Chapter 9 Mia
MIA
The shouting woke me. My father’s voice threaded through the halls. The tone that meant someone would bleed. I slipped out of bed, the floor cold under my feet, and followed the sound to the landing. From there, the staff were frozen, servants pretending not to listen.
“Di Fiore,” my father said. Even from here, the name carried like a curse.
A second voice answered—one of his men, nervous, apologetic. “He was seen here yesterday, sir.”
My father’s glass struck the table. “You let him near my daughter? He is getting antsy. Using this to get closer to her. I won’t have it.”
A pause. The thud of a body hitting wood. A muffled groan.
The servant beside me flinched. I didn’t. We’d both heard worse.
I forced myself down the stairs. Halfway to the landing, I stopped. My father stood at the center of the study, immaculate as ever—suit pressed, hair neat, control restored—but the tremor in his hand betrayed him. A thin line of blood marked the lip of the man kneeling before him.
My father turned. His eyes found mine. The glass lowered. “Up so early, honey?”
“I heard voices.”
He dismissed the guards with a flick of his wrist. When the door shut, the silence pressed closer. “You’ve put yourself in danger.”
“What danger?”
“You think you can meet with men like him, and not draw attention? There are eyes everywhere, Mia. Eyes that care whose daughter you are. And right now, we are fighting off enemies who will stop at nothing to tarnish the Moretti name.”
“I didn’t—” I stopped. Lying would insult us both. “I didn’t plan it.”
He laughed once. “That’s what makes it worse.”
He poured another drink, not looking at me. “Do you know what happens when men like Di Fiore start looking at women like you?”
I held his gaze. “Yes.”
He froze, glass halfway to his lips. The honesty caught him off guard.
I took another step. “You taught me to recognize danger.”
For a heartbeat, I thought he might strike me. Instead, he only nodded—sharp, restrained—and said quietly, “Then you know what happens next.”
He turned away, leaving the half-empty glass behind on the desk. I stared at it until the last ripple of amber stilled, and the house went silent again.
He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to.
I went upstairs to shower and give him some space to calm down. My father knew how powerful the Di Fiore family was and dismissing him would cause more problems. He might be okay with death, but I’d like to live my life.
The door to my father’s study was still ajar when I returned. He sat behind the desk, the chaos from earlier erased — no glass, no blood, only order restored. That was his gift: cleaning the scene before anyone could smell the ruin.
“Come in,” he said without looking up.
I stepped inside and shut the door. “You knew.”
He glanced up. “About what?”
“About Enrico.”
The words fell heavy between us. “You knew he came.”
He leaned back, steepling his fingers. “What I know is that you’ve put yourself at the center of a conflict you don’t understand.”
“I understand you’ve already made a deal.”
That got his attention. His gaze sharpened, the faintest twitch in his jaw. “Who told you that?”
“You did. Every time you warned me about him. Every time you tell me peace comes at a price.”
I crossed the room, stopping at the edge of the desk. “I finally realized who’s paying for it. Even if you kept lying to me.”
His silence confirmed it.
“You bartered me. For safety. For business. For peace.”
“You think this is about business?”
He stood then; the chair scraping softly against the floor. “This is about survival. You think I wanted this for you? You think I sleep well knowing the man who’ll keep this family alive is also the one who could destroy it?”
“Then why do it?”
“Because it’s the only way you live. Everyone is coming after me, honey. I’ve ran my course and right now I’m the last of our family name to carry the legacy. Without a husband for you, one that could survive in this world… you’ll be dead within six months and so will I.”
The words hit like a slap. I stared at him—at the man who’d built an empire out of fear and still believed that counted as love.
He took a slow breath. “You’re my blood, Mia. Everything I do, I do for you.”
“No.” My voice came out steady, low. “You do it because you’re afraid of losing control. Of losing what you built.”
His eyes hardened. “And you’re not afraid? Of what happens if Di Fiore decides peace isn’t enough?” He stared at me, and for a moment, pride flickered beneath the fury. Then it was gone. He turned back to his desk, voice clipped and cold. “This conversation is over.”
“It only just started.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The dismissal was clear. I walked out before he could call the guards back in.
The hallway outside was too bright, the air too thin. My hands shook only when I reached the door to my room, when I finally let myself breathe. I understood that freedom and survival were never the same thing. The door clicked shut behind me, soft and final.
I crossed to the vanity and sank into the chair; the reflection staring back at a stranger wearing my face. My pulse was still uneven. Every word from my father replayed in my head, each one cutting deeper the longer I sat still.
You think I wanted this for you? It’s the only way you live. He meant it as protection. That made it worse.
The silver rose laid on the vanity where I’d left it. I reached for it, then stopped. It didn’t feel like a gift anymore. Everything they’d decided for me. The cage they’d gilded with good intentions.
Somewhere out there, Enrico Di Fiore was making his next move.
Maybe that was what terrified me most — that he wasn’t wrong when he called it inevitable.
I pressed the rose against my palm until the edges bit into the skin.
The sting helped. It reminded me I was still my own, even if every man in this city thought otherwise.
The storm outside started again — low thunder rolling through the hills, rain tapping against the windows like a heartbeat trying to get in. I imagined him out there, listening to it too. The same rhythm. The same hunger for control neither of us could keep.
I rose and moved to the closet. The gown from the dinner still hung there — silver, perfect, untouched since the night it changed everything. I brushed my fingers over the fabric once, then turned away. The world they built for me was collapsing. I wasn’t going to die under its ruins.
Past midnight, even the guards had gone still—boots planted, heads bowed, lulled by the rhythm of the rain. I waited until the hall clock struck one before I moved. The key was cold in my palm, small enough to vanish inside my sleeve. I’d taken it. Pretending I’d never use it.
The door gave under the turn of the key with a soft click. Inside, Shadows draped across the room like velvet—desk, shelves, the faint outline of the globe by the window. My father’s empire, mapped and measured and waiting.
I lit a single lamp. The drawer on the right. The one he locked whenever he spoke of business. Inside were contracts, ledgers, names. All tidy, all clean. Until the last folder. Moretti and Di Fiore. My name was there too. Centered. Elegant. Binding.
In exchange for the preservation of family holdings and continued peace between territories, the engagement of Mia Moretti to Enrico Di Fiore shall be enacted.
I read it twice, once as his daughter and once as his prisoner.
The edges blurred, tears hot but unshed.
I set the page down and let the anger find its shape.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t wild. It was clean.
I pulled the lighter from the desk drawer—his, engraved with the Moretti crest—and struck it.
The flame caught fast. Orange against ivory. Promise against permission.
The paper curled at the edges. I stood there while it burned. When the last corner folded in on itself, I opened the window. The wind caught the ashes, scattering them into the night like confessions.
Not a plea. Not surrender. A message.
I closed the window, locked the desk, and slipped back into the dark before the house woke. All this time, I’d been his. There was no choice. My father lied to me.