Chapter 20
I slide my fingers along the delicate white petals of the peonies Hazel clutches in her arms, their soft fragrance a welcome distraction from the chaos swirling in my mind.
Noah's apartment building looms above us, all glass and steel reaching toward a gray Manhattan sky that matches my mood perfectly.
"She's going to love these," I tell Hazel, though my voice sounds distant even to my own ears. "Evelyn mentioned peonies were her favorite when we talked at the hospital."
Hazel gives me a knowing look as we step into the elevator with Matteo. "You sure you're okay, Lu? You've been quiet since we left the mansion."
I press the button for the fifteenth floor, avoiding her gaze. How can I explain that I haven't slept more than thirty minutes since Daniel kissed me? That every time I close my eyes, I feel his lips against mine, taste the desperation and longing that poured between us like a dam finally breaking?
"I'm fine," I lie, watching the numbers climb. "Just worried about Evelyn."
Matteo shifts beside us, his dark eyes studying my face in that way all the Feretti men do when they sense weakness. "Daniel's been handling perimeter security all morning. That's why he couldn't come with us. Haven't seen him since the briefing."
Heat floods my cheeks at the mention of his name. Daniel. The man I can't have because I'm supposed to marry Bruno Sartori in six days.
Six. Fucking. Days.
The elevator dings softly as we reach Noah's floor. My stomach churns with a mixture of exhaustion and want that's been eating at me since Zoe walked in on us.
"Lu." Hazel's voice is gentle but firm. "You need to talk to someone about whatever's eating you alive."
I shake my head as Matteo knocks on Noah's door. "There's nothing to talk about. I have a wedding to prepare for."
The words taste like ash in my mouth. A wedding to a man I don't love, while the man I'm falling for stands guard outside my bedroom door every night.
Noah opens the door, his usually controlled expression softening when he sees us. "She's awake. Been asking for flowers all morning."
We follow him into the apartment, and I'm struck by how normal it looks. Exposed brick walls, comfortable furniture, books scattered on the coffee table. It's the kind of home I used to dream about having—before I learned that dreams are dangerous luxuries in my world.
Evelyn sits propped up on the couch, still pale but smiling when she sees the peonies. "You remembered," she breathes, her voice slightly hoarse.
"Of course." I settle beside her while Hazel arranges the flowers in a vase Noah provides. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I got hit by a truck, but alive." Evelyn's fingers trace the soft petals.
The familiar weight of guilt settles on my chest. "I'm so sorry, Evelyn."
"Stop." Her hand covers mine, surprisingly strong. "You didn't poison that champagne. None of this is your fault."
But it feels like it is. This happened because she is involved with the Ferettis.
Matteo's phone buzzes, and he steps away to answer it. I watch him through the window, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way his free hand clenches into a fist. More bad news, probably. There's always more bad news.
Matteo returns from his phone call, sliding the device into his jacket pocket. His expression has shifted from concerned to business-focused.
"Change of plans," he announces, his voice carrying that tone all the Feretti men use when they're about to deliver news we won't like. "We need to head to the boutique now for your dress fitting, Lu."
I blink at him, still processing. "Now? But we just got here?—"
"Daniel's going to meet us there, then I need to be somewhere else.
" Matteo's eyes find Hazel's, and something passes between them.
A look I recognize from watching Damiano with Zoe, Enzo with Sienna.
The kind of silent conversation that happens between people who love each other enough to communicate without words.
Hazel crosses her arms. "Where exactly do you need to be?"
Matteo moves toward her with that predatory grace all the men in my family possess, but when he reaches Hazel, his hands are gentle as they frame her face. His thumbs trace along her cheekbones, and I watch her melt despite the defiance in her eyes.
"I can't tell you right now, baby," he murmurs, his voice dropping to that intimate tone he reserves only for her. "But I promise I'll explain everything later."
Hazel rolls her eyes, but the gesture lacks any real annoyance. "You're lucky I love you, Matteo Caruso."
"The luckiest man alive," he agrees, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.
Something warm and bittersweet blooms in my chest as I watch them.
Hazel has been through hell—we all know what Elliott did to her during their marriage.
The bruises may have faded, but the scars run deeper than skin.
Yet here she is, trusting Matteo with her heart, letting him love her back to life piece by piece.
She deserves this happiness. After everything Elliott put her through, after the fear and control and systematic destruction of her spirit, Hazel deserves a man who looks at her like she hung the moon.
"Lu?" Evelyn's voice pulls me from my spiral. "You okay?"
I force a smile, the same practiced expression I've worn to countless family dinners and business meetings. "Of course. Just thinking about the dress fitting."
Hazel moves to gather her purse, but her eyes find mine across the room. She knows. Somehow, she always knows when I'm drowning beneath the surface of my composure.
"The boutique Ava recommended is supposed to be amazing," she says, her tone light. "Very exclusive, very discrete. Perfect for our family's... unique needs."
"Meaning bulletproof glass and multiple exit routes," I mutter under my breath.
I'm positioned outside Damiano's office, running final security checks before I leave for the boutique, when their voices carry through the partially open door. I should walk away. Should give them privacy for whatever family business they're discussing.
But then I hear her name.
"Lucrezia will need to understand her duties as Bruno's wife," Riccardo's voice cuts through the air like a blade. "The alliance between our families requires certain... commitments."
My hand freezes on my phone screen. Every muscle in my body goes rigid.
"Meaning?" Damiano's tone is carefully neutral, but I know him well enough to hear the warning underneath.
"Children, obviously. The sooner the better. A pregnancy within the first year would send a strong message to our associates and the press about the strength of our union."
The phone nearly cracks in my grip. They're talking about Lucrezia like she's breeding stock. Like her body, her future, her choices are just another negotiating point in their fucking business deal.
"The bloodlines need to be clear," Riccardo continues, his voice taking on that casual tone men use when discussing livestock at auction. "Bruno understands this. He's prepared to be... attentive to his marital obligations."
Red edges my vision. The thought of Bruno Sartori's hands on Lucrezia, of him touching her, claiming her, putting his child in her?—
"And if she struggles with intimacy?" Damiano asks quietly.
"She'll need to work through it. Marriage has a way of healing old wounds, especially when there are expectations to meet. Bruno can be patient, but not indefinitely. Our families are watching."
I want to put my fist through the wall. Want to storm into that office and show Riccardo exactly what I think of his timeline for Lucrezia's "healing." The casual way he dismisses her trauma, like it's just an inconvenience to work around while they breed her like a prize mare.
My breathing turns sharp and shallow. This obsession with her has been eating me alive for months, and hearing them plan out her intimate life like a business strategy is pushing me past every rational boundary I've built.
"Riccardo. I appreciate you being direct, but I'm not going to force my sister to have children or anything else you might be thinking about."
"If it was Vittoria, I wouldn't be having this conversation either," Riccardo replies, his tone softening slightly. "But the reality is the press will be following Lucrezia constantly, analyzing every aspect of her marriage. Looking for signs of weakness or cracks in our alliance."
The sound of chair legs scraping against hardwood carries through the door. Someone's moving around the office.
"When that time comes," Damiano says with finality, "Lucrezia will choose what's best for her and for both families. On her timeline. Her body, her choice."
"Fair enough. But Bruno will have expectations?—"
"Bruno's expectations are his problem to manage."
I force myself to step back from the door.