneath us as it glides through the dark streets, the only light coming from the streetlamps that blur past the windows.
We had left the gathering an hour ago as we were on our way back to the mansion.
I sit in silence next to Luciano, we haven't talked to each other at all.
Though I can feel his eyes on me, but I don't look at him.
He finally breaks through the silence with his voice. "Do you like him?"
I blink, startled by the question, my heart skipping a beat. "Like who?"
"Franco," he clarifies, his voice steady but something darker lurking beneath it.
"Of course," I say, my voice too light. "He's my friend. My best friend. We've known each other for years, Luciano. He's always been there for me. Why?"
The question lingers in the air, but Luciano is quiet now, his gaze fixed out the window. His silence is heavy, like he's waiting for something, some sort of answer he already knows is coming.
And then, like a dagger, he asks, "If you could choose between me and Franco, who would you choose?"
His words hang heavy in the air, pressing down on me, suffocating me. The answer is already clear in my mind, but before I can say anything, I hear myself ask, "If you had to choose between me and Ciara, who would it be, Luciano?"
The words leave my lips before I can stop them, the bitterness sharp in my voice, something I hadn't meant to feel bubbling to the surface.
Luciano's eyes snap to me, his jaw tightening as he glares back.
"That's a stupid question," he mutters, but I see the tension in his shoulders, the flicker of something in his eyes. Something that feels too much like jealousy.
I clench my hands into fists, the tension between us thickening, wrapping around us like a noose. Neither of us says a word for the rest of the drive, the only sound the hum of the tires against the road.
When the car pulls up in front of the mansion, I'm ready to bolt out of the car.
The car slows by the grand staircase as I grab the handle of the door and head out of the car, but I give Luciano one last look.
"I'd choose Franco," I say quickly. "I know he would never sleep with my sister, old man."
I slam the door behind me before I can hear whatever response he has waiting on his tongue.
I walk up the grand staircase, my pulse still racing from the confrontation with Luciano in the car.
It wasn't a lie. It was the truth. I would choose Franco, and no matter how much Luciano tried to make me feel guilty, I was standing by that choice.
But just as my foot hits the top of the stairs, a sudden, sharp movement catches me off guard. Before I can react, I'm lifted off my feet, my stomach lurching with the shocking motion.
I scream in surprise, kicking my legs as I'm thrown over Luciano's shoulder like a doll.
"Luciano!" I protest, my voice sharp and filled with panic. "Let me go!"
I thrash in his grasp, trying to push against his chest, but he doesn't budge. He's too strong, too determined.
I scream again, furious now. "Luciano! Let me fucking go!"
He doesn't listen. He ignores my protests, his grip tightening as he strides up the stairs, carrying me as though I weigh nothing.
Luciano walks inside the mansion and walks right past a line of maids standing in shock, their wide eyes following our every move. I can hear their gasps, their whispers.
I try to kick him again, but he simply chuckles, completely unaffected.
"Calm down, principessa," he murmurs. "I'll let you go soon."
"Let me go now!" I snap, but he doesn't answer.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Luciano sets me down on the couch in the living room, gently but still firmly, his hands still holding me for a moment longer than necessary.
"What is your problem?" I snap, my voice sharp, the rage inside me seeping through every word.
Luciano exhales slowly, his eyes narrowing, but not with anger more like... surrender.
"I want this marriage to work between us," he finally says, his tone steady, as though he's prepared for this moment. "I don't want to fight every single day with you. But If you don't want me as your husband, Aurelia, maybe we can at least be friends?"
I almost laugh at that. I can't help it. "I can't be friends with someone who's loved my sister. It just makes me look weak."
"Aurelia..." he starts, but I cut him off.
"I can't divorce you, either," I say, the bitterness in my voice cutting deep. "Even if the marriage contract was forged, because if we did, you'd have to kill my entire family. And you don't want to kill Chase."
I look at him dead in the eyes, a strange satisfaction creeping into my chest. "You can kill my father, though. He can choke on his own dick for all I care."
Luciano doesn't say anything at first. Instead, he looks like he's calculating every word I've said, weighing them carefully. Then, in the most casual tone, he says, "If you hate me, then see this marriage as a business deal."
"A business deal?" I repeat. "Are you out of your fucking mind? What do I get in return? A grieving husband who misses my sister?"
Luciano sighs, the sound filled with something I can't quite place. "Do you want something? Do you want to become something?" His eyes meet mine, unwavering. "Do you want to study? Do you want to work? Or start your own company? Tell me what you want, Aurelia."
His words hit me like a tidal wave, washing over me, drowning me. Do I want something? Do I want to become something? The idea is so foreign to me. I've never had a choice, never been allowed to choose. What am I, really? A wife? A trophy? A weak fucking woman?
"Would you even let me?" I ask quietly, almost to myself. "I'm a wife of a Don. I can't work. I can't do anything outside of this world."
Luciano leans forward, his gaze intense. "I will make an exception for you. Just tell me what you want."
I want to scream. I want to shout at him that I don't want his fucking exceptions. I don't want his pity. But what can I say? What can I ask for, when I don't even know who I am anymore? \
I don't know who I am...
I close my eyes, trying to push the fog out of my brain, but it's no use. My hands come to my head, my fingers clutching my hair, the weight of it all finally hitting me.
"I don't want to exist," I whisper, barely able to breathe, my voice cracking.
"I don't want to be here. I hate myself.
I hate you. I hate everyone. I feel like I'm losing my mind every single day.
I feel confused. One day, I fucking hate you, Luciano.
And the next... I don't know. I like you.
I don't know what you're doing to me, but you make me feel lost.. ."
The confession spills out of me, raw and unfiltered, like a wound that's been opened too many times, bleeding all over the place.
What a fucking miserable woman I am, I can't do anything but drown in my own misery, crying and tearing myself apart.
To this day, I still question how I can look myself in the mirror.