Chapter 13 Liana #2
"Eventually, yes." Her eyes go distant with memory. "Not at first, though. At first, I was absolutely furious. I had plans for my life. Dreams. Things I wanted to accomplish. And suddenly, I was someone's wife. Expected to stay home, have babies, keep the house, be quiet and supportive."
"That's exactly—" I stop myself.
"Exactly what you're facing now," she finishes perceptively. "I can see it in your eyes, child. That anger simmering beneath the surface. That fear of losing yourself to someone else's expectations."
"What did you do? How did you handle it?"
"I was miserable for the first year, if I'm being honest. Made his life absolute hell." She smiles at the memory. "Burned his dinners 'accidentally.' Ruined his favorite shirts in the wash. Small rebellions that let me feel like I had some control."
"Did it work?"
"Not really. Then one day, he asked me what I wanted. Really wanted from life, not what everyone expected me to want. And I told him the truth. I wanted to work. To use my nursing skills. To be more than just a housewife keeping his home clean."
"What did he say?" I lean forward, invested in her story.
"He said yes." Her voice softens with affection. "He didn't agree immediately. It took convincing, many long conversations. But he listened. He actually heard me. And eventually, he understood. We built a life together. A real partnership. Not perfect by any means, but ours."
"I don't think my situation is the same as yours was."
"Maybe not exactly," she concedes. "But here's what I learned through those years.
Anger and love can coexist in the same heart.
You can fight fiercely for what you want and still let someone in emotionally.
The question is whether you're willing to trust him enough to try.
Whether you're brave enough to be vulnerable. "
"I don't know if I can trust him," I admit honestly. "I don't know if I can trust anyone with that much power over me."
"Then find out before you make any final decisions," Dorothy advises, reaching across the table to pat my hand. "But don't run before you know for sure. That's just cowardice dressed up as strategy, and you're better than that."
By noon, I'm back home, the conversation with Dorothy replaying in my mind. Papa's assistant intercepts me in the hallway before I can escape to my room.
"Your father wants to see you," she says formally. "In his study. Immediately."
My stomach tightens with anxiety. "Now?"
"Yes, he's waiting."
I make my way to Papa's study, my heart beating faster with each step down the familiar hallway. This summons can't be good.
He's behind his massive desk when I enter, the imposing figure who raised me. Dominic Costa, Don of our family. Silver hair perfectly styled. Sharp eyes that miss nothing. The man who taught me everything about this business and then decided I couldn't run it because of my gender.
"Liana. Sit down." It's not a request.
I sit in one of the leather chairs facing his desk.
He studies me for a moment that stretches uncomfortably. "How are things progressing with Santino?"
"Fine. Everything's fine." I keep my voice neutral.
He leans back in his chair. "That's remarkably vague."
"We're getting to know each other. Spending time together. Following the tradition of the forty days."
"I heard you showed up at his poker game last night," he says casually, but I know better than to think this is casual conversation.
Of course he heard. Nothing happens in this city without Papa knowing within hours. His network of informants is extensive.
"I was looking for him," I say carefully, choosing my words.
"At a private game with the Volkov brothers." His voice remains mild, which makes it more dangerous. "That was extremely reckless behavior."
"I was worried about him—"
"You were impulsive," he cuts me off sharply. "Santino is conducting important business, Liana. You can't just interrupt whenever you feel like it. You can't burst into meetings with dangerous men."
"I understand that now."
"Do you?" He stands abruptly, walking to the window. "Because I'm not sure you understand how delicate this entire situation is. How important this alliance is for our family's future."
"I understand that you're marrying me off—" I start.
"I'm protecting you!" He turns to face me, voice rising. "That's what this is. Protection."
"I don't need protection. I need—"
"What? To run this family?" His voice rises further. "To put a target on your back that can never be removed? To give our enemies a perfect reason to come after you?"
I stand to face him. "I'm capable of handling the business."
"I know you're capable!" He's genuinely angry now, his composure cracking.
"Liana, I trained you myself. I know exactly what you can do.
I've seen your strategic mind at work. But this world—our world—it doesn't care about capability or intelligence.
It cares about tradition. About power. About respect earned through fear. "
"And they won't respect a woman," I finish his thought bitterly.
"No." His voice drops, becoming quieter and somehow sadder. "They won't. They'll see you as weak. As something to exploit and use against our family. They'll come after you to get to me, to undermine our power."
"So, you're marrying me off to Santino instead. Solving the problem by making me someone else's responsibility."
"I'm marrying you to someone who can protect you properly. Someone strong enough to run both families effectively. Someone who—" He stops mid-sentence, sitting back down heavily behind his desk. "Someone I trust to keep you safe when I can't anymore."
The anger drains out of me suddenly, replaced by growing concern at his words and his posture.
"Papa, are you alright? Is something wrong?"
"I'm tired, Liana." He looks older suddenly, smaller somehow, the weight of his years visible. "I'm getting old. My health isn't what it used to be."
"Your health?" My voice sharpens with worry. "What do you mean?"
"The doctors say it's nothing serious. Not yet, anyway." He waves his hand dismissively. "But I'm not immortal. And I need to know that when I'm gone, you'll be protected. That you'll be safe from our enemies."
"I could protect myself if you'd just let me. And Gia too."
"No." His voice is absolutely firm. "You couldn't. Not in this world.
Not as a woman." He meets my eyes directly.
"I know you hate this arrangement. I know you think I'm taking something precious away from you.
And maybe I am. But I'm also giving you something invaluable: a future. A life beyond these walls. Safety."
"At what cost to who I am?"
"At the cost of your pride," he says bluntly. "Which is a small price to pay for your life."
I want to argue. Want to tell him he's wrong, that I could lead, that I could earn their respect if given the chance.
But looking at him now—seeing the genuine fear in his eyes, the exhaustion in his posture, the way his hands shake slightly—I can't bring myself to fight.
"Does Santino know?" I ask quietly. "About your health?"
"His father knows. They know the arrangement is more urgent than we initially let on publicly."
"So, it's not just about tradition and power."
"It's about survival, Liana. Yours and ours." He comes around the desk, standing close. "Promise me you'll make this work. Promise me you'll try."
I think about last night. About the way Santino looked at me, about Dorothy's wise words, about Gia's challenges.
About the fact that maybe, just maybe, I'm running out of valid reasons to push him away.
"I promise I'll try," I say finally.
It's not a lie. Not exactly. I will try.
I'm just not sure what I'm trying for anymore—to make the marriage work or to find a way to survive it with my soul intact.
Papa embraces me briefly but tightly. "That's my girl."
When I leave his study, I feel heavier, weighted down by expectations and guilt and confusion about what I actually want.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. A text from Santino.
Santino: Dinner tonight? We should talk.
We should talk. The four words every woman dreads hearing.
Me: Can't tonight. Family dinner. Tomorrow?
Santino: Tomorrow then. My place. 7pm.
Me: Looking forward to it!
I add an exclamation point and a heart emoji automatically, keeping it light and casual.
Like last night didn't fundamentally change something between us.
Like everything isn't spiraling completely out of my control.
I go to my room, seeking refuge. Gia is sitting on my bed, clearly waiting for me.
"What did Papa want?" she asks immediately.
"To make sure I'm making this work with Santino." I collapse next to her on the bed. "He's sick, Gia."
"What?" Her voice fills with alarm.
"Not seriously. Not yet, anyway. But he's not well." I stare at the ceiling. "He's doing this entire arrangement because he's scared. Because he thinks this is the only way to keep me safe when he's gone."
"Is he wrong?" she asks gently.
"I don't know anymore." I roll onto my side, facing her. "Dorothy told me I'm running. That I'm a coward for pushing Santino away before giving him a real chance."
"Are you running?"
"Maybe." I close my eyes. "Or maybe I'm just trying to survive with some part of myself intact.
I slept with him last night and felt more alive than I've felt in years.
And that terrifies me more than anything.
Because if I let myself feel that way, if I let this be real and meaningful—" I open my eyes.
"Then when he inevitably wants to control me, when he inevitably tries to make me into what everyone expects me to be, it's going to completely destroy me. "
"Or," Gia says quietly, "maybe he'll surprise you. Maybe he's not like other men."
"Men like Santino don't surprise anyone," I say with bitter certainty. "They take what they want and expect you to be grateful for the privilege."
"Is that what he's done?" she challenges. "Has he actually taken things from you?"
I think about it. Really, honestly think about it.
He's cooked elaborate meals for me. Let me invade his personal space without complaint. Protected me from dangerous men. Made me feel things I didn't think I was capable of feeling.
What has he actually taken from me?
"I don't know," I admit reluctantly.
"Then maybe," Gia suggests carefully, "you should find out before you burn it all down just to prove you can."
She leaves me there, alone with my increasingly complicated thoughts.
And with the deeply uncomfortable realization that maybe—just maybe—I'm not the one in control anymore.
Maybe I never was.
That night, I lie in bed and stare at my phone in the darkness.
At the message from Santino: Tomorrow then. My place. 7pm.
Tomorrow, I'll see him again. Talk to him. Pretend like everything's fine.
But everything isn't fine at all.
I'm attracted to him. More than attracted—I'm falling for him.
And that was never part of the plan.
The plan was to make him miserable. To drive him away. To save my birthright.
But Papa's words keep echoing in my head: I'm protecting you. This is the only way to keep you safe.
And Dorothy's: Don't run before you know for sure. That's just cowardice dressed up as strategy.
And Gia's: Maybe he'll surprise you.
I turn off my phone, plunging the room into complete darkness.
Tomorrow, I'll figure it out. Tomorrow, I'll make a decision.
Tomorrow, I'll decide whether to keep fighting or to surrender.
But tonight, I let myself remember without guilt.
His hands on my skin. His mouth claiming mine.
The way I felt, just for a moment, like I was exactly where I belonged.