Chapter 9-NADIA
1103 Words
The heavy oak doors closed with a quiet, final click, sealing us inside the smaller drawing room just off the grand library. The sound echoed far louder in my chest than it should have. For a moment, neither of us spoke.
The room was old money incarnate. Velvet chairs, oil paintings of long-dead Snow patriarchs, shelves lined with leather-bound books that smelled of dust and smoke. I had grown up in places like this, yet standing here now felt like trespassing in a life I had abandoned.
I stayed near the armchair, my spine straight, my hands folded together to keep them from shaking. I had faced gunshot wounds, aneurysms, open skulls. None of that had prepared me for this.
Luca De Santis stood near the fireplace, his silhouette cut sharp against the low orange glow of the embers. Firelight caught in his eyes, turning the blue colder and the green darker. He looked like he belonged here, like the walls themselves recognized him.
He was the first to break the silence.
“A neurosurgeon,” he said quietly. “In Chicago. Saving lives by day, hiding from her bloodline by night.”
My jaw tightened. “I didn’t hide. I left.”
His gaze flicked to me, sharp and assessing. “You disappeared. In our world, that is hiding.”
“In your world,” I corrected. “Not mine.”
He turned slightly, resting one hand against the mantel, his posture deceptively relaxed. “You stitched me together with steady hands. No fear. No hesitation. I remember that very clearly.”
“I didn’t ask you to remember,” I said. “I asked you to live.”
“And you succeeded.”
“I did my job.”
He studied me in silence, as if recalibrating something. “Do you know how rare it is for someone to look at a man bleeding out on their floor and choose skill over panic?”
“I didn’t choose skill,” I snapped. “I chose humanity. Something this room seems to have forgotten exists.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “You’re wrong. Humanity exists here. It’s just expensive.”
I exhaled slowly, refusing to rise to the provocation. “You left a note. You spoke about a debt. About settling a score. If that meant anything at all, this marriage ends now.”
His expression sharpened. “You think I orchestrated this?”
“I think you’re benefiting from it.”
“That doesn’t make me the architect.”
I met his gaze head-on. “You knew who I was.”
His eyes flickered, just briefly. “Not then.”
“But now you do.”
“Yes.”
“And you still stand there acting like this is a coincidence.”
He straightened fully, stepping away from the fire. “Coincidences don’t survive in our world. They become leverage or liabilities.”
“And which am I?” I asked.
He didn’t answer immediately. He walked closer, stopping several feet away, giving me space but closing the distance enough that I felt it.
“You are an anomaly,” he said finally. “A Snow who heals instead of destroys. A woman who fled power and built something real. That makes you dangerous.”
“Funny,” I replied coldly. “That’s what my father used to say about kindness.”
His gaze softened for a fraction of a second, then hardened again. “This alliance is happening, Nadia. With or without your approval.”
“Then you don’t need me,” I said. “Marry another Snow cousin. One who wants this.”
“There isn’t one,” he said. “You’re the only heir both families will accept.”
“Because I’m controllable?”
“Because you’re legitimate,” he corrected. “And visible.”
I laughed bitterly. “You think this is visibility? I built my life in anonymity for a reason.”
“And yet here you are,” he said. “Standing exactly where your blood always intended.”
I stepped closer, my voice low but steady. “If you force me onto that jet tonight, you don’t get a wife. You get a hostage. And the world will see it for exactly what it is.”
His eyes narrowed. “Careful.”
“I’m not threatening you,” I said. “I’m advising you.”
Silence stretched between us. He was calculating. I could see it, the way his attention sharpened, the way he measured outcomes instead of emotions.
“You want time,” he said.
“I want dignity.”
“You want an exit.”
“I want control,” I admitted. “For once.”
He considered that. “You won’t run.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you won’t,” he said calmly. “Not while your family is exposed.”
The truth of it landed hard.
“I won’t go quietly,” I said.
“I wouldn’t respect you if you did.”
I looked at him then, really looked. Not the man who had bled out on my floor. Not the Don in the headlines. A man shaped by violence but governed by rules.
“You talk about debts,” I said. “Let’s be clear about one thing. I didn’t save you because of who you are. I saved you because you were human.”
His voice dropped. “And now?”
“Now I’m reminding you of it.”
Another pause. Then he nodded once.
“Forty-eight hours,” he said. “An engagement gala. Public. Formal. No coercion.”
“And after that?”
“We leave.”
“For Milan?”
“Yes.”
“For marriage?”
“Yes.”
I swallowed. “And if I refuse then?”
“You won’t,” he said simply.
“Arrogant.”
“Experienced.”
He stepped back, giving me space again. “Wear red to the gala.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone should remember what this alliance cost.”
He turned toward the door.
“Luca,” I said.
He paused.
“If you ever touch me without my consent,” I continued evenly, “this alliance dies with me.”
Slowly, he turned back.
“I don’t take what resists,” he said. “I take what chooses.”
The door closed behind him.
I sank into the chair, my heart pounding, my thoughts spiraling.
Forty-eight hours.
Two days to prepare for a future I never chose.
Two days to survive the man I had saved.
- Writer
