Chapter 5 #2
And I'll smile. I'll agree. I'll play the dutiful daughter selling herself for her family's survival.
But underneath?
Underneath, I'll be watching. Learning. Waiting.
The Sartoris think they're getting a desperate girl with no options.
They're wrong.
The morning light cuts through the living room windows like a blade.
I've been awake since dawn. Showered. Dressed. Put on makeup for the first time in weeks. A simple black dress. Hair down, brushed until it shines.
If I'm going to be sold, I'll at least look like I'm worth the price.
Gianna sits beside me on the couch. She hasn't spoken since breakfast. Her eyes are red-rimmed, puffy. She barely touched her coffee.
Claudio stands by the fireplace. Arms crossed. Jaw tight.
Papa paces near the window. He's tried to make himself presentable. Clean shirt. Shaved. But nothing can hide the tremor in his hands. The way his eyes keep darting to the door.
At exactly eleven o'clock, the doorbell rings.
Voices in the hallway. Then they appear.
Lorenzo Sartori enters first. His dark hair is styled back from his face. He looks like he stepped out of a magazine. Handsome in a way that makes you forget he's dangerous.
Nico follows. Same cold expression as last night. Same calculating eyes that miss nothing. He's in black, head to toe. It suits him.
Behind them, two men. The same ones from last night.
"Mr. Romano." Lorenzo's voice is pleasant. Warm, even. "Thank you for having us back."
Papa straightens. Squares his shoulders. For a moment, I see a ghost of the man he used to be. Before the gambling. Before Mama died. Before everything fell apart.
"Please," he says. "Sit."
Lorenzo takes the armchair across from me. Nico remains standing, positioning himself near the door. The two men flank the room like sentries.
Papa clears his throat.
"We've discussed your... proposal." His voice wavers, then steadies. He's trying so hard to sound like he still has authority. Like he's negotiating from a position of strength instead of begging for scraps. "My family has reached a decision."
Lorenzo tilts his head. Waiting.
"We agree to your terms." Papa's hands clench at his sides. "The business. The labor arrangement. All of it."
"And the marriage?" Nico's voice cuts through the room.
Papa swallows. His eyes flick to me. Just for a second.
"Yes." The word comes out rough. Broken. "We have an agreement. Antonella will be the one who marries into your family."
Silence.
Lorenzo turns.
His eyes find mine.
I give him nothing.
I keep my spine straight. My chin lifted. My hands folded calmly in my lap.
I've spent four years holding this family together. Dealing with creditors and collectors and men who thought they could intimidate me.
Lorenzo Sartori is not the first powerful man to underestimate me.
He won't be the last.
His gaze travels over my face. My posture. The way I'm dressed. I can almost see him cataloging details, filing them away for later analysis.
I meet his eyes without flinching.
Go ahead, I think. Look all you want. You won't see anything I don't choose to show you.
"Miss Romano." His voice is different now. Softer. More personal. "You understand what's being proposed?"
"I do."
"And you agree to this arrangement willingly?"
The question catches me off guard. I expected demands. Commands. Not... consideration.
"I understand the situation my family is in," I say carefully. "I understand what's required to resolve it."
"That's not what I asked."
I hold his gaze. "Yes. I agree willingly."
It's not entirely a lie. I chose this. I volunteered before anyone could suggest Gianna.
But willing? That's a stretch.
Lorenzo studies me for another long moment. Then he nods, almost to himself.
"She'll do."
The words should sting. She'll do. Like I'm a piece of furniture.
Nico steps forward. "There are details to discuss. The timeline. The ceremony. Living arrangements."
"Of course." Papa's voice is too eager. Too relieved. "Whatever you need. We're prepared to—"
"Not with you." Nico's cold gaze cuts him off. "With her."
Papa blinks. "I'm her father. I should be—"
"You're the reason we're here." Nico doesn't raise his voice. He doesn't need to. "You gambled away your family's future. You put your daughters on the table like chips. You don't get to pretend you have authority in this room."
The words land like blows.
Papa's face goes white. Then red. His mouth opens, closes.
He has nothing to say.
Because Nico is right.
Nico turns to face me directly.
"You're going to marry our brother," he says. "Bruno Sartori."
Bruno.
The name echoes in my mind. I've seen him in photographs. Years ago, before Mama died. Before Papa pulled us out of every social event, every gala, every gathering where families like ours mingled with families like theirs.
I remember a tall man with dark hair. Sharp features. The kind of presence that commanded attention even in a still image.
But that was years ago. Before everything changed.
"Bruno," I repeat. My voice stays steady. "I see."
Nico watches me. Waiting for something. A reaction, maybe. Questions.
I give him neither.
Papa shifts beside the window. His hands twist together.
"How is Bruno?" he asks. His voice is too casual. Forced. "We heard about... the tragedy. Losing your Don. Terrible business."
I remember that night. Papa and Claudio in the study, voices low. I'd been passing by, couldn't sleep. Papa had said something about the Sartoris. About their Don being killed. About chaos in their ranks.
That was all I knew. All anyone outside their circle seemed to know.
Lorenzo's expression doesn't change. "He's fine."
Two words. Flat. Final.
The kind of answer that closes a door and locks it.
Papa nods too quickly. "Good. That's good. I'm glad to hear—"
"The wedding will take place in five days," Nico interrupts.
Five days.
My stomach drops. I keep my face blank.
Five days to prepare for a marriage to a man I've never met.
Whatever that means.
"After we leave," Nico continues, "a woman will come to assist you. She'll help with the dress. Whatever else needs to be done on your end."
I nod. "All right."
"The ceremony will be small. Family only." His dark eyes hold mine. "No party afterward. No reception. Bruno wants just the ceremony."
Just the ceremony.
No celebration. No pretense that this is anything other than what it is.
I appreciate the honesty, in a strange way. At least they're not dressing this up in ribbons and calling it romance.
"I understand," I say.
Lorenzo rises from his chair. The movement is fluid. Graceful. Like a predator uncoiling.
"Do you have questions, Miss Romano?"
A thousand. A million.
Who is Bruno Sartori now? What happened to him? Why does he want just the ceremony? What am I walking into?
But I don't ask any of them.
Questions show weakness. Questions reveal what you don't know. And right now, in this room, I can't afford to look weak.
"No," I say. "I don't have questions."
Lorenzo's mouth curves. Not quite a smile. Something closer to approval.
"Smart," he says quietly. Almost to himself.
Nico moves toward the door. The two men fall into step behind him.
The front door closes. A car engine starts. Fades into the distance.
Silence fills the room.
Gianna lets out a shaky breath. Her hand finds mine, squeezes hard.
Claudio hasn't moved from the fireplace. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping.
Papa sinks into a chair. His head drops into his hands.
Bruno Sartori needs a wife.
And whatever the reason, it's important enough that his brothers came here personally. Important enough that they're moving fast. Five days fast.
I don't know what I'm walking into.
But I know one thing for certain.
They need this marriage as much as we do.
Maybe more.