Elena
We slip back into the dining room separately, far enough apart that hopefully no one will guess what just happened.
I can still feel my arousal on the insides of my thighs, and it feels oddly exciting, like a dirty secret only Declan and I know about.
My father glances up from his wine, his expression unreadable, and I feel heat creep up my neck.
"Everything all right?" Alessio asks.
"Fine," I say, sliding back into my seat. "Just needed some air for a moment."
Declan sits down too, and the conversation resumes with business talk. I participate when expected—which isn’t often—and smile when appropriate, but my mind keeps drifting back to the hallway and Declan's hands on my body. His promise that we'd wait for children until I was ready.
No one has ever given me that kind of choice before.
Dessert arrives, tiramisu and espresso, and I'm reaching for my fork when my father's voice cuts through the ambient conversation. "Elena." He dabs his mouth with his napkin, setting it aside. "Come speak with me in my office for a moment."
I freeze. It's not an unusual request; my father has often pulled me aside to discuss household matters or upcoming events. But something about his tone makes my stomach clench. "Now?" I ask.
"If you don't mind." He stands, buttoning his suit jacket. "It won't take long."
I glance at Declan and see the question in his eyes, but I shake my head slightly. It's fine. It's just my father.
"Of course," I say, standing.
I follow him out of the dining room and down the long hallway. The house is quiet here, insulated from the noise of the dinner party. My heels click against the hardwood floor, each step echoing in the silence.
My father's office is at the end of the hall, a massive room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a mahogany desk, and windows that overlook the estate gardens. The scent of leather and cigars hangs in the air.
He closes the door behind us. "Sit," he says, gesturing to one of the chairs across from his desk.
I sit. My hands fold in my lap automatically, the perfect posture drilled into me since childhood.
The leather chair is cold through the silk of my dress.
My father moves to the bar cart in the corner, the crystal decanter catching the lamplight as he pours himself a scotch.
The amber liquid glows like honey. He doesn't offer me one.
"How are you finding married life?" he asks, his back still to me.
The question catches me off guard. "It's... an adjustment."
"I'm sure it is." He turns, glass in hand, and leans against the edge of his desk. "But you seem to be managing well. I've heard good things."
"Good things?"
"You're doing your duty." He takes a sip of scotch, watching me over the rim of the glass. "Getting close to him. Making him trust you."
Something cold slides down my spine. The office suddenly feels smaller, the air thicker. "I don't understand."
"Don't you?" He sets the glass down on the desk beside him, his dark eyes fixing on mine. "Come now, Elena. You're a smart girl. Surely you've wondered why I arranged this marriage."
"To create an alliance," I say slowly. "To strengthen our position with the Irish—"
"Declan Murphy is a problem, Elena. A significant one.
He's an upstart, a brute who has no place in our world.
He took power through violence and luck, not through birthright or tradition.
He doesn't understand the delicate balance that keeps our families strong, the centuries of tradition that separate us from common criminals. "
I open my mouth, but he continues before I can speak.
"He wants to do things his own way and ignore the old agreements.
Renegotiate territories that have been settled for generations.
He thinks because he has Lachlan Gallagher's blessing, he can simply walk into our world and change the rules.
" My father picks up his scotch again, swirling it slowly.
"He's dangerous, Elena. Not because he's violent—we're all violent when necessary.
But because he doesn't respect the structure that keeps us all from tearing each other apart. "
"He's learning—"
My father stands, moving to the window. The gardens beyond are dark, only the security lights illuminating the paths.
"Already, other families are questioning the old ways.
Asking why they should honor agreements made by their fathers and grandfathers when this Irish upstart can simply take what he wants.
He's making us all look weak. Making me look weak for giving him my daughter. "
I feel my breath catch. "Papa—"
"The Marchettis are watching. The Rossis are circling. Even families we've had peace with for decades are starting to wonder if the Capettis have lost their edge." He turns back to me. "Declan has revealed a crack in our armor. And cracks, Elena, are where everything falls apart."
I stare at him, my mind racing. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that your marriage served a purpose beyond alliance. I’ve just been waiting for the right time to fill you in on the rest. I wanted to keep you in the dark so that whatever happened between the two of you would be natural.
" He moves back to his desk, picking up a pen and turning it between his fingers.
The gesture is absent, almost thoughtful.
"You were always meant to get close to him and make him trust you. To make him vulnerable.”
The room tilts. The air feels too thin. "Father—"
"And then," he continues, as if I haven't spoken, "you were meant to kill him."
The words hang in the air between us. I can’t believe that I heard him correctly.
"What?" My voice comes out as a whisper.
"It's your duty, Elena." He says it so calmly, like he's discussing a business transaction. Like he's asking me to host a dinner party or manage the household staff. "You'll restore the balance and remove the threat. And then you'll be free."
"Free?" I can barely form the word. My hands are shaking in my lap.
"Yes." He sets the pen down and leans forward, his expression changing.
He looks at me with something approaching understanding…
affection, even. "I know this hasn't been easy for you, being married to a man like that.
A man who doesn't understand your world, who can't give you the life you deserve.
A man who took you from everything you knew and expected you to simply... adjust."
My throat is tight. I can't speak.
"But once it's done, once he's gone, you'll have options." He picks up his scotch again, taking a slow sip. "Not the illusion of choice you've had your entire life."
"I don't—" My voice breaks. "I can't—"
"You can. You're a Capetti, Elena. You're stronger than you think. Stronger than your mother was, God rest her soul. And this is what our family needs from you.
"I'll find you a proper husband afterward," he says, his voice taking on a warmer tone.
"Someone suitable. A widower, perhaps—a man of standing who's already proven himself capable of managing a family.
Someone like Antonio Russo. You remember him?
His wife died two years ago and left him with three children who need a mother.
He's wealthy and respected. He'd be grateful for a wife who could manage his household and raise his children.
You'd have security, status, and far less pressure than you have now. "
The image forms in my mind despite myself. A ready-made family. Children who need care but aren't mine to birth. A husband who'd be grateful rather than demanding.
"Or perhaps someone like Marco Vitale," my father continues, warming to his subject.
"He's older, yes, but distinguished. His first wife gave him sons, so there'd be no pressure for you to produce heirs.
He needs someone elegant to host his gatherings, someone who understands our world.
You'd have your own household to run, your own staff.
Respect without the... complications of a younger husband's expectations. "
He pauses, watching my face, reading me the way he's always been able to. "Or," he says, and his voice drops lower, "there's another option. One I think might appeal to you more."
My heart is pounding. "What option?"
"You don't have to marry again at all."
I feel myself physically flinch. My heart is pounding, and I stare at him.
"If you do this, if you complete your duty to this family, then perhaps you can choose.
" He sets his glass down and takes my hand, his grip warm and firm...
paternal. "You can marry again if you want.
Find a man who suits you, someone you actually care for.
Or..." He squeezes my hand gently. "You can live your own life, Elena. Truly your own."
"I don't understand."
"You'd have your own home. Your own money, a generous allowance, enough to live comfortably anywhere you choose.
You could travel to Paris, Rome, wherever you've always wanted to go.
You could pursue your interests without anyone questioning you.
Read, study, do whatever brings you joy.
" His voice is soft now, persuasive. "You could be free of the obligations that come with being a wife.
Free of the expectations. Free of the fear. "
"You'd never have to worry about pregnancy," he continues, gentler than I’ve ever heard him. This is a trap, a manipulation. I know it is… but it’s a good one. An apple that I’ve desperately craved to take a bite of my entire life.
"Never have to face what your mother faced.
You could live your life on your own terms, Elena.
Make your own choices. Be your own person, not someone's daughter or someone's wife. "
The temptation is overwhelming. Real, genuine freedom. The thing I've wanted my entire life, the thing I've never even let myself fully imagine because it seemed so impossible. No more arranged marriages. No more duty. No more being a pawn in someone else's game.
No more fear of dying the way my mother did.
"You'd still be family, of course," my father says. "Still welcome here and protected. But you'd be free, Elena. You could wake up every morning and decide what you want to do with your day. Go where you want. See who you want. Live how you want."
He releases my hand and leans back in his chair, giving me space.
"I know it's a lot to ask," he says quietly.
"I know it seems impossible. But think about what you'd gain.
Think about the life you could have. No more pretending.
No more performing. No more being what everyone else needs you to be. "
My hands are shaking. I press them together, trying to still them, but I can't. The room feels like it's spinning.
"All you have to do," my father says, his voice gentle and reasonable, "is remove a threat to our family. A man who doesn't belong in our world. A man who's destabilizing everything we've built. A man who, if we're honest, you never wanted to marry in the first place."
I can't breathe. I can’t think straight.
"You're a Capetti, Elena." He picks up his scotch again, taking another sip. "And this is what our family needs from you. What you need for yourself."
He stands and pulls out a drawer in his desk. Then he lays two things in front of me.
One is a small pearl-handled gun. A derringer, so tiny it could fit in a purse. The other is a vial of powder that I don’t need to ask what it’s for.
“You have options. Whichever works best for the right moment, and whichever you’re more comfortable with. But you need to get it done. The poison would be best, I think. He won't taste it, no matter what you put it in, and it will act quickly.”
I sit there for a long moment staring at the gun and the poison. Then, quickly, I put both into my clutch. Refusing outright is not an option. I need time to think.
"Remember who you are," my father says quietly. "Remember where your loyalty lies. Remember what you could have if you're brave enough to take it."
I nod wordlessly, standing, clutching my bag in my hand.
I pull the door open and step into the hallway, closing it behind me with a soft click that echoes in the silence.
I lean against the wall, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
My mind is racing, trying to process what just happened. What my father just asked me to do.
Kill Declan. The thought is absurd. Impossible. I can't—I wouldn't—
But my father's words echo in my head. You'll be free. I've never been free. Not once in my entire life. Every decision has been made for me, every path chosen by someone else. My education, my social circle, my marriage, all of it dictated by duty and family obligation.
But if I do this…
I push off the wall and start walking. I don't know where I'm going, just that I need to get away.
The hallway stretches out before me endlessly, and I think about Declan and the way he looked at me in the hallway earlier, his hands on my body, his voice rough with need.
About the way he promised we'd wait for children until I was ready.
About the diner, the dancing, our night together last night.
He's not the man I thought he was. Not the brute, the upstart, the interloper who doesn't belong. He's complicated and vulnerable, trying so hard to prove himself worthy of a world that will never fully accept him.
And I've started to care about him. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut.
I care about him as a person, someone who makes me feel things I didn't know I could feel.
But I also have a duty to my family. To my father.
To the world I was born into. And if I do this—if I kill Declan—I can be free. I can live my own life. I can choose.
All I have to do is betray the man I'm starting to fall for.
I find myself in the garden, the cool night air washing over me. The scent of jasmine is heavy around me. I sink onto a stone bench, my dress pooling around me, and press my hands to my face.
What am I supposed to do? If I refuse, my father will find another way. He always does. And when Declan is gone, the consequences I’ll face are unthinkable. A worse marriage, being cut off from the family… maybe worse things than that. I can’t begin to imagine how he’d punish my failure.
But if I agree…
Could I really kill him? Could I look him in the eye, knowing what I'm planning, and go through with it?
My stomach churns. I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. I thought I understood my world and my place in it. But everything is changing, becoming something I don't recognize.
Declan isn't supposed to matter. He's supposed to be a duty, an obligation. But he does matter. He matters more than I want to admit.
And my father is offering me the one thing I've always wanted. Freedom.
I sit there in the garden, the night air cold against my skin, and try to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do. Because for the first time in my life, I have a choice.
And I have no idea how to make it.