FIVE
1165 Words
ANDREA
I hated the dress before I even zipped it up, it was a red silk, extremely tight and had a low neckline which showed my cleavage, it was the kind of thing that screams property instead of power.
The kind of thing my father loved to parade me in, like I was his prize horse at auction. If it were up to me I would’ve shown up in black and high neck something that said CEO not future mafia bride, but of course, nothing in this house was up to me.
I looked at myself in the mirror and I honestly couldn’t tell if I look like a goddess or a prisoner. Probably both.
“Hold still, signorina,” Rosa muttered as she yanked another section of my hair into a bun so tight my forehead felt like it was being pulled back into last week.
“I thought torture was illegal,” I mumbled and winced in pain.
She chuckled nervously then her eyes moved to the door like she thought my father might have heard me. As if Massimo Costa had microphones hidden in every wall, though honestly I wouldn’t even be surprised.
I dabbed concealer under my eyes while Rosa pinned another sparkling clip in my hair. The bags weren’t from lack of sleep, though. They were from years of living in this house, from years of my father’s voice drilling into me: Not good enough. Not sharp enough. Not enough.
My brain wouldn’t stop replaying this one memory… I was fifteen, I was sitting at the dining table with a math test clutched in my hand. Ninety-five percent. An A. I was proud. I thought he would be proud. But he didn’t even look at me before ripping it in half and telling me CEOs don’t settle for mistakes. That was the night I learned tears don’t make him soften. They just made him angrier.
So yeah, the bags under my eyes weren’t from missing beauty sleep. They were from that.
A sharp knock snapped me out of it. Three short raps, hard enough to rattle the frame.
My stomach dropped.
“Open,” my father barked through the door.
Rosa froze mid-step with her eyes wide. I waved her off while smoothing the red silk down my hips. Showtime.
When I opened the door, Massimo Costa filled the doorway like a storm cloud. Black suit, gold watch, expression already sour. His eyes dragged down my dress, up to my face, and narrowed.
“You’ll behave tonight,” he said, no greeting, no warmth. Just command.
“When do I not?” I muttered.
His hand shot out before I even saw it he grabbed my wrist then squeezed it hard enough to make the bones scream his face lowered until his breath was hot against my cheek.
“When you embarrass me or When you think you’re clever. When you forget your place.”
Pain shot through my arm, but I kept my eyes steady. I didn’t flinch. Not this time.
“My place? Right,” I whispered. “As your bargaining chip.”
The slap came fast. Sharp. My head snapped to the side, cheek burning.
For a second, I saw Rosa in the mirror behind us, hand over her mouth, She’d seen it before. We all had. This wasn’t new.
But what was new? I didn’t cry. The sting was there, sure. But instead of tears, I felt this cold, steady calm. Like maybe I’d finally run out of fear.
“You’ll smile when I tell you to,” he said flatly. “You’ll laugh when I tell you to. And when I announce your engagement to Lucio Vitale tonight, you will act grateful.”
“Of course,” I said, voice steady, chin high.
He dropped my wrist like I was nothing, fixed his tie and walked out. Just like that.
The door clicked shut.
I stared at myself again. Red dress. Perfect hair. A faint red handprint across my cheek. I reached for the concealer again, steady hands covering up the evidence like I’d done a thousand times before. By the time I was done, you’d never know.
But I knew.
The ballroom smelled like money, crystal chandeliers glittered overhead and champagne bubbling in every glass.
I moved through the crowd, my cheeks were already aching from fake smiles and letting strangers kiss me and whisper fake compliments. Stunning, Andrea. You’ll make your father proud. Every word made me want to gag.
And then there was Lucio.
He leaned against the bar like he owned the world, whiskey in hand. When his eyes landed on me, his smirk widened. . Like he had already claimed me in his head.
I wanted to claw that look right off his face.
“Need this more than I do,” a voice muttered at my side.
I turned to see Enzo, my brother and he was sliding me a half-full glass of champagne. He was smiling but it wasn’t his usual cocky grin… it was softer almost apologetic.
“Liquid courage,” he added.
I took it, downed half in one gulp, and shot him a look. “What are you buttering me up for?”
“Not buttering,” he said quickly, running a hand through his hair. “Just… you know. Don’t let him see you sweat, okay?”
That’s Enzo in a nutshell, who was too chicken to stand up to our father and too cowardly to stop any of this, but still trying to slip me crumbs of kindness on the side, the oward I couldn’t hate.
“Thanks,” I said quietly. And I meant it.
We didn’t get a chance to say more because that’s when the glass clinked against the microphone.
He stood at the front of the ballroom, black suit gleaming, smile sharp enough to cut glass. Every head turned. Every whisper died. The king was about to speak.
“Tonight,” Massimo began, his voice echoing, “we celebrate not just business, but family. Loyalty. Strength. The future of our empire.”
“My daughter, Andrea,” he continued, turning toward me with that proud-but-not-proud smirk, “will finally take her rightful place in history. Tonight, I announce her engagement to…”
Lucio straightened at the bar. Smug grin ready. Eyes locked on me like I was already his prize.
And something inside me snapped.
I wasn’t going to be his pawn cus I wasn't going to let him shove me into Lucio’s arms like I was cattle being traded.
So I did the only thing I could.
I stepped forward, lifted my chin and cut my father off.
“Nathan De Luca.” I said.
Gasps rippled through the room, Lucio’s smirk wiped off his face as rage flashed in his eyes. My father’s glass slipped from his hand and smashed against the marble floor.
And me?
I smiled.
For the first time that night, it was real
- Writer
