Chapter Six
Caterina
The bridal suite smelled like money and desperation -- white roses from some obscenely expensive florist, champagne I hadn’t touched, and the faint chemical tang of whatever they’d used to rush-clean the room.
I stood in the center of it all in nothing but La Perla lingerie, watching three women I’d never met fuss over a dress that had been altered in forty-eight hours because apparently when you made a deal with the devil, he didn’t believe in long engagements.
Two security guards flanked the door. Not inside with me, but I still knew they were there. De Luca men, not Lombardi. That had been part of the arrangement -- Dante’s people handled security for the wedding. A show of power, or maybe just him making sure I didn’t bolt at the last minute.
Smart man.
Three weeks. That’s all the time that had passed since I’d sat across from Dante De Luca in The Velvet Room and made a deal I’d thought was brilliant. Now, staring at the wedding dress hanging from a hook on the armoire, I wasn’t so sure about the brilliant part.
“Stop fidgeting.” Mama appeared at my shoulder, her reflection joining mine in the vanity mirror. She looked perfect, as always. Champagne-colored Valentino, hair swept up in an elegant twist, pearls at her throat. The picture of maternal grace. “You’ll ruin your makeup.”
I forced my hands flat on the vanity surface, watching my fingers tremble slightly before I curled them into fists. “I’m fine.”
“You’re terrified.”
“I’m not --”
“Caterina.” She placed a hand on my shoulder, firm but not unkind. “I’ve known you for twenty-one years. You can lie to your father, to Dante, to everyone else. But don’t lie to yourself.”
I met her gaze in the mirror. Saw something there I hadn’t expected -- understanding. Not approval but understanding. Like she recognized something of herself in this moment.
“It’s too late to back out now,” I said. Not a question. A statement of fact.
“It was too late the moment you made the arrangement.” She moved to the dress, running her fingers over the silk with a kind of reverence. “But for what it’s worth, I think you chose the stronger option.”
“Stronger than Marco, you mean.”
“Stronger than most men I’ve met.” She lifted the dress carefully, turning to face me. “Dante De Luca doesn’t pretend to be something he’s not. There’s value in that kind of honesty, even if the truth is dangerous.”
I stood on legs that felt unsteady, my robe falling open slightly.
One of the stylists, a woman whose name I’d already forgotten, moved forward to help Mama maneuver the dress over my head.
The fabric whispered against my skin, cool silk that clung in ways that made me feel both powerful and exposed.
The gown was a masterpiece, I’d give it that.
Vera Wang had outdone herself. White silk that looked innocent from a distance but revealed itself to be anything but up close.
The neckline plunged just enough to be interesting without being scandalous.
The back was almost nonexistent, baring my spine in a way that felt deliberately vulnerable.
The skirt fell in clean lines that somehow managed to be both elegant and subtly provocative.
I’d chosen it specifically to make a statement. Now I wondered what statement I was actually making.
Mama worked the row of tiny buttons at my lower back, her fingers efficient despite the delicate work. “He’s not going to be easy to manage.”
“I’m not planning to manage him.” I watched the stylist approach with the veil, an elaborate piece of lace that had belonged to Papa’s grandmother. “This is a business arrangement. Clear terms, clear boundaries.”
“Is that what you think?” She finished the last button and turned me to face her. Her expression was softer than I’d seen it in years. “Caterina, men like Dante De Luca don’t make business arrangements when it comes to their wives. They make ownership claims.”
“The contract --”
“Won’t mean anything behind closed doors.” She cupped my face, forcing me to meet her eyes. “I know you think you’ve been clever. That you’ve negotiated yourself into a position of power but listen to me. Dante agreed to your terms for a reason. And that reason has nothing to do with business.”
My throat went tight. “You’re trying to scare me.”
“I’m trying to prepare you.” She released my face and stepped back, her gaze sweeping over me with clinical assessment.
“You’re about to become the wife of one of the most dangerous men in our world.
Whatever contract he offered you, it won’t protect you the way you think it will.
That man is even more dangerous than your father.
Do you really think he won’t expect your complete obedience in all things? ”
The stylist secured the veil, the weight of it settling across my shoulders like a physical manifestation of expectation. I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror and barely recognized myself. The woman staring back looked like a bride. Looked elegant and composed and ready.
Looked like a beautiful lie.
“Your hands are shaking,” Mama observed.
I looked down. She was right. My fingers trembled visibly, the massive engagement ring Dante had given me, an emerald surrounded by diamonds that probably cost more than twenty grand, catching the light with every small movement.
“Pre-wedding nerves,” I said, trying for my usual sharp tone. It came out hollow.
“Caterina --”
“I’m fine.” I turned away from the mirror, from my reflection, from the truth in Mama’s eyes. “Where’s the something borrowed?”
She didn’t argue. Just retrieved a small velvet box from her purse and handed it over. Inside was a diamond bracelet I recognized, one Papa had given her on their wedding day. The irony wasn’t lost on either of us.
I let Mama fasten it around my wrist, the diamonds cold against my skin. My pulse hammered underneath the metal, too fast, too obvious. I tried to take a deep breath and found my lungs didn’t want to cooperate. The bodice of the dress was perfectly fitted, but suddenly it felt like a vise.
“Breathe,” Mama said quietly. “Just breathe.”
I tried. Failed. Tried again. This time air actually made it into my chest, though it felt thin and insufficient.
“That’s it.” She squeezed my hand briefly. “You can do this.”
Could I? I wasn’t sure anymore. Twenty minutes ago, I’d been certain. Now, with the dress on and the veil secured and my mother’s warnings echoing in my head, doubt crept in like smoke under a door.
The preparation suite door opened without warning. I turned, expecting another stylist or maybe Luca coming to check on me.
Papa stood in the doorway instead.
He’d dressed for the occasion -- a Tom Ford tuxedo that made him look every inch the patriarch he was.
His expression was carefully neutral, but I caught the tightness around his eyes, the set of his jaw.
He was still angry about how this had all played out.
Still furious that I’d gone around him to arrange my own marriage.
“It’s time,” he said. No warmth. No fatherly affection. Just a statement of fact.
Mama gave me one last look -- part warning, part sympathy -- then gathered her skirt and moved toward the door. She paused next to Papa, whispered something I couldn’t hear, and disappeared into the hallway.
Then it was just us. Father and daughter. Don and subordinate.
“You look presentable,” Papa said finally. Not beautiful. Not lovely. Presentable. “The dress is appropriate.”
“How generous of you to approve.” The words came out sharper than I’d intended, but I was past caring. “Given that you’re not paying for it.”
His jaw tightened. “Dante’s covering the wedding expenses. How modern of him.”
“How strategic of him, you mean.” I smoothed my hands over the silk skirt, needing something to do with them. “He understands the optics of appearing generous.”
“He understands how to claim territory.” Papa moved farther into the room, his footsteps measured and deliberate. “That’s what this is, Caterina. Make no mistake. You think you’ve negotiated an alliance, but all you’ve done is transfer yourself from one man’s control to another’s.”
“At least I chose which man.”
“Did you?” He stopped a few feet away, studying me with the same calculating expression he used when evaluating business deals. “Or did Dante simply make you think you were choosing?”
The question landed like a punch. I lifted my chin, refusing to let him see how much it unsettled me. “This was my decision. My strategy.”
“Your desperation, you mean.” He adjusted his cufflinks with precise movements. “You were so desperate to avoid Marco that you ran to someone worse. Someone who’ll expect complete submission from his wife, contract or not.”
“You don’t know that --”
“I know exactly that. I know Dante’s reputation, know what kind of man he is.
” Papa’s voice remained level, but I heard the edge underneath.
“And I know my daughter well enough to assume you’ve asked him to sign some sort of contract.
But regardless of what terms you requested, it’s only going to protect his interests. Not yours.”
My breathing had gone shallow again. I forced another inhale, deeper this time, trying to calm the racing of my heart. “At least he won’t put me in the hospital.”
“No. He’ll just own you completely.” Papa moved to the window, looking out over the estate grounds where guests were arriving.
“Marco would have been cruel in predictable ways. Dante will be cruel in ways you haven’t imagined yet.
But you’ve made your choice. So now you get to live with the consequences. ”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to defend my choice, my strategy, my carefully negotiated terms. But the words stuck in my throat because somewhere deep down, I was starting to suspect he might be right.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked instead. “If you disapprove so much, why did you agree to the marriage?”