Chapter 2
ISABELLA
I sit stiffly in the antique leather chair across from my father who hasn’t looked at me directly since I entered his study five minutes ago.
"Isabella." He finally speaks my name, setting down his tumbler of scotch. "The La Corona meeting today concerned you."
My heart stutters.
La Corona?
I force my face to remain neutral, though my palms dampen.
"There's been a decision made." Father's voice drops lower. "You're to be married. Immediately."
The room seems to tilt sideways. "Married? To whom?"
"Roman Ginetti."
Roman Ginetti, Marco Calabresi's enforcer.
The man whose hands are permanently stained with blood.
The man who works for the family I believe murdered my mother.
"No." The word escapes my lips before I can stop it, defiance rising within me. "Absolutely not."
Father's eyes finally meet mine, sharp as broken glass. "This isn't a negotiation."
"I'm twenty-five years old. I have my own life. You can't simply—"
"They wanted you dead, Isabella." His words slice through the air.
The world stops. "What?"
Father's expression hardens as he rises from his chair. "They know about your meetings with the FBI. About the accusations you've been making against the Calabresi family."
My blood turns to ice. How could they possibly…?
"Marriage or death by La Corona's decree." His voice is flat, emotionless. "Those are the only options I managed to secure for you. Be grateful I convinced them that the Ferraza bloodline is worth preserving."
I stare at my father, trying to process his words.
Marriage to Roman Ginetti or death.
The choice isn't really a choice at all.
"You've always known our world has rules, Isabella." Father's voice softens slightly. "Roman is a good man. Loyal. Respected."
"He’s old and Calabresi's butcher.” This can’t be happening.
Father waves his hand dismissively. "He’s not that old. Forty-five or so. He's a widower with a young daughter. The girl needs a mother figure."
He presents these details as if they should somehow comfort me, as if being stepmother to the child of a killer makes this arrangement more palatable.
"He's been devoted to his daughter since his wife died. Shows character. You'll have a ready-made family."
I push myself up from the chair, my legs unsteady beneath me. "A ready-made family? With a man who eliminates people for a living? Who will kill me if I don’t marry him?"
"Isabella—"
"An enforcer? Not even a Don?" The words burst from me, raw and pained. "You bargained me down to someone's henchman?"
It’s conceited to say, but I know my father had to take offense at that.
Father's expression hardens. "Be grateful I bargained for your life at all. Marco would never have agreed to marry you himself. Not with your… activities."
The hurt pierces through me.
My own father, trading me away like damaged goods.
The Ferraza name used to mean something. I used to mean something.
"When?" I ask, my voice hollow.
"The ceremony will be this weekend. Small, private. You'll move into Roman's home immediately afterward."
Three days. Three days until I'm handed over to a man who works for the family I've been trying to bring down.
The family I believe murdered my mother.
"Why won't you fight for me?" My voice cracks as fear and pain get the best of me. "I'm your daughter. Your only child."
Father's eyes harden. "Fight for you? What do you think this is?" He slams his palm against the mahogany desk. "This marriage IS me fighting for you, Isabella. La Corona wanted your blood. They demanded your execution. I convinced them to spare you."
I sink back into the chair, my knees suddenly too weak to support me.
"If not for my intervention, you'd already be dead. Roman was the compromise that kept you breathing."
"But the Calabresi family—"
"Is part of La Corona, just as we are." Father cuts me off. "You've endangered us all with your betrayal."
"Betrayal?" The word stings as it leaves his lips. "Is that what you call seeking justice for Mother?"
Father's expression shifts, pain flickering across his features before the mask of Don Ferraza returns. "You went outside the family. Outside La Corona. You spoke with federal agents."
"I have evidence." I lean forward, conviction urging me on. "Documents showing Calabresi connections to Mother's death."
"Evidence?" Father scoffs. "From whom? That FBI agent who's been feeding you information? Since when do they hand out evidence? No. They’re using you to bring us down. Bring me down. Is that what you want?"
"Agent Blackwood has been helping me find the truth. A truth you've ignored for the last year." I pull myself up straighter. "The Calabresi family ordered her murdered."
Father studies me for a long moment, something like pity crossing his face.
"Isabella, if Marco Calabresi wanted your mother dead, he would have come to me first. That's how La Corona works.
We don't move against each other's families without La Corona’s approval.
But more importantly, for what reason would he want her dead? There is none."
"Then who—"
"I don't know who killed your mother." His voice softens. "But I know it wasn't Calabresi."
“Why aren’t you looking for justice for her?”
His eyes narrow. “Who says I’m not? Who says I haven’t?”
I sit back, confused. “You haven’t told me—”
“So you can run to the Feds to share my misdeeds? You break my heart, Isabella.”
I feel a little bad, but mostly, I think he’s manipulating me.
Trying to make me feel guilty.
“If you know something about Mom’s murder, I want to know.”
He shakes his head. “You lost your right to know anything about this family, about La Corona, when you started talking to the Feds, an action punishable by death. But you won’t die, Isabella. You’ll marry Roman Ginetti, help him raise his daughter, and if you don’t…”
He doesn’t have to finish. I know what happens if I don’t.
I stand abruptly, finding my strength. "I won't marry a man who might have killed my mother."
Father's expression shifts, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes.
He rises slowly, placing both palms flat on his desk as he leans toward me. "Let me be perfectly clear. If you refuse this arrangement, Roman won't be your husband. He'll be your executioner. La Corona has already authorized your death. This marriage is the only reason you're still breathing."
Ice runs through my veins. The clinical way he delivers this death sentence, my death sentence, makes it all the more terrifying.
"You would let them kill your own daughter?" I whisper, searching his face for any sign of the father I once knew.
"I don’t have a choice in the matter," he responds, his eyes never leaving mine. "La Corona's decisions are final. This marriage is your only option for survival, Isabella. Choose wisely."
He waves me off, turning his attention back to papers on his desk.
I stare at him for a moment, resenting him and this life. Then I turn and rush to my room.
I slam my bedroom door and lock it, though I know it's a meaningless gesture.
If my father wants in, the lock won't stop him.
Nothing stops a Don of La Corona when they've made up their minds.
I pace my room, searching for an escape that doesn't exist.
Three days until I'm handed over to Roman Ginetti like some medieval peace offering.
Roman Ginetti.
I know of him more than I know him.
He’s always on the periphery.
The only image of him I can conjure up from memory is an old man with dead eyes.
I shake my head in disbelief that my life has come to this, all for wanting justice for my mother.
My eyes fall on the silver-framed photograph on my nightstand.
Mom's smile beams back at me, caught mid-laugh during our last summer vacation together.
We used to take time, just the two of us going out to Long Island, enjoying the beach and shopping.
But a year ago, she was gunned down in what had to be a hit, but police called it a drive-by shooting in which she got caught up by accident.
But Agent Blackwood agrees with me. Yes, I knew the risk I was taking to talk to him.
But my mother was worth it.
I cradle the frame in my hands, tracing her face through the glass. "What would you do?" I sink onto the edge of my bed. "They want me to marry into the family that took you from us."
To be honest, she’d probably defer to my father who always puts La Corona first.
The sacred council above all else.
Above justice for his wife.
Above his daughter's happiness or peace.
Above truth itself.
I set the photograph down, feeling defeated. My father would rather see me married to a killer than risk disrupting the precious balance of power between the families.
He's always been Don Ferraza first, family man second.
I move to my closet, yanking open the doors.
I won't be a sacrifice for La Corona's continued peace.
I won't marry a man who works for the family that murdered my mother.
I pull out an overnight bag and throw it open on the bed.
I grab handfuls of clothes and toss them inside.
I'll need cash, my passport, essentials I can carry.
I have savings they don't know about.
Three days is plenty of time to disappear.
I reach under my mattress and pull out my burner phone, the one Father doesn't know about.
I've been careful, keeping it charged but powered off, hidden in various different places around my room.
After three rings, Agent Blackwood answers. "Is something wrong? This isn't our scheduled check-in time."
I keep my voice low, eyes darting to my locked bedroom door. "They know. La Corona knows I've been talking to you."
A sharp intake of breath on the other end. "How much do they know?"
"Enough to want me dead." My voice cracks. "My father made a deal to save my life. They're marrying me off to Roman Ginetti, Marco Calabresi's enforcer."
Silence stretches out, which surprises me. I expected an immediate extraction plan.
“Agent Blackwood? Did you hear me? I need to get out. Now."
"Actually, this could work in our favor."
My stomach drops. "What?"