Twisted loyalties

CHAPTER ONE SOPHIA “Is this really necessary, Sophia?” a cultured, melodic voice with an air of elegance asks from behind me, causing me to snap out of my thoughts. I sigh, making no attempt to reply, not liking the situation I found myself in one bit. “You are getting married Sophia, not attending a funeral.” My mother’s tone, filled with disapproval, berates my decision to wear a black gown on my wedding day. “Mother, it is of no difference to me.” I finally replied in an indifferent tone. Mother walks up to me and takes my hands in her palm, “Sophia, I know this union may seem like the end for you, but it’s merely the beginning of you, the beginning of so much more.” Olivia says her words laced with affection. “Remember, Sophia, appearances are everything. You must wear your smile like a mask, concealing your true emotions, in order to project an air of elegance and grace that befits a Morretti.” Olivia states coldly, her piercing gaze leaving no room for argument. Behind these heavy oak doors lies a new chapter of my life. I am Sophia Morretti, the only child of Priest Morretti, the sole heir of the Moretti Dynasty. Since I was young, I have trained and worked twice as hard to take over from my father. I was the daughter he had and the son he never had. I endured the scorn from men and the gossip of women, yet still couldn’t receive the approval of my father. My father, the ever shrewd tactician, recognized that the modern Moretti dynasty needed a leader with more than just brawn and brutality. He desired an heir who could deftly navigate the complex web of international finance, someone who could bring our family to blend into the 21st century. So that’s what I did. At the age of twenty-two, I graduated from Bocconi University, earning my degree in four years, I then went further to study at Harvard Business School, earning my MBA at the age of twenty-five. Immediately I was done, I returned to Italy to finally integrate myself into the business. Everything was going well albeit my father's subtle disapproval. That was until it was announced that I was getting married to a Carlucci, Dante Carlucci. A month ago Priest’s office “You are getting married, Sophia” Father says the moment I step into the office. I pause, startled. I search his expression for any sign of jest. “I thought we had finally agreed on me taking over the business and not having to marry any of your subordinates. I thought everything was finally okay, I thou…” I frantically tried to find a sense of reasoning with him but he cut me off. “You are getting married to Dante Carlucci” my father says, cutting me off. The name of my soon-to-be husband shocks me more. “What?” I ask, getting more confused. The Moretti’s and the Carlucci have been enemies for decades, so a sudden marriage is out of context. “Your grandfather signed a contract with the Carlucci promising them your hand in marriage before you were even born,” father says, his tone clearly showing he was not in favor of this marriage. “What was I exchanged for?” I ask “A deal against the Russians, I am not sure,” he replies dismissively. This further irritates me. “The wedding is in a month, go and prepare Sophia." I make no attempt to input my thoughts. “While you are at the Carlucci family’s home, it’s important that you guard your thoughts and actions with vigilance, ” Father says, his voice as icy as his expression. “Keep your enemies closer, Sophia, do not allow your emotions to compromise your position or reveal weakness,” he adds. He looks down at his desk and continues reviewing documents showing the conversation is over. I walk out of the office absentmindedly. The creaking of the heavy oak doors and tolling of the church bells bring me out of my reverie, bringing me back to the present moment. As I step through the chapel entrance, the gasps and the hushed whispers of the congregation greet me. I enjoy the looks of surprise and disapproval at the choice of my wedding gown. The solemn gaze of the priest awaits me, but my focus remains on my husband, the destiny my grandfather has chosen for me. I walk up to the altar with steady steps, I turn to face Dante Carlucci, his dark and intense gaze meeting mine. When I finally look at him, I am a little stunned. Dante Carlucci is an embodiment of temptation, his beauty is both alluring and dangerous. His sinfully seductive nature is evident in every aspect of his being, from his sinful smile that promises both pleasure and pain to the sinuous grace of his movement. The priest begins the solemn ceremony, his words ringing out in the hushed sanctuary. When the time for the vow comes, Dante and I recite our promises, our voices resolute and firm. “I, Sophia Moretti, take you, Dante Carlucci to be my husband,” I began, my voice steady despite being nervous. As the priest announces us husband and wife, Dante removes my veil and leans in to kiss me, his lips lingering on mine in a way that sets my skin ablaze. We turn to face the congregation, where applause and cheering erupts, drowning out the church bells. I finally notice how the church congregation is divided. The Moretti’s sit on the right side of the chapel while the Carlucci’s are on the left, and this is supposed to be a marriage unifying both sides. Funny, isn’t it? At this point, the world is a mere blur to me. In the midst of the celebratory clamor, Dante takes my hand to lead me out of the chapel. I whip my hands out of his, sweep my gown in a single fluid motion, turn on my heel and walk out. Dante follows me out after a moment of being stunned and regains his composure. I walk out of the chapel to find a waiting limousine and slide into the car, the chauffeur shutting the door behind me, Dante gets in through the other side. The palpable air of hostility and apprehension only grows thicker every second we spend together in the car. Outside the tinted windows of the car, the city unfolds, joy, laughter and life. While inside the limousine, Dante and I remain locked in our own world, the drive to the hotel seems to stretch on endlessly, the oppressive silence becoming more and more unbearable as the minutes go by. Finally, the limousine comes to a halt in front of a grand ornate hotel. With a polite but distant nod, he ushers me out of the car into the waiting hands of my maids. As he retreats back into the car, I catch a flicker of something in his eyes — contempt? Disdain? But I guess that’s expected. I am a Moretti after all. Whatever I saw, it is quickly replaced by a steely resolve, a cold mask that reveals nothing of his thoughts. As I step into the hotel suite, my maids surround me in a flurry of whispers and excitement, some even wishing me congratulations. I can’t help but recall what my father told me the night before. “Marriage is not about love but about alliances,” father says, his voice as cold as the marble floors beneath my feet. “Your duty is to the family, to the legacy, not to yourself, Sophia,” My father's words echo in my mind as I allow myself to be swept away by the maids. I can’t help but imagine what a different life would be like, one where I was free from these duties and traditions. As the maids meticulously arranged my dress, a flowery ivory creation that accentuates my regal figure, the maid at the back starts to gossip in a hushed tone: “Mrs Sophia is an epitome of grace and refinement. No one can match her grace, not even Alessia." At this point, they realize I can hear them as I am looking straight at them through the mirror. I sort the thoughts in my mind to remember who Alessia is. I remember Alessia Salvatore, the daughter of Roman Salvatore. The Salvatore’s and the Carlucci’s have been on good terms for decades, so everyone thought Dante was going to marry Alessia for sure, as they are always seen at events together. I allow the maids' words to wash over me, but I guess they know now to hold their tongues as the rest of my prepping is done in silence. Thirty minutes to our after-party, Dante came to pick me up. I go down and find the same waiting limousine.