21. Federica
FEDERICA
The reception is beautiful.
Of course it is. Valerio’s people arranged it, with just a teensy bit of help—aka a hostile takeover—from yours truly. Which means the flowers are tasteful, the champagne is cold, and every waiter moves with the silent terror of someone who knows this room eats mistakes for sport.
My parents behave too.
That feels stranger than the wedding.
My mother compliments my dress without adding a warning about my waist. My father asks if I’m eating, then stops himself halfway through the sentence and asks if I’m enjoying the food instead.
I credit Valerio entirely.
His name has done more to protect me than my own backbone managed in years, and the imbalance sits heavy in my chest.
He paid Camillo’s debts. He put a roof over my head. He defended me at dinner. He gave Alessio a home and somehow trusted me near the softest part of it.
What have I done? I wonder.
I remember. I spent his money to make a point.
I yelled at him.
I told him I’d never truly be his wife.
I pushed him to confess that his parents were dead and then let him leave alone.
I still don’t know how they died. I don’t know what he did with that grief after he walked away from me. I only know that today he looks carved hollow under the suit, and every time his hand brushes mine, I want to hold on too long.
I am considering doing exactly that when shouting cuts through the music.
Every head turns.
Camillo stands near the side corridor, drunk enough to sway and angry enough to forget who he’s speaking to.
“You said name only,” he snarls at Valerio. “That was the deal.”
My stomach drops.
Valerio stands across from him, still and controlled. “Lower your voice.”
“I saw you kiss her.” Camillo jabs a finger toward him. “I saw you touch her.”
Guests whisper. My mother goes pale. My father looks furious, but not at the right person.
I move before I think. “Cami, stop.”
He turns on me. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. This is your fault.”
“My fault?”
“You always wanted him. Don’t act innocent now.”
Heat floods my face.
Valerio’s expression changes.
I step closer, desperate to end this before the whole room hears every rotten thing. “Please. You’re drunk. Go sit down.”
Camillo shoves me.
I stumble. My heel catches and my shoulder hits the wall.
The room goes silent.
Valerio is at my side before I can take a breath.
“Are you hurt?” His hands skim my arms, my waist, my shoulder.
“I’m fine.”
He fixes the strap of my dress where it slipped, then straightens his cufflinks.
That scares me more than shouting would have.
He turns, crosses the space, and punches Camillo straight in the nose.
Camillo drops with a sick, wet sound.
Gasps erupt around us.
Elena screams and rushes to him. “What have you done?”
Valerio stands over my brother, voice low and deadly. “Don’t you dare lay a finger on my wife, asshole.”
My mother looks from Camillo to Valerio to me. Her grief turns direction, fast and familiar.
“You,” she snaps. “Always you. Trouble from the moment you decided you were too good for this family. A failure, a drain, and now this.”
The words feel unreal.
I knew my mother didn’t like me. I knew we never saw eye to eye. I just never knew she despised me so much.
I’m about to swallow back tears when Valerio’s head turns slowly. “Federica has been covering your son’s debts for years. She worked herself to the bone, stayed up nights trading so he had capital, and emptied her savings when his gambling put his body on the line.”
“You liar,” my mother breathes.
I step forward.
My voice comes out calm. “Nobody calls my husband a liar.”
Valerio looks at me.
I keep my eyes on my mother.
“The only good investment Camillo ever made was one he stole from me. The pitch was mine. The research was mine. He took it, and I let him because I wanted to believe he needed it more.”
“Fede,” Camillo groans from the floor.
“No.” I look down at him, and my heart hurts because I still love him. It just doesn’t matter enough anymore. “I am so disappointed in you. I have been for years, but tonight my eyes are finally open.”
His face twists. “You’re my sister.”
“And you had no right to sell me, judge me, or decide what I do with my husband.”
Camillo looks past me. “Rio. Come on, man. You know me.”
Valerio’s jaw tightens. “I thought I did.”
“We’re best friends.”
“Our friendship has run its course.”
Camillo flinches.
Valerio’s voice stays cold. “If you want it back, start by treating Federica right.”
Silence spreads through the room.
Then Valerio turns to the guests with the smooth authority of a man who can make a scandal sound scheduled. “Go drink,” he says. “This is a wedding.”
A few nervous laughs break the tension. People move because Valerio told them to, and apparently that is all it takes.
I look at him.
He looks back.
My chest feels too full. Too tight. “Thank—” I start.
His mouth curves, barely. “Wanna get out of here?”
My heart skips a beat.
I don’t want to delude myself. But at the same time, every part of me wants to bask in this delusion a little more. “I do.”
I take his hand, and then we leave together.