Twenty-one
Chiara
I’m halfway through my first pass of emails when the alert drops into the top of my inbox, my legal name bolded in the subject line. It’s a Google Alert I’ve set up to notify me when my name shows up anywhere online.
I click it without pausing, the browser opening clean to the Chicago Daily News. There is a large photo of me and Palo. I haven’t seen him in years. But I remember this picture, but instead of it being Palo, it was me and Alyssa at a family wedding. It’s been altered.
Society & Business
Chiara Bullucci Engaged to Gamblé Heir Palo Ammazzalamorte
Chicago—Chiara Bullucci, daughter of Enzo Bullucci, is engaged to Palo Ammazzalamorte, heir to the Gamblé family, according to sources close to both families.
The announcement signals a formal alignment between the Bullucci and Gamblé families, a development widely anticipated amid ongoing negotiations involving affiliated groups.
While representatives for both parties declined formal comment, the engagement is understood to have been privately acknowledged and is expected to proceed without delay.
Bullucci, who has maintained a notably private profile despite her family’s influence, has been increasingly associated with key strategic discussions in recent months.
Ammazzalamorte, positioned to assume a leadership role within the Gamblé family holdings, has likewise remained focused on expanding operational reach across international markets.
Observers note that the union reinforces a consolidation of influence across multiple sectors, particularly as negotiations continue to evolve behind the scenes. Though details surrounding the ceremony have not been released, the engagement is expected to be formally recognized in the coming weeks.
Katie steps into the doorway behind me, one hand braced against the frame as she watches the screen. “You want coffee before we go?” she asks, her tone neutral, but her eyes stay on the article long enough to register the photo.
“Not yet,” I say, dragging the cursor down to the image and stopping there. “Tell me what you see.” I tilt the screen slightly toward her, not inviting comfort, just clarity.
She pushes off the doorframe and moves closer, folding her arms as she studies the picture. “It looks official.” Her mouth tightens as she leans in. “You're engaged?”
“Depends on who you ask.” I tap the headline once with my finger. I scroll slowly, tracking the language, the phrasing too clean to be accidental.
Katie straightens, her gaze shifting from the screen to me. “Do you want me to call Jim?” she asks, already reaching for her phone as if the answer is assumed.
“We’re meeting this morning, and I’ll send him the link,” I say, pulling my email back up and forwarding it without adding anything. I add Ciro beneath it, leaving the body blank, and then hit send before the system can suggest anything else.
“This is coming from your father,” Katie says, not asking, her voice lower now that the shape of it is clear.
I close the article and reopen it immediately, scanning the structure again rather than the content. “The lawyers want to talk later this week,” I say, turning the screen back toward her. “Palo’s family needs this for their negotiations with the O’Malley Clan.”
“Did they think you wouldn’t notice?” she asks.
“I don’t think he cares.” I glance at the article. But it doesn’t make me recoil in fear. It does the exact opposite. It makes me angry.
Katie doesn’t move right away. She studies me instead, her gaze narrowing slightly as she leans her shoulder against the edge of the desk. “You’re not freaking out. I would if my father did that.”
“Nope. It’s a decision that was made years ago without my consent,” I reply. I scroll once, stopping at the image again, letting it sit long enough to hold the shape of it.
She exhales quietly, shifting her phone from one hand to the other. “Like an arranged marriage?”
“Pretty much.” I drag the cursor over a line of text without selecting it. “The photo’s fake. It’s a good one, but that was taken at a cousin’s wedding and I was with my best friend, not with Palo.”
Katie straightens, pushing off the desk as she crosses her arms. “How can he make you do this?”
“The priest who marries us will just sign the paperwork, and someone will forge my name after I take a beating if I don’t,” I reply, closing the article.
“But my father agreed to this years ago. He doesn’t know I read the paper every day online.
And I know Palo’s family is having problems with a rival family and they need my family’s support. And a union between us requires it.”
She watches me for a beat, and then tilts her head, reassessing. “You’re not reacting to this,” she says, quieter now, her voice carrying a note of recognition she doesn’t bother to hide. “You’re waiting.”
I meet her eyes without hesitation as I slide the phone closer, already aware of what comes next. “We need to go.” I stand and take one last look at me in my wig and black eyes. Things are heating up whether I like it or not.
Katie pulls the car into the alley before I finish fastening my seatbelt, the movement smooth but deliberate as she checks the mirrors twice. I angle my phone in my lap, the article still open, and then lock the screen and set it facedown as she merges.
“What are you thinking?”
“Optics first,” I rest my hand against the door as I watch the street slide past. “My father makes it public before anyone can question it.” I tap the side of my phone once, not unlocking it, just marking the point.
“Engagements get broken all the time.” Her gaze flicks back to me through the mirror.
“It shows the O’Malley’s they’re on the same side.” I turn slightly so it’s difficult for anyone to see me in the car. “If it’s printed, it gets referenced. If it gets referenced, it holds.”
She exhales through her nose, a quiet sound that carries more judgment than agreement. “So he’s building pressure.” She taps her thumb once against the steering wheel. “Your father is pushing you to do something you don’t want.”
“He doesn’t need to ask.” I watch a traffic light change ahead as we slow. “If it stands long enough, it becomes expectation.”
Katie glances back again, sharper this time. “Expectation isn’t obligation. I heard what you said, but they can’t really make you.”
“They can.” I look out the window, tracking the reflection of the car beside us. “But I’d be embarrassing my family, which can lead to many other things.” I tilt my chin slightly, keeping my voice even. “That’s the difference.”
She studies me for a beat through the mirror. “So how do you undo it?” she asks, accelerating harder than necessary as we clear the intersection. “What’s your plan?”
“Good question. I need to address this head on.” I chew on my lip. I hardly slept last night trying to think of ways to make this work. “My father is playing this like I’m in.” I glance up, meeting her eyes again in the mirror. “I need to use visibility to break the agreement.”
There’s no version of this where I stay hidden and win.
Katie doesn’t answer right away. She changes lanes again and then nods once. “Then you’d better move fast,” she says, her voice steady as she straightens the wheel. “Because once people start repeating it, it stops being his move.”
My phone rings, and it’s Ciro. I don’t even greet him when he starts in.
“Dante and I will negotiate on your behalf.”
“I have a better idea when we meet Jim.” He may not like it, but I learned from my father, and it’s time I show them all I’m not to be trifled with.
“Come straight up to my office when you get here. Jim just walked in.”
“We’re a block away. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
We disconnect as Katie pulls into the garage and leaves me at the elevator entrance.
I end up with an express elevator—no stops as it races me to the forty-eighth floor.
The doors open, and Ciro waves me into his office.
I set my bag on the chair instead of the desk, keeping the space between us clear as I step closer to the screen.
“I read the email,” Jim says, sliding his finger down the document until a new page replaces it, the header legal and dense. “My team was able to get access to the law firm’s cloud, and this is what we found. It’s a draft of what they’re going to present you with when you meet with them.”
I take the papers from him and sit down. I scan the first section. “It’s what I suspected.”
“You can ignore their request. You don’t have to do this,” Ciro says. “We can figure out another plan.”
Jim taps a clause near the middle. “Prenuptial framework. Timelines, asset transfers, public positioning. It assumes the engagement holds.”
I shift the tablet slightly, angling it so the light hits the text cleanly. “My father is done waiting.” I trace a line with my finger. “He’s ready for me to do my family duty.”
Ciro straightens as he folds his arms. “First the announcement and then documentation, and then expectation. By the time you respond, you’re already inside it.”
“Here are the notes for your meeting.” Jim hands us both a small packet of papers.
I read through it. We can negotiate on children, my monthly allowance, but the wedding is next month, divorce isn’t an option. It’s truly death do us part. No real surprises really. Then I see the amount of money they will get for me. It’s only a half-million dollars. “I’m a bargain.”
“I don’t know how you can be so crass,” Ciro argues.
I glance up, holding his gaze as I rest my weight more firmly against the table. “They want to talk on Friday over Zoom,” I say, letting the words sit between us. “I have a better idea.”
Jim watches me.
“I’m not accepting the invite,” I reply, shifting the tablet back toward him as I straighten. “I’m not going to play their game. They’re going to play mine.”
Jim exhales once, low, and then leans back against the table, studying me with a sharper edge now. “You’re talking about showing up. Not dialing in and listening.”
“That’s a bad idea,” Ciro says.
“I won’t sit behind a screen while they define terms,” I say, reaching for the back of the chair and pulling it slightly out of alignment with the table. “I want to see what they’ve built and where it fails.”
Jim’s jaw tightens, not in disagreement but in calculation, and he nods once as he pushes off the table. “If you walk into that room, you change the conversation.” He steps around the chair. “They won’t control the pace anymore.”
“I rely on timing.”
Ciro releases his breath slowly, his attention sharpening as he straightens. “Timing doesn’t keep you safe,” he says, folding his arms. “Logistics do.”
“I’m going.” I push the papers at Jim. “So give me the logistics.”
He exhales once, low, and then nods, as if the line has been crossed cleanly.
“Private plane.” He pushes off the table and paces before the window before turning back.
“We don’t book commercial, we don’t file early.
Eight of my team on the ground before you step off the plane.
” He gestures toward the door and then back to me.
“You don’t move alone. Not in transit, not on arrival. ”
“Tomorrow,” I pick up my phone as I check the time, already adjusting the sequence in my head. “They won’t expect that.”
“That’s the point.” He steps back into my space, not blocking now but forcing proximity. “You show up ahead of their timeline, you take the room before they build it around you.”
“And if they adjust?” I meet his eyes, not stepping back.
“Which they will. But they’ll be reacting to you, not the other way around.” He pauses, and then adds, quieter, “And you don’t walk in alone.”
“You’re not coming with me.” I slide my phone into my bag without breaking eye contact. “I’m looking for leverage.”
“No,” Jim agrees. “You take a lawyer.”
“Do you know anyone?” Ciro looks at Jim.
Jim looks down at his phone scanning his contacts. “I do.”
Ciro watches me for a moment and then gives a short nod, the decision settling into something operational as he turns toward the door. “Then we move,” he says, reaching for the handle as he glances back once. “Be ready.”