Chapter 13 Mia
MIA
I traced the rim of my cup, the soft clink echoing in the quiet. My father sat across from me, a fortress of a man—every line on his face carved by sacrifice, survival, and the price of our world.
“Father.” My voice barely disturbed the silence. “Enrico’s persistence... it makes me feel like I’m walking a razor’s edge.”
He lifted his gaze from the newspaper, eyes shadowed and unreadable.
“Do you not fear what binding ourselves to him might bring?” I pressed, fingers tightening around the cup.
He folded the paper. “Fear is a tool. We use it. We don’t surrender to it.”
“But Enrico—”
“Enrico is power,” he interrupted. “And power is something we understand.”
The cryptic answer soothed nothing. I nodded anyway; the conversation ended like a door closing.
By dusk, restlessness crawled beneath my skin. I wandered through the halls, my reflection flickering across dark glass and polished marble. Enrico’s presence lingered even when he wasn’t there—magnetic, dangerous.
I stopped before the grand mirror in the foyer and stared at the woman staring back. A woman caught in a web, bound to a man who terrified and thrilled her in equal measure.
Was it love making my heart race—or fear?
That kiss had undone me. I wanted more—God help me; I did—but I was grateful he hadn’t pushed for it.
If he had, I wasn’t sure I would’ve stopped him.
Maybe I should just give in. Let him have what he wanted.
Let myself feel something wild, reckless, alive.
But I knew better. With Enrico, surrender was never just physical—it was permanent.
Whatever I decided would change everything. Being single in our world was dangerous. But being his wife might be worse. Still, I slipped into an evening gown and painted on composure like armor. Tonight, I would face him again—and whatever game he had planned.
Parties were an every week occurrence when you had my last name, but at least the alcohol was free.
It made it a little more bearable. I’d never been one for small talk and pretending to like someone just because of their last name.
My father though, he was an expert by now.
You couldn’t look at him and tell. He’d gotten so good at faking it.
“Are you ready? Guests will start to arrive soon.” My father tweaked his tie and took another drink of his scotch. “That dress is beautiful, honey. Really brings out your eyes. Remember, just mingle and have a good time.”
Within ten minutes, the six families were gathered, all silk and polish, pretending not to notice the cracks beneath their own perfection. My fingers tightened around the stem of my wineglass as I scanned the room. Masks of civility smiled back. No one here feared anything—they were feared.
Relief flickered when I spotted Catrina near the far wall, a familiar anchor in a sea of wolves. What was she doing here? Her dark hair was twisted into a perfect updo, pearls glinting at her throat. When our eyes met, she moved toward me.
“Chin up,” she murmured, squeezing my arm. “He hasn’t arrived yet.”
Her reassurance did little to quiet the drum in my chest. “What are you even doing here?” I whispered.
Before she could answer, silence swept in like a tide.
Heads turned. Enrico entered. The cut of his suit, the sharpness of his jaw, the weight of his gaze—all of it commanded attention.
And my lungs burned. Ever since that kiss…
my whole body had been waiting for another.
“I’ll be right back,” Catrina said, slipping away.
I stood alone. The orchestra began a slow waltz, strings haunting as a heartbeat. Enrico’s gaze found mine. I tried to fight myself to breathe as he made his way toward me. He is just a guy. Stop making him into god.
“May I have this dance?” he asked.
My throat went dry. I placed my hand in his. He led; I followed. His palm rested firm against my back, steady, possessive. The scent of spice and cedar wrapped around me.
“Relax,” Enrico murmured, his lips close enough that the word brushed my ear. “You’re safe with me.”
The lie was wrapped in silk. I was never safe around him. Everything about his family name screamed danger. Same with Moretti. No one with either of our last names were ever safe.
We turned. My gaze snagged my father’s across the room.
His face was carved from composure, but unease flickered at the edges.
There was something more going on between them.
Something they didn’t want me to know. Neither were stupid.
They knew about the contract and that it burned.
So, was Enrico pushing for it to be upheld?
Was that all the meetings have been about?
Enrico’s grip tightened, drawing me flush against him as the music swelled.
So many nights, when my eyes closed, I thought about what it would be like…
being wrapped up in his arms, or beneath him or on top of him…
And then, as the last note trembled into silence, he stepped away, voice carrying effortlessly through the crowd.
“Friends. Tonight, I am proud to announce my engagement to the beautiful Mia Moretti.”
The room erupted. Gasps, clinking glass, a hundred whispers slicing through the air.
My breath caught. My father’s fork slipped, clattering against his plate.
Enrico’s smile was all control, charm, victory.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. He made his move, and there was no undoing it.
My world snapped into place like a cage locking.
The congratulations came next—polite, poisonous. Each handshake was another link in the chain. My gaze darted for an escape that didn’t exist. So I smiled. Grace, composure, poise—if I couldn’t win, I’d make my cage appear like a throne.
Then my father appeared at my side. His face was pale, eyes cold. Almost like he was actually worried for my sake.
“Darling.” His voice was quiet but strained, laced with disbelief. “This… I did not foresee.”
“Enrico is—” I started, but he cut me off.
“Enrico is a force we must now reckon with.” His voice hardened. He squeezed my hand, a silent vow and apology wrapped into one. Together, we’d face the storm he’d just unleashed.
Across the room, Enrico lifted a glass. “To our future,” he said, voice smooth and unshakable. The crowd echoed him.
To the world, he was the triumphant suitor. To me, he was the man who’d stolen my choice and branded it love.
I left the crowd and scurried toward the edge of the room. Leaving my future husband to deal with all the well wishes and questions. My father prepared me for a lot while growing up, but lying had never been in the forefront. And the last thing I needed to do was say the wrong thing.
Enrico staked his claim in front of all the city's most powerful families, and to deny him my hand in marriage now would be a complete embarrassment. It would get myself and my entire family line killed.
One hand closed around mine as he guided me through the crowd. The corridor swallowed the noise behind us. He opened the door and ushered me inside a room.
“Why didn’t you say anything? That’s not like you at all.”
“I—” I swallowed. “I was surprised. You didn’t discuss this with me.”
His laugh was short, humorless. “You knew where this was heading.”
“Humiliating me in front of everyone? Not even talking to me about the announcement first?”
“Marriage in our world isn’t about love poems,” he said flatly. “It’s about alliances. Survival.”
“So, that’s what this has been about all along? You never actually cared for me. It was all about pleasing our families? I’m just leverage you can use.”
His gaze cut sharp as glass. “Never leverage. You’re the queen. But even queens don’t get to walk off the board. There are many things to discuss, but right now we should celebrate.”
He stepped closer, shadows folding around us.
“Enrico, please—” I whispered.
“Shh.” His hand braced the wall above my head, trapping me. “Look at me.”
His eyes were dark, fathomless, his breath warm against my cheek.
“You’re mine,” he murmured. “From the moment I saw you. No matter what contract our families had… there will never be another woman for me. The sooner you come to accept that… the happier you will be in this marriage.”
My body betrayed me—heart racing, breath short.
Instinct screamed to flee, but something deeper reached for the fire, anyway.
He kissed me. Not gentle. Fierce and claiming, heat and control bleeding into one.
My mind splintered. Resistance warred with desire, and for one reckless heartbeat, desire won. Then he pulled back.
“I can’t wait for our wedding night,” he said, and it wasn’t a promise—it was a sentence.
I stood motionless as he turned and left, the echo of his words lingering like smoke. When the door shut, silence crashed back in. My pulse still raced; my lips still tingled; my heart ached with confusion and fury and want.
At that moment, I was no longer choosing the path—I was surviving it. And Enrico Di Fiore had just rewritten my fate with a single announcement.
.