Chapter 3: An Impossible Choice
1274 Words
The black business card sat on the counter like a threat.
Or a promise.
Ariana Bellucci couldn't decide which.
The boutique had been closed for nearly an hour, yet she remained exactly where Adrian Vitale had left her.
Standing.
Staring.
Thinking.
Overthinking.
Marry me.
The words refused to leave her head.
She laughed bitterly and dropped into the chair behind the register.
A marriage contract.
With a mafia boss.
The idea sounded completely ridiculous.
It should have been easy to reject.
Easy to laugh at.
Easy to forget.
Instead, it was the only thing she could think about.
The boutique suddenly felt too quiet.
Her gaze drifted toward the framed photograph on the wall.
Her mother smiled back at her from behind the glass.
Warm.
Kind.
Beautiful.
The strongest woman Ariana had ever known.
Everything in this boutique carried her mother's touch.
The cream-colored walls.
The antique sewing machine displayed near the entrance.
The sketches framed beside the fitting rooms.
Every inch of this place held memories.
Which was exactly why losing it wasn't an option.
Ariana swallowed hard.
The thought alone made her chest ache.
Her phone vibrated.
The screen lit up immediately.
Dad.
She stared at the name.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then answered.
"What?"
Marco Bellucci released a relieved breath.
"Ariana."
"No."
The sharpness of her voice cut him off instantly.
"I'm not in the mood for excuses."
"Ariana, please—"
"You used my boutique as collateral."
Silence.
A guilty silence.
The worst kind.
Ariana's jaw tightened.
"You actually did it."
"I didn't have a choice."
"There's always a choice."
"I was trying to fix things."
The familiar excuse nearly made her laugh.
Her father had spent years trying to fix things.
Years.
And somehow everything always ended up worse.
"You borrowed five million dollars."
"It wasn't supposed to happen."
"You keep saying that."
Her voice cracked with frustration.
"It wasn't supposed to happen when you lost the apartment."
Silence.
"It wasn't supposed to happen when you emptied your savings."
More silence.
"It wasn't supposed to happen when Mom was sick and you disappeared for three weeks because you were chasing some business opportunity."
The accusation hung heavily between them.
Marco didn't respond.
Because he couldn't.
Because it was true.
Ariana closed her eyes.
The memories came flooding back.
Hospital visits.
Medical bills.
Watching her mother grow weaker every day.
And through it all, Marco had continued making promises he couldn't keep.
She loved her father.
She did.
But she was tired.
So incredibly tired.
"Do you know what he offered me?"
Marco's voice became cautious.
"No."
"He wants me to marry him."
The silence that followed was immediate.
And complete.
When her father finally spoke, his voice sounded stunned.
"Marry him?"
"Three years."
Another silence.
Then—
"No."
Ariana frowned.
The response surprised her.
"What do you mean no?"
"I mean absolutely not."
She almost laughed.
The hypocrisy was unbelievable.
"You don't get a vote."
"I'm your father."
"Funny."
Her grip tightened on the phone.
"You remembered that now?"
"Ariana—"
"No."
Years of anger surfaced.
Years of disappointment.
Years of cleaning up his messes.
"You lost the right to tell me what to do when you gambled away every chance I had at a normal life."
Marco inhaled sharply.
"Ariana."
"No."
Her voice softened slightly.
Not with forgiveness.
With exhaustion.
"I'm tired."
The confession escaped before she could stop it.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then her father quietly said,
"I'm sorry."
Ariana laughed bitterly.
Sorry.
Always sorry.
Never changed.
Never enough.
"I'm hanging up."
"Ariana, wait."
She hesitated.
Against her better judgment.
"What?"
"If you do this..."
His voice cracked.
"Make sure it's because you choose it."
For the first time that night, she didn't know what to say.
Then she ended the call.
The silence returned.
And somehow felt heavier than before.
---
The next morning wasn't any better.
Ariana barely slept.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Adrian.
His calm expression.
His dark eyes.
The confidence in his voice when he offered her a future she hadn't asked for.
By ten o'clock, she was already struggling to concentrate.
"Ariana?"
Mia stood nearby holding a sketchbook.
"You've redrawn the same sleeve five times."
Ariana looked down.
Sure enough.
The page was covered in identical designs.
Wonderful.
Her assistant raised an eyebrow.
"You okay?"
"No."
Mia laughed.
"At least you're honest."
Ariana managed a small smile.
Then the boutique door opened.
The bell chimed softly.
Both women looked up.
A courier entered carrying a large white box.
"Delivery for Miss Bellucci."
Ariana frowned.
"I didn't order anything."
The courier checked his paperwork.
"It was paid for."
Great.
That wasn't suspicious at all.
Reluctantly, she accepted the package.
The courier left.
Mia immediately appeared beside her.
"Open it."
"I don't want to."
"Open it."
Ariana sighed.
Curiosity eventually won.
Inside the box was a stunning arrangement of white roses.
Dozens of them.
Elegant.
Expensive.
Beautiful.
A small card rested among the flowers.
Mia grabbed it before Ariana could.
"Hey—"
Too late.
Her assistant was already reading.
Then grinning.
"Oh my God."
Ariana narrowed her eyes.
"What?"
Mia held up the card.
"Someone sent you flowers."
"No."
"Someone definitely sent you flowers."
Ariana snatched the card.
The message was short.
Think carefully.
— A.V.
Her stomach dropped.
Adrian.
Of course.
Who else would send flowers after proposing a contract marriage?
Mia's eyes widened.
"A.V.?"
"No."
"Ariana."
"No."
"Tell me."
Absolutely not.
Mia would lose her mind.
Unfortunately, she already looked halfway there.
The rest of the day passed slowly.
Too slowly.
Every customer seemed determined to stay longer than usual.
Every task felt impossible.
Every thought returned to Adrian.
Which was infuriating.
By evening, Ariana was exhausted.
Mentally.
Emotionally.
Completely.
She was locking the boutique when a black luxury car pulled up across the street.
Her heart immediately skipped.
No.
Surely not.
The driver's door opened.
A familiar bodyguard stepped out.
Definitely yes.
Wonderful.
The man crossed the street calmly.
"Miss Bellucci."
Ariana folded her arms.
"What now?"
He handed her an envelope.
"Mr. Vitale requested that I deliver this personally."
Ariana accepted it reluctantly.
The bodyguard nodded once before returning to the vehicle.
A few seconds later, the car disappeared.
Leaving her alone on the sidewalk.
With another envelope.
She opened it carefully.
Inside was a single invitation.
Dinner.
Tomorrow evening.
Vitale Estate.
Eight o'clock.
At the bottom was a handwritten note.
We should discuss the details before you decide.
— Adrian
Ariana stared at the message.
Then read it again.
And again.
The man was persistent.
She should have been annoyed.
She was annoyed.
So why was her pulse racing?
The answer irritated her.
Because despite everything—
She wanted to see him again.
Not because she was attracted to him.
Definitely not because of that.
She wanted answers.
That was all.
Just answers.
Nothing more.
Absolutely nothing more.
Yet as she climbed the stairs to her apartment that night, one uncomfortable truth followed her.
For the first time in years, someone had offered her a way out.
A way to save the boutique.
A way to escape her father's mistakes.
A way to protect the future she'd fought so hard to build.
The price was enormous.
Three years of her life.
Three years as Adrian Vitale's wife.
Ariana should have rejected the idea immediately.
Instead, she found herself staring at the invitation resting on her kitchen table.
Thinking.
Wondering.
Questioning.
And somewhere deep inside, a dangerous possibility began to take root.
What if saying yes wasn't the worst thing that could happen?
What if the truly dangerous thing was wanting to?
- Writer
