Eleanora
704 Words
~ Eleanora's POV ~
By midnight I belonged to a man I had never met.
But at six forty-five that evening, I was still free.
Rooftop bar. Milan. Thursday night. Taylor beside me with an Aperol Spritz in one hand and gossip in the other while the whole city glittered below us like spilled gold.
I had no idea my life was three hours from ending.
~ * ~
My phone rang at seven.
Dad.
I almost ignored it.
Almost.
But something cold moved through me before I answered.
"Nora. Come home."
Not hello. Not are you busy.
Come home.
"Papa, I'm out with—"
"Now, Eleanora."
The full name.
He only used it when there was no room left for negotiation.
Taylor stopped talking immediately. One look at my face and she already knew something was wrong.
"Go," she said.
I was already standing.
~ * ~
The first wrong thing was the shoes.
A pair of black leather shoes in our entrance hall that did not belong to my father. Expensive. Precise. The kind worn by men used to being listened to.
I stared at them longer than necessary.
Then I walked into the living room.
My parents were sitting together on the sofa like they were bracing for impact.
My mother's hands were folded tightly in her lap. My father leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, exhausted before the conversation had even started.
And sitting in my armchair was a stranger.
Silver hair. Dark suit. Cold eyes.
He looked at me once and I had the strange feeling he had already decided exactly who I was.
"Sit down, please," my father said.
Please.
My father only said please when he was about to ask for something terrible.
I sat slowly.
Nobody spoke for a second.
Then my father said, "This is Signor Agostino Ricci. He represents the Esposito family."
The Esposito family.
Even in Naples, people lowered their voices when they said that name.
The Espositos were the kind of family that existed in whispers. Powerful enough that nobody asked questions. Dangerous enough that smart people pretended not to notice them at all.
And suddenly one of them was in my living room.
"There is a proposal," my father said.
His voice sounded flat. Dead almost.
"Regarding you."
I looked at him carefully. "What kind of proposal?"
Signor Ricci answered instead.
"A marriage. Between yourself and Vincenzo Esposito. The arrangements have already been agreed upon between both families."
Agreed.
Past tense.
The room tilted slightly.
I looked at my father.
He still was not meeting my eyes.
That was when I understood.
This had already happened.
Not the marriage.
The decision.
"Papa." My voice came out frighteningly calm. "Look at me."
Slowly, he did.
"How long?"
His jaw tightened.
"Three weeks."
Three weeks.
Three weeks of family dinners. Three weeks of phone calls. Three weeks of him looking me in the face while keeping this from me.
I swallowed once.
"When is the wedding?"
Signor Ricci answered.
"Tomorrow."
Silence crashed into the room.
I stood up so fast the chair scraped sharply against the floor.
My mother flinched.
"I need air."
Nobody tried to stop me.
~ * ~
I walked straight to my bedroom and shut the door behind me.
Tomorrow.
Not months from now.
Not after a conversation.
Not after meeting the man.
Tomorrow.
I pressed both hands against the door and tried to breathe properly.
Vincenzo Esposito.
I had never met him, but I knew three things.
Men feared him.
Women lied about not wanting him.
And nobody said no to him twice.
My phone was shaking in my hand by the time I called Taylor.
She answered immediately.
"I need you," I said.
There was a pause.
Then: "Already in a cab."
I sat on the edge of my bed in the dark after the call ended.
Outside my window, Milan was still glowing. Cars moving. People laughing somewhere below. The city continuing like nothing had changed.
But everything had.
Because by tomorrow evening I would belong to a man I had never chosen.
A man my father had traded me to because he needed to clear a debt.
And I was the price.
- Writer
