Chapter 15 Liana #2
"No." He meets my eyes with an honesty that hurts more than any lie could.
"It won't. I've spent the last year quietly reaching out to the other families, testing the waters, trying to gauge their reactions.
And every single one of them said exactly the same thing: they will not respect a female Don.
They will not do business with a woman in charge of a family. "
"Then they're idiots who deserve to fail."
"They're traditionalists who control half of Italy.
And they're extremely dangerous when they feel threatened.
" He steps closer to me. "Liana, if I put you in charge of this family, they would immediately see it as weakness on my part.
As an opportunity to move against us. They would come after you directly.
After us. After everyone in our family."
"I can handle—"
"You can't." His voice is firm with absolute certainty.
"Not against all of them united together.
Not when they unite against what they perceive as a common threat to their entire way of life.
And you would absolutely be a threat to them, Liana.
To their traditions. To their beliefs. To everything they think they understand about how our world is supposed to work. "
I want to argue with him. Want to tell him he's wrong, that I could prove myself, that I could make them accept me through sheer competence and force of will.
But I've been to enough of these meetings over the years. I've seen enough of how these men think and what they value. I've watched them dismiss women far more powerful than me without a second thought.
He's right, and we both know it.
They would never accept me, no matter what I did or how well I performed.
"So instead you're marrying me off like I'm some kind of medieval princess," I say, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice.
"I'm protecting you the only way I know how." He reaches out and touches my face gently. "By marrying you to Santino, I'm ensuring that the family stays strong and united. That our territory stays protected. That you stay safe."
"At the cost of absolutely everything I've worked for my entire life."
"At the cost of your pride, yes." He drops his hand back to his side. "Which is a small price to pay for your life and your safety."
We've had this exact conversation before, multiple times over the past few months. It never ends any differently than this.
"Does Santino know?" I ask, changing tactics slightly. "Does he know how much I actually know about the business?"
"His father knows that you've been trained properly and that you understand the basic operations."
"But does Santino himself know the full extent of my involvement?"
Papa hesitates, which tells me everything I need to know. "He knows you're intelligent and well-educated. But I didn't detail the full extent of your involvement in daily business operations."
"Why not?"
"Because it's easier if he sees you as a wife first and foremost. A partner in the family business second, after he's had time to get to know you properly.
" Papa starts walking again, and I follow.
"Let him get to know you as a woman first, establish that relationship and connection.
Then gradually he'll begin to see your true value to the business. "
"And if he doesn't see it? If he never values what I can contribute?"
"Then you'll convince him eventually. You're certainly smart enough and persistent enough to figure it out."
I'm smart enough to run this entire operation by myself without any help from anyone. But apparently that's not an option that's available to me.
We reach the end of the dock, where the water laps against the concrete pilings. Papa's phone rings, and he answers it immediately, speaking in rapid Italian. Business matters, from the sound of the conversation.
I look out at the water, at the massive ships coming and going, at the port that I help run every single day.
In three weeks, none of this will be mine anymore.
It'll belong to Santino.
Unless my plan actually works.
Unless I can somehow make him walk away before we reach Day Forty.
But after last night—after seeing the genuine guilt and confusion on his face—I'm not entirely sure the plan is still working the way it's supposed to.
I'm not sure what I'm doing anymore, or what I actually want.
Papa finishes his call and pockets his phone. "I need to go meet with the Greco family."
"Is this about the wedding itself?"
"It's about the alliance and the territory agreements. Old Tony wants to discuss several specific points before the marriage is officially finalized." He kisses my forehead in the same gesture he's used since I was a child. "You'll be here tomorrow morning at the same time?"
"Same time as always."
"Good girl." He starts walking toward his waiting car, then stops and turns back. "Liana?"
"Yes, Papa?"
"I know this isn't what you wanted for your life. But you'll make the best of it somehow. You always do."
Then he's gone, leaving me standing there alone.
Making the best of it.
That's what I've been doing my entire life, isn't it? Making the best of a world that absolutely refuses to let me be what I'm actually capable of being.
And I'm so tired of it that I can barely breathe sometimes.
I pull out my phone and compose a text to Santino.
Me: I left my laptop at your place. I need to pick it up.
His response takes a few minutes to arrive.
Santino: When?
Me: Today, while you're at work. I don't want to bother you. Can you give me the keycode?
Another pause, this one noticeably longer than the first.
Santino: The keycode?
Me: To your building. So I can let myself in.
I can practically feel his hesitation radiating through the phone screen.
Santino: I can bring it to you.
Me: I'm at the port all morning. It's easier if I just pick it up.
Santino: Liana...
Me: Unless you don't want me to have access to your place?
That should get him exactly where I need him. After everything I said about being a good wife, about being prepared for our future together, about wanting to be genuinely involved in his life. If he refuses to give me the code now, he looks like he doesn't trust me at all.
His response comes through after another long pause.
Santino: Building code is 4782.
Me: Thank you.
No heart emoji this time. No exclamation points. Just the simple facts.
Let him wonder about the change in my communication style.
I pocket my phone and head toward my car, parked in the employee lot.
Away from the port and everything I'm about to lose.
Away from the life I was supposed to have.
That evening, I'm sitting on my bed and staring at my laptop when Gia knocks on my door.
"Come in."
She enters and closes the door carefully behind her. "How was everything at the port this morning?"
"Fine. Completely normal." I'm still sitting cross-legged on my bed, staring at the laptop screen—the one I retrieved from Santino's apartment this afternoon while he was at work. "Papa and I walked through the entire Valencia shipment distribution plan together."
"And?"
"And I reorganized our Lisboa route because it's currently being watched by Portuguese authorities.
I delayed the entire shipment and rerouted everything through Barcelona instead.
" I close the laptop with more force than necessary.
"Just another ordinary day in the business I'm not actually allowed to run. "
"Liana—"
"I know what you're going to say. I know." I set the laptop aside on my nightstand. "I should be grateful for what I have. I should be making the best of the situation. That's what we do as women in this world, right?"
Gia sits down on my bed beside me. "You're really extraordinarily good at all of this. At running the business."
"I know I am."
"Papa knows it too. You have to know that he sees it."
"I know that too. But it doesn't actually matter in the end, does it?" I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. "None of it matters at all if I'm not a man."
"What if you told Santino the complete truth? About your actual involvement in the business?"
"Papa doesn't want me to do that. He thinks I should let Santino get to know me as a wife first before revealing anything else."
"Screw what Papa wants for once in your life. What do you actually want?"
I think about this morning at the port. About running that meeting with confidence and authority. About making decisions that affect millions of euros and dozens of people's livelihoods. About being genuinely good at something that actually matters in our world.
"I want to run this family the way I was trained to do. I want what Papa promised me when he first started teaching me all those years ago. I want to matter in a way that's real and permanent."
"You already do matter, Liana."
"Not enough. Not in the ways that actually count." I look at her directly. "And after I marry Santino? I'll matter even less than I do now. I'll be his wife. His possession. Just another valuable asset in his extensive portfolio."
"Is that really what you think he sees you as?"
I think about last night at his apartment. About the way he held me carefully when I couldn't stop crying. The genuine guilt in his eyes when he realized he'd hurt me. The way he called me enthusiastic instead of calling me crazy or delusional.
"I honestly don't know what he sees me as," I admit quietly. "And that's a significant part of the problem."
"Maybe you should actually find out before you marry him."
"I have exactly twenty-three days left to find out. Twenty-three days to either successfully make him walk away from this engagement, or figure out if I can somehow live with giving up absolutely everything I've worked for my entire life."
"Those aren't your only two options, you know."
"They're the only two options I actually have available to me."
Gia is quiet for a long moment, studying my face. "What if there's a third option you haven't considered? What if you tell him the complete truth? About what you know. What you can actually do. What you genuinely want from your life."
"And then what happens? He laughs at me? Pats me on the head condescendingly and tells me I'm cute for thinking I could ever be meaningfully involved?"
"Or maybe he surprises you in a good way."
"Men like Santino Marcello don't surprise anyone. They take exactly what they want and expect you to smile gratefully about it."
"You don't actually know that for certain. You're making assumptions about him."
She's right, and I know it. I am making assumptions based on limited information.
But what's the alternative? Trust him completely? Tell him everything I know and everything I want and just hope desperately that he's somehow different from every other man in our entire world?
That's not strategy or planning. That's just stupidity dressed up as optimism.
"I should probably get some sleep," I say, deflecting. "I need to be back at the port early tomorrow morning."
Gia stands reluctantly. "For what it's worth? I genuinely think you're underestimating him significantly."
"Or I'm seeing him with perfect clarity and you're being hopelessly optimistic."
"Maybe that's true." She walks to the door and pauses with her hand on the handle. "But you won't actually know for certain until you try."
She leaves, closing the door softly behind her.
I sit there alone in my room, staring at the closed laptop on my nightstand.
Inside it is that ridiculous PowerPoint presentation. The mortifying, overly detailed schedule that made him think I was either completely insane or utterly clueless about how normal relationships work.
But this afternoon, when I let myself into his apartment using the codes he gave me, I didn't just grab my laptop and leave immediately.
I looked around carefully. I noticed things about the way he lives and what seems to matter to him.
There were business documents spread across his desk. Detailed financial reports. Territory maps marked with notes in his handwriting.
I took pictures of everything with my phone. Not to use against him or to cause harm. Just to understand him better than I currently do.
To understand exactly what I'm up against.
Because that's what I do. I gather information methodically. I plan every detail. I strategize constantly.
It's what Papa taught me from the very beginning. And it's what will either save me or completely destroy me in the next twenty-three days.
I open my laptop and navigate to the PowerPoint file, then delete it permanently. I don't need it anymore.
Whatever happens next, I need a completely new strategy.
One that doesn't involve pretending to be someone I'm fundamentally not.
Or maybe one that involves pretending even better than before.
I'm not sure yet which path to take.
But I have twenty-three days to figure it out.
I close the laptop and turn off the light, plunging my room into darkness.
Tomorrow, I'll be back at the port before dawn. Running complex operations. Making important decisions that affect people's lives and livelihoods.
Being the person I'm actually capable of being, at least for a few more weeks.