Chapter 3 Liana
Day One is almost over, and so far, Santino Marcello is exactly what I expected. An arrogant, overconfident man who is completely convinced he's in control.
I'm in the dining room now, seated at the long table where both families are gathering for the formal dinner.
The seating arrangement is traditional. Santino and I are placed next to each other at the center, like we're already married.
Our families branch out on either side, a physical representation of the alliance.
Or the hostile takeover, depending on how you look at it.
Santino slides into the chair beside me, and I catch his scent. Expensive cologne with something darker underneath. Probably the smell of ego.
"Hi." He turns to face me, draping one arm over the back of my chair. Casual. Possessive. "Tell me about yourself, Liana."
I resist the urge to shove his arm off. Instead, I smile. "What would you like to know?"
"Everything." His eyes travel over my face. "Your interests. Your hobbies. What you do with your time."
What I do with my time is prepare to run this family, despite everyone pretending I'm just arm candy. But he doesn't need to know that.
"Oh, the usual things." I pick up my wine glass, taking a delicate sip. "I sit on several charity boards. I speak three languages. I enjoy art, music, literature."
"You're cultured." He leans in slightly. "I need a wife who can handle herself at formal events and plan them."
Need a wife.
Like I'm equipment he's acquiring.
"And what about you?" I turn the question back on him. "What does Santino Marcello do for fun?"
"Fun?" He considers this like it's foreign. "I work. I build. I expand. That's what I do."
"No hobbies? No interests outside of business?"
"Business is my interest." He signals a server for a drink. "Everything else is purely maintenance."
Charming.
"That sounds focused," I say.
"It's what's required." He accepts a glass of scotch. "You don't build an empire by getting distracted."
Empire. He keeps using that word like he's already won mine.
"Of course." I set down my wine glass. "And once we're married, I assume I'll be part of that empire?"
His expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes. "You'll be my wife."
"Which means?"
"You'll have everything you need. A beautiful home. An allowance. Freedom to pursue your interests." He takes a sip. "As long as you understand that the business side of things will remain my domain."
And there it is. The expectation laid bare.
I'm supposed to smile, nod, accept my role as decoration. Instead, I tilt my head. "And if I want to be involved in the business?"
Now his expression does change. A tightening around his eyes, a hint of condescension. "The business world I operate in isn't appropriate for women. It's dangerous. Complicated. I wouldn't want you to worry about those things. There’s no reason for you to. I’ll handle everything.”
"How thoughtful." I keep my voice sweet. "You want to protect me."
"Exactly." He looks relieved. "You'll have plenty to keep you busy. Running the household, planning events, maybe starting a family eventually."
Starting a family. Code word for you’ll produce heirs while I run everything. I take another sip to keep from throwing wine in his face.
"That sounds wonderful," I lie.
"See?" He's smiling now. "We're already on the same page."
We are absolutely not on the same page.
But I smile back. "I'm so glad we understand each other."
"Me too." He raises his glass. "To the next forty days."
"To the next forty days," I echo, clinking my glass against his.
And to watching you beg for this to end.
Dinner is served in courses, each more elaborate than the last. A show of wealth, power, tradition. The Costa family has been doing this for generations.
I notice Santino barely touches his food. He's too busy talking. Networking. Working the room even while sitting down. He chats with my uncle about territory. He discusses shipping routes with one of our captains. He makes jokes with his crew, seated further down.
The man doesn't stop. Everything is strategic.
"You're not eating," I observe. “Is everything okay?”
"I'm not hungry." He glances at my plate. "You're not eating much either."
"I'm pacing myself. It's going to be a long dinner."
"You don't enjoy these things?" He sounds surprised. "I thought women loved formal dinners."
Women.
Like we're all the same.
"Some of us do," I say carefully. "But I prefer smaller settings."
"Good to know. I’ll make a mental note and file that away. We'll do more private dinners during the forty days. Get to know each other better."
The thought makes me want to fake my own death and run away.
"That sounds lovely," I say.
As dinner progresses, I watch him interact with others. He's charismatic. People lean in when he talks. They laugh at his jokes. He commands a room just by being in it.
It's attractive. Damn it, he’s attractive. But it doesn't change anything. He's still planning to take everything from me.
"Your mother." Santino's voice pulls me from my thoughts. "She seems very elegant. A traditional wife."
I glance down the table where my mother sits, the perfect mafia wife. Beautiful, gracious, silent unless spoken to. Everything I refuse to become.
"She is," I say carefully.
"You're not like her." He's watching me closely now. "Are you?"
The question catches me off guard. "What makes you say that?"
"Just an observation." He swirls his scotch. "She seems content to let your father handle everything. But you..." He pauses. "You ask questions. You want to be involved."
He’s more perceptive than I thought.
"I'm just curious," I say quickly. "About my future. Our future together. What will be expected of me."
"Curiosity is fine." His tone is as careful as mine. "As long as you understand where the boundaries are.”
Like I'm a child who needs to be told rules and limits.
"Of course," I say, my voice sweet. "I would never overstep."
He studies me for another moment, then seems satisfied. Before I can respond, Uncle Tommaso stands, clinking his glass.
"A toast," he announces. "To the happy couple. May the next forty days bring you both joy and understanding."
Everyone raises their glasses. I lift mine, finding Santino's eyes.
We drink and the toast is made.
After dinner, there's mingling. Coffee in the parlor. Endless conversations with people I've known my whole life, all of them looking at me with pity or envy. I play my part. Smile. Laugh. Touch Santino's arm at appropriate moments. Introduce him to everyone.
It's exhausting.
I hate these functions. Finally, people start leaving. Santino and his family prepare to go.
"Walk me out?" He offers his arm.
I take it because that's expected. We walk through the house to the main entrance, his crew trailing behind. Outside, the night air is cool. Santino's car waits, sleek and expensive.
"We made it." He turns to face me. "The end of Day One."
"Day One down," I echo.
"I think it went well." He steps closer. "Don't you?"
"It was fine."
"Just fine?" He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture is possessive. I want to swat his hand away from me. He doesn’t have any right to touch my hair. "I was hoping for better than fine."
"Fine is still good," I manage.
"I don't settle for good, Liana." His voice drops. "I want perfect."
Of course he does.
Before I can respond, he leans in close, his lips nearly brushing my ear. "Tomorrow. Dinner. Just the two of us."
Then he's gone, sliding into his car.
I stand there, watching his taillights disappear.
Behind me, Gia appears. "How did it go?"
"He's exactly what I expected." I turn toward the house. "Arrogant. Controlling. Completely convinced this is going his way. And starting tomorrow, I'm going to show him exactly how wrong he is."
We walk inside and Gia follows me up the stairs. "What's the plan?"
I think about Santino's confident smile. His assumptions. His certainty that I'll fall in line.
"Tomorrow night, he's taking me to dinner." I push open my bedroom door. "Somewhere expensive, I'm sure. Somewhere he can drop a lot of money and impress me."
"What will you do?”
"I'm going to order a salad." I kick off my heels. "Tell him I'm on a diet."
Gia frowns. "That's it? I do that all the time. I eat salads."
"No." I smile. "That's not it. Then I'm going to eat his entire meal instead."
Gia stares at me. "You're joking."
"I'm not." I collapse onto my bed. "Trust me. It's perfect."
"That's your brilliant plan? To steal his food and eat it?"
"It's not stealing if he offers." I stare at the ceiling.
"And he will offer. Because he's trying to be charming.
Accommodating. The perfect gentleman. He'll spend a fortune on a meal he doesn't get to eat while watching me claim to be on a diet.
" I roll onto my side. "It's just the beginning, Gia.
By Day Forty, he's going to be begging to walk away from me. "
My phone buzzes and I glance at it.
A text from Santino. Just one line.
Santino: Tomorrow. 7pm. I'll pick you up.
I stare at the message. No question. No asking if I'm free. Just a statement.
Like he's already in charge.
I type back quickly.
Me: Perfect. Can't wait.
I set down the phone.
Gia's watching me from the doorway. "You really think this is going to work?"
"It has to." I meet her eyes. "Because if it doesn't, we lose everything."