Chapter 2: Blood Debts
1899 Words
“And then what? You handle this alone? You’re twenty-three, Sandro. They’ll eat you alive.” I cross to him, take his face in my hands the way Mother used to when we were small. “No. I’ll do it. I’ll marry Luca Valenti. I’ll smile and play the dutiful wife and buy you time to figure out who killed Father and why.”
“He’ll hurt you.” Alessandro’s voice breaks. “Luca Valenti. You don’t know what they say about him, what he’s done. He’s not like the others, Elena. He’s… there’s something wrong with him. Something broken.”
I think about those cold eyes across the cemetery. That knife-blade smile.
“Then I’ll break him first.”
Alessandro pulls me into a hug, and for a moment we’re just children again, orphaned and afraid. But I can’t afford to be a child anymore. Can’t afford fear.
I have three weeks to prepare for war.
Three weeks before I walk down the aisle toward a man who wants to destroy me.
Three weeks to become something other than a victim.
The door opens behind us. Paolo stands there, pale and sweating. “Alessandro. Elena. He’s here. Luca Valenti. He’s downstairs, and he’s asking to see his bride.”
I take the stairs slowly, deliberately. Each step is a small act of defiance, a refusal to rush toward the man waiting to claim me like property.
Alessandro follows close enough that I can hear his breathing, sharp and uneven. He’s scared. Good. Fear might keep him sharp, might stop him from doing something stupid like trying to protect me. We’re past protection now. We’re in survival territory.
The murmur of conversation dies as we reach the bottom of the stairs. The remaining guests have congregated in the foyer, a semicircle of black-clad spectators pretending they’re not watching a girl walk toward her execution.
Luca stands in the center of it all, hands in his pockets like he’s bored. But his eyes. God, his eyes find mine and there’s nothing boring about the way he looks at me. It’s the look of someone taking inventory, cataloging weaknesses, planning exactly where to strike.
Beside him is a man I don’t recognize. Tall, built like he could break bones without breaking a sweat, but there’s something different in his face. Less cruelty, more calculation. His gaze moves between Luca and me like he’s watching a chess game.
“Miss Romano.” Luca’s voice carries through the sudden silence. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
Such short notice. Like he didn’t crash my father’s funeral. Like he isn’t standing in my house, surrounded by my family’s enemies, acting like he already owns the place.
I stop three feet away from him. Close enough to be polite, far enough to breathe. “Mr. Valenti. This is unexpected.”
“Is it?” His head tilts slightly, and I hate how the light catches his jaw, making him look almost beautiful in a way that’s entirely wrong. “I thought your brother would have explained the situation by now.”
“Oh, he explained.” I smile, and I can feel how sharp it is. “He explained that my father sold me like livestock to settle a debt. He explained that I have three weeks before I’m supposed to marry a man I barely know. He explained that if I refuse, everything my family has built will burn.” I pause, let the words settle. “What he didn’t explain is what makes you think I’ll go along with it.”
Someone gasps. Aunt Giulia probably, or one of the other old guards who still think women should be seen and not heard. But I’m done with that. Done with being quiet and good and obedient while men destroy everything around me.
Luca’s expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or interest. “Your father signed a contract witnessed by the Commission. Unless you’re prepared to go to war with every family in Sicily, you’ll go along with it because you don’t have a choice.”
“Everyone has a choice.”
“Do they?” He takes a step closer, and I force myself not to move back. “Tell me, Elena. What’s your choice? Run? Hide? Hope the world forgets the Romano name?” Another step. “Or maybe you think you can fight. Rebuild your father’s empire, take on the families circling your territory like sharks. How long do you think you’d last? A month? A week?”
“Longer than you’d expect.”
“I don’t doubt it.” And there it is again, that flash of something that might be respect if it wasn’t wrapped in contempt. “But here’s the truth, the one your brother is too soft to tell you. Your father didn’t just die. He was murdered. Professionally, carefully, by someone who knew exactly how to get past his security. Someone who had help from the inside.”
The room goes silent. Even the people pretending not to listen stop pretending.
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?” Luca glances at Alessandro, who’s gone white. “Ask your brother. Ask him what the autopsy really showed. Ask him why your father was so desperate to make an alliance he swore he’d never make.”
I don’t turn to look at Alessandro because I can’t. Can’t let Luca see how much this is breaking me, how every word is a crack in the armor I’ve spent years building.
“Even if that’s true,” I say carefully, “it doesn’t explain why you’d want this marriage. The Valentis and Romanos have been enemies for over a decade. My family allegedly killed your father. So why would you want to tie yourself to us?”
“Allegedly.” Luca’s smile is acidic. “Interesting word choice.”
“Answer the question.”
He studies me for a long moment, and I can see him deciding something. Calculating what to reveal, what to keep hidden. “Because your father had the information I needed. About who really ordered the hit on my family. About who’s been playing both sides against each other for years. And because…” He leans in, voice dropping low enough that only I can hear. “Because I want to watch you break, Elena. I want front row seats when you realize you traded your freedom for nothing.”
My hand moves before I think, palm connecting with his cheek hard enough that my fingers go numb. The crack echoes through the foyer.
The silence that follows is absolute.
Luca’s head has turned from the impact, but he doesn’t touch his face. Doesn’t react beyond a slight flex of his jaw. When he looks back at me, there’s something new in his eyes. Something hungry.
“Feel better?” His voice is soft, dangerous.
“Not particularly.”
“Good.” He straightens his jacket, and I can see the red mark blooming on his cheek. “I’d hate for you to waste all your fight on a slap. You’re going to need it.”
The man standing beside him, the one who’s been watching this whole exchange like it’s theater, finally speaks. “Luca. Perhaps we should…”
“Dominic’s right.” Luca cuts him off without looking away from me. “We should discuss the arrangements. Privately. Unless you’d prefer to have this conversation in front of your father’s friends?”
“They’re not his friends.”
“No. They’re not.” For a second, just a second, something almost like understanding passes between us. Then it’s gone. “So?”
I look at Alessandro, who gives the smallest shake of his head. Don’t, he’s saying. Don’t be alone with him.
But I’m tired of being protected. Tired of being treated like I’m fragile.
“Fine.” I turn toward Father’s study. “Five minutes.”
“Take as long as you need,” Luca says behind me, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “We have the rest of our lives.”
The study feels smaller with him in it. He takes up space in a way that’s not just physical, like his presence alone is enough to consume the air. Dominic stays by the door, silent and watchful, while Luca walks around the room touching things. Father’s books, his desk, the crystal decanter that’s never held anything but scotch.
“Your father had taste,” he says, lifting a first edition from the shelf. “For a murderer.”
“Don’t.” The word comes out harder than I intended. “Don’t come into my house and talk about my father like you knew him.”
“I knew him well enough.” Luca sets the book down, turns to face me. “I knew him well enough to know he was desperate at the end. Scrambling. He approached my family three times before we agreed to meet. Three times, Elena. Each time is more pathetic than the last.”
“You’re trying to provoke me.”
“I’m trying to prepare you.” He crosses to the desk, pulls out a folder I didn’t notice before. “This is the contract. Your father’s signature, my uncle’s signature, and witnesses from four of the five families. It’s binding. Legal, by our laws if not the government’s.”
He slides it across the desk to me. I don’t touch it.
“Read it,” he says. “Or don’t. Either way, three weeks from now you’ll walk down that aisle and say yes. The only question is whether you do it willingly or whether I have to drag you there myself.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
His laugh is cold. “I’ve done worse for less.”
I pick up the folder, scan the contents. Legal language, terms and conditions like I’m a business transaction. In a way, I suppose I am. The bride price is listed: territory, trade routes, a percentage of Romano businesses. The Valentis get everything, and in exchange, they provide protection.
Protection we wouldn’t need if they weren’t part of the threat.
“There’s a clause,” I say, finding it buried in the middle. “About producing an heir within two years.”
“Standard.”
“Standard.” I look up at him. “Tell me, Luca. How do you expect to produce an heir with a wife you despise?”
Something flashes across his face, too quick to catch. “I’m sure we’ll manage.”
“Will we?” I close the folder, push it back across the desk. “Because from where I’m standing, this looks like a suicide pact. You hate my family, I have no reason to love yours, and we’re supposed to what? Play house? Pretend this is anything other than a business arrangement built on blood and lies?”
“Yes.” He says it simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s exactly what we’re going to do. In public, we’ll be the perfect couple. The alliance that ended decades of war. In private…” He shrugs. “In private, we can hate each other as much as we want.”
“And if I refuse to play along?”
- Writer
