At The Don’s Mercy

The Crimson Ink

ALICIA

Bastian's hand stayed on my throat a second longer than it needed to. Just long enough for him to feel my pulse hammering against his palm. Then he let go, quick and dismissive.

"Move."

He didn't wait. Turned on his heel, overcoat swinging, and grabbed the study doors. Shoved them open hard enough to c***k against the interior wall.

I swallowed the metallic taste in my mouth—fear, or maybe the blood I'd bitten from my cheek—and followed him inside.

The study was a pressure cooker. My father stood by the liquor cart, hands shaking so badly he couldn't pour. Marcello at the windows, twitching, expecting someone to burst through the glass.

Barbara stood at the desk. Fingers gripping the wood, knuckles white. She looked at me like I'd just walked into her house and pissed on her rug. I'd taken her spotlight. Her seat at the table. And worst of all, the future she'd already decided was her own. She didn't just hate me. She wanted me gone. The kind of gone that doesn't come back.

Bastian walked to the center of the room. Left his coat on. His gloves too. Just leaned both palms on the desk, towering over the paperwork like he was about to pronounce sentence.

"The marriage clause stands," he said. Flat. Cold. No room for argument. "But the name changes. I'm taking the eldest."

My father dropped his glass. Crystal shattered on the Persian rug. Bourbon soaked into the fabric like blood.

"Bastian, wait. You can't be serious. Alicia's a liability. The syndicate knows she's damaged goods. You take her, it looks like an insult. Mia's the one we—"

"Shut the f**k up, Cavallo."

Bastian didn't raise his voice. That's what made it terrifying. His eyes shifted to my father with a stillness that could only mean one thing.

"You lost my shipment because you're incompetent. You tried to use an eighteen-year-old girl to buy yourself time to run. I take the piece of property you actually, barely value and you walk out alive. You argue again, I'll let Marcello find out what a bullet tastes like and I'll still take both daughters anyway."

My father's face drained. He looked at me with that mix of fury and cowardice I knew so well. He'd just sold me. And he hated me for making him do it.

"Bastian, this is madness." Barbara stepped forward, hand on his forearm. Red heels clicking. Desperate. "The security protocols are drawn for Mia. Alicia's a variable we haven't vetted. Let me call my father. We can restructure without crossing this bloodline tonight."

Bastian turned his head. Looked at her hand on his arm. Didn't say a word. His jaw tightened.

Barbara pulled her hand back like she'd touched a hot stove.

"I don't recall asking for permission, Barbara." Quiet. Deadly. "The contract gets signed tonight. Get the priest. Now."

Her lips thinned. She shot me one last look that seemed to convey 'I'll remember this' and marched out.

Marcello slid the folder across the desk. Heavy. Gold-stamped. He pulled out a fountain pen, hands trembling, and signed his name as witness.

Bastian took the pen. Skimmed the terms once just for the sake of it. I know he'd already read them. Then signed in a jagged, aggressive scrawl that looked more like a wound than a signature.

Then those gray eyes found mine.

"Sign, little bird."

I walked forward. Heels clicking. His scent filled my lungs. Leather, cedar, and something metallic underneath. I took the pen from his hand. Our fingers didn't touch, but I felt it anyway. That electric jolt I didn't want to feel.

I looked at the paper. Mia's name crossed out in black ink. Below it, in Bastian's handwriting: Alicia Cavallo.

I pressed the nib to the page. For a split second, I saw Mia's face. Her tears. Her terror. I saw my mother's ghost, watching from the corner of the room, shaking her head. Then I pushed it all down. I signed. Steady hand. No hesitation. My name in crimson ink beneath the Marcone seal.

The doors opened. Barbara returned with a priest. Old man. Dark robes. Bloodshot eyes. The kind of priest who knew exactly what happened to holy men who said no to the Iron Don.

The ceremony took five minutes. There were no rings. No one said any vows. Just the priest mumbling Latin in a terrified monotone, eyes fixed on the floor.

"By the authority vested in me," he whispered. "I pronounce you husband and wife."

Bastian didn't look at me. Didn't kiss me. Just slammed the folder shut, tucked it under his arm, and turned his back on my family.

"We're leaving."

He gripped my arm. Tight. Unyielding. Dragged me out of the study, down the corridor, through the front doors into freezing rain.

The cold hit my face like a slap. He shoved me into the back seat of the Maybach. Heavy door slammed. Leather-scented darkness.

The opposite door opened. Bastian slid in beside me. His massive frame swallowed the space. The car lurched forward, tires crunching gravel as we rolled through the gates.

I watched my old life disappear through the rain-streaked window. The mansion. The lies. The version of me that bowed her head and kept her mouth shut.

The forest swallowed the road. No streetlights. No houses. Just black trees and the sound of rain hitting glass. I pressed my palm against the window. The cold seeped through. I wondered if I'd just traded one cage for another.

Bastian leaned back. Face in shadow. He didn't look at me. Just reached into his jacket and pulled out a satellite phone.

"Geno," he said into the receiver. Quiet. Cold. "We're coming in. Put the estate on lockdown. Clear the staff out."

He paused. Glanced at me. Just for a second. I couldn't read his face. Couldn't tell if he was taunting me, warning me, or testing to see if I'd break. Then he looked away, and his voice went flat again.

"My new property's going to be loud tonight."

He said it like he was ordering takeout.

I stared at him. Then at the black trees rushing past the window. My hands were shaking. I didn't try to stop them. My heart was hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat, in my temples, in the tips of my fingers. I pressed them flat against my thighs. It didn't help.

I had no idea what was waiting for me. And that was the worst part.