The Don’s temptation

Carmen The marble floors of the DiLuca estate felt colder than usual as I crossed the vast, empty hallway, the soft click of my heels echoing off the high ceilings. Everything about this place was designed to intimidate—from the towering arched doorways to the gold-framed portraits of my ancestors glaring down at me like silent sentinels. But today, the air tasted heavier, thicker. Like a storm had already touched down inside these walls. I knew that when my father summoned you to his study without explanation, it meant one thing: Your life is about to change. And not in a way you chose. “Carmen,” my father’s voice barked from the study, sharp and clipped. I swallowed the knot tightening in my throat and straightened my spine. If there was one thing I’d learned growing up in a mafia family, it was how to pretend that fear didn’t exist. Appear calm. Composed. A doll made of steel. I pushed open the heavy double doors. My father, Matteo DiLuca, stood behind his massive oak desk, flanked by my two older brothers—Luca and Enzo. Both built like soldiers, in dark suits, arms crossed. Their faces were grim, their bodies rigid with tension. Something was wrong. Very wrong. “Sit,” my father commanded, not bothering with greetings. The smell of cigars and aged whiskey clung to the room, stifling and oppressive. I moved carefully, perching on the leather chair across from the three of them, heart hammering against my ribs. "You’re getting married," my father said bluntly. For a second, I thought I misheard him. Married? The word hung in the air like a loaded gun pointed at my chest. I blinked, waiting for clarification, for some hint that he was joking. But no one laughed. He continued, as casually as if he were discussing a business merger. "To Dominic Romano. The Don of the Romano family." It took everything in me not to flinch. Dominic Romano. The name was a death sentence wrapped in a designer suit. I’d heard the whispers. The rumors. How even seasoned criminals lowered their voices when speaking his name. Ruthless. Calculated. Untouchable. A man who had bled his way to the top of the Cosa Nostra through sheer brutality and brilliance. "You can't be serious," I said, my voice cracking despite my best efforts to keep it steady. "You're trading me off like…like I'm one of your shipments?" My father’s eyes, hard and unyielding, locked onto mine. "You're securing our future." "By selling your daughter?" I shot back, heat flooding my face. Enzo shifted uncomfortably, and Luca’s jaw ticked, but neither of them defended me. "This is not about feelings, Carmen," my father snapped. "This is about survival. Our family is vulnerable. The Romano alliance will fortify us." "And what do I get out of it?" I demanded, standing, so abruptly the chair scraped harshly against the floor. "A lifetime of being shackled to a man who sees me as property?" "You'll be protected," he said, as if that was the grand prize. "You'll be honored." A gilded cage was still a cage. I turned my gaze to my brothers, searching for any sign of rebellion, any hope of an ally. But Luca looked away, and Enzo's mouth tightened in a silent apology. They had already chosen. Family over me. "When?" I asked, my voice hollow. "Three weeks," my father said. "The engagement will be announced at the Gala next Saturday. After that, the wedding will proceed quickly. The Romano family does not believe in long engagements." Of course, they don't. Efficiency over emotion. I stared at him—at all of them—and realized something bitter and ugly. It was never my life. It was always theirs. Without a word, I turned and left the study, my heels striking the polished floor with sharp, angry clicks. I didn’t care if they called after me. I didn’t care if I looked disrespectful. I needed air. I needed to breathe. I stormed through the sprawling estate—past the grand dining hall, the library with its dusty first editions, the endless halls of history built on blood—and pushed through the heavy front doors. The gardens stretched before me in perfect, manicured symmetry, but I barely saw them. I kept walking until I reached the old stone fountain at the center of the courtyard, its soft trickling water mocking the roar in my ears. Married. To a man I didn’t know. To a man who, by all accounts, could snap my neck without blinking. I sat heavily on the stone ledge, gripping the edge until my knuckles turned white. No one had even asked me. No one cared what I wanted. I was nothing more than a pawn. A pretty face and a famous last name. And Dominic Romano?