Owned By My Bratva Fiancé’s Heir (Bratva Christmas Obsessions #5)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

ARIA

I woke up on my eighteenth birthday knowing two things with absolute certainty: I was supposed to marry Don Salvatore Accardi in three months, and I'd rather die first.

The thought wasn't new. I'd been living with it for years, ever since Papa sat me down at thirteen and explained my future like he was discussing the weather. "You'll marry into the Accardi family when you turn eighteen. It's already arranged. This alliance keeps both families strong."

Strong. Right. Because selling your daughter to a man old enough to be her grandfather was the hallmark of strength.

I stared at the ceiling of my bedroom, watching early morning light creep across the ornate molding Mama had insisted on when we renovated five years ago. Mama who'd died a week ago. Seven days since cancer had finally won the war it had been waging against her body for two years.

Seven days since I'd watched them lower her into the ground while Papa stood beside me, stone-faced and silent, like grief was something shameful that needed to be hidden.

Maybe that's what they'd trained me for my whole life. Not just to be the perfect mafia wife, but to feel nothing. To be nothing. A pretty doll in expensive dresses who smiled on command and never, ever caused problems.

I'd been so good at it too. Perfect grades, perfect manners, perfect daughter.

I'd learned Italian and French by the time I was ten.

Could plan a five-course dinner for fifty people without breaking a sweat.

Knew exactly how to tilt my head when men said inappropriate things so I looked demure instead of disgusted.

But watching Mama die had cracked something open inside me. Something raw and desperate and furious.

Life was fragile. I'd watched it slip away from someone I loved, watched her fade a little more each day until there was nothing left but a body in a hospital bed that didn't even look like her anymore.

And I was supposed to waste mine married to Salvatore Accardi? A man with cold eyes and two dead wives and a smile that made my skin crawl?

No. Absolutely not. Not anymore.

I threw off the covers and got dressed, my hands shaking with a combination of grief and rage that had been building for days. Weeks. Years, maybe.

Papa would be in his study. He'd been hiding there since the funeral, drowning his grief in work because god forbid a Romano actually feel something.

I found him exactly where I expected—behind his massive mahogany desk, reading glasses perched on his nose, looking over papers that probably detailed which territories we controlled and which families owed us favors.

He looked up when I walked in. "Aria. You should be resting. It's early."

"I need to talk to you."

Something in my voice made him set down his pen. "Alright. What is it?"

"I'm not marrying him." The words came out steadier than I felt. "I'm not marrying Don Salvatore. I won't do it."

Papa's expression didn't change. "Aria, we've discussed this—"

"No. You've told me. There's a difference.

" I moved closer to his desk, my heart hammering but my voice getting stronger.

"You've told me since I was thirteen years old that I was going to marry a man I've never even spoken to.

You've told me it's for the family, for the alliance, for peace.

But you've never once asked me what I want. "

"What you want isn't—"

"Please." I held up my hand. "Just listen to me. For once in my life, let me say what I'm thinking without interrupting."

He sat back, jaw tight, but he didn't speak.

I took a shaky breath. "I love you, Papa. I know you love me. And I know you think you're protecting me, securing my future, doing what's best for the family. But I don't understand—I have never understood—why keeping peace with the Accardis is worth more than my life."

"It's not worth more than your life—"

"Then why are you willing to sacrifice it?" My voice cracked. "Because that's what you're asking me to do. Sacrifice everything I am, everything I could be, to become some old man's third wife. His third wife, Papa. Do you know what happened to the first two?"

His face went hard. "Those are rumors—"

"Everyone knows his first wife didn't die in a car accident. Everyone knows his second wife drank herself to death trying to survive being married to him. And you want me to be number three?"

"Don Salvatore is a powerful man who runs one of the most respected families—"

"I don't care about power!" The words exploded out of me. "I don't care about respect or alliances or any of it! I care about living, Papa. Actually living, not just existing as someone's property."

I was shaking now, tears burning behind my eyes but I refused to let them fall.

"Do you know what I want? College. That's it.

Just four years at a normal university where I can study art history or literature or anything that isn't 'How to Be a Mafia Wife 101.

' I want to live in a dorm and complain about professors and eat terrible cafeteria food.

I want to figure out who Aria Romano is before I become Mrs. Salvatore Accardi and lose myself completely. "

Papa's expression was unreadable. "You've been trained for this your entire life—"

"I know! God, I know. I can host a dinner party for fifty people.

I know which fork goes with which course.

I speak three languages. I can smile at men who make my skin crawl and never show how much I want to throw my wine in their faces.

I've been the perfect daughter, Papa. The perfect little mafia princess. "

I leaned forward, my hands pressed flat against his desk.

"But Mama is dead. And watching her die showed me something—life is short and fragile and it can be stolen from you in a heartbeat. So please, please help me understand why I should waste mine on a man I don't love, don't respect, and honestly kind of fear."

The silence that followed felt like it lasted forever.

Papa took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. When he looked up at me, something in his face had shifted. Like he was actually seeing me—really seeing me—for the first time in years.

"You've never spoken to me like this before."

"You've never given me a reason to before." My voice softened. "I've always trusted you to do what was best. But this isn't what's best for me, Papa. This is what's convenient for everyone else."

He stood, walking to the window that overlooked our garden. Mama's roses were still blooming, bright red against the morning light. She'd loved those roses.

"Your mother—" His voice caught, and I realized with shock that Papa was actually showing emotion. "She asked me, before she died. Asked me if the marriage was truly necessary. If there wasn't another way."

My heart stopped. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her I'd think about it." He turned to face me. "And I have been. Thinking about it. About what she'd want for you. About what I want for you beyond just securing alliances and maintaining power."

"Papa—"

"Let me finish." He moved back to his desk, looking older than I'd ever seen him.

"You're right. About Salvatore. About his wives.

I've looked the other way because the alliance was important, but—" He stopped, jaw working.

"You're my daughter. My only child. And losing your mother has made me realize exactly how precious that is. "

Hope fluttered in my chest, fragile and terrifying.

"I'll call Don Salvatore tonight. Discuss... alternatives. Perhaps there's another way to maintain peace between our families without—" He couldn't finish the sentence.

"You mean it?" I could barely breathe. "You're really going to—"

"I'm not making promises, Aria. This is complicated. There are expectations, agreements that have been in place for years. But yes, I'll try to find another way." He reached out, touching my cheek like he used to when I was small. "You deserve a chance to live. Your mother would have wanted that."

I threw my arms around him, not caring that Romano daughters were supposed to be composed and controlled. "Thank you. Thank you, Papa."

He patted my back awkwardly, then gently extracted himself. "Go. It's your birthday. Enjoy it. We'll talk more after I've spoken with Salvatore."

I practically floated out of his study, my entire body buzzing with something I hadn't felt in months.

Hope.

Actual, real, tangible hope that maybe—just maybe—I wasn't going to end up as the third Mrs. Accardi after all.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Sophie.

Happy birthday! Please tell me you're sneaking out tonight. There's a new club downtown and I have a fake ID with your name on it.

I stared at the text. The old Aria would have said no. Would have stayed home like a good girl, spent her birthday reading in her room, gone to bed early.

But the old Aria was gone. Had died somewhere between watching Mama take her last breath and standing up to Papa this morning.

What time?

Sophie's response was immediate: 11. Wear something hot. Tonight we celebrate you LIVING.

I looked at the message for a long time, thinking about Mama. About Papa's promise. About the fact that in three months I might still end up married to Salvatore if Papa couldn't find another way.

Which meant tonight might be my only chance.

I'm in.

By eleven o'clock, I'd changed outfits six times and was seriously reconsidering every life choice that had led me to this moment.

"You look amazing. Stop freaking out." Sophie grabbed my hand and dragged me toward her car before I could bolt back inside. "This is happening."

"I've never been to a club before." My voice came out higher than normal. "What if someone recognizes me? What if Papa finds out? What if—"

"Aria. Breathe." Sophie squeezed my hand. "Tonight, you're not the Romano daughter. You're just a girl celebrating her eighteenth birthday. No last name, no expectations, no creepy old fiancé. Just you."

Just me. When was the last time I'd been just me?