Chapter 4
1166 Words
My father led us into his study — a room that always smelled like old books and older secrets. The heavy oak door closed behind us with a sound that felt final.
Massimo didn’t take a seat.
He didn’t need to.
He stood near the window, hands in his coat pockets, gaze steady and calm — the kind of calm that follows storms, not peace.
My father sat behind his desk, fingers steepled, eyes sharp.
I stood. No one told me to sit.
“I assume,” my father began slowly, “there is a reason the De Luca heir is in my home without announcement.”
He spoke carefully — respectful, but not submissive.
This was a conversation between two powerful men who understood the weight of timing.
Massimo looked at me first, not at my father.
Then he turned his attention back to the Senator.
“There was an attempt on your daughter’s life,” he said.
The words settled like cold metal.
My father’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t look at me.
Not yet.
“And you happened to be present to intervene?”
“No,” Massimo replied simply.
“I was following her.”
The room stilled.
My father’s eyes sharpened. “You were watching my daughter?”
“I watch everything that concerns me.” Massimo’s voice didn’t shift. “And she concerns me.”
It was not a confession.
It was a statement of fact.
My breath caught — uncertain whether to feel offended or protected.
My father finally looked at me, and there was something in his gaze I couldn’t read.
Not concern.
Not fear.
Something like decision.
“You knew about the threat?” I asked him quietly.
He didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
Silence said enough.
Massimo continued, tone even:
“Your enemies have grown bold. They attempted to send a message. They failed.”
Father exhaled — slow, measured. “Which enemy?”
Massimo’s gaze flicked downward — not in hesitation, but consideration.
“We don’t say names without evidence.”
He glanced back at me.
“And we don’t leave her unprotected while we wait.”
The implication struck like a thunderclap.
I wasn’t just caught in something.
I was useful in it.
Expendable.
Replaceable.
A pawn.
I spoke before I could stop myself. “I don’t want protection I didn’t ask for.”
Massimo’s eyes slid to mine.
Cold.
Steady.
Disarming.
“You did,” he said.
“Back in the alley. When you didn’t let go of my coat.”
Heat rose beneath my skin.
“That was instinct.”
“Instinct,” he replied, “is more honest than thought.”
My father cleared his throat. “Enough.”
I looked at him, searching his face. “You knew someone might come for me.”
He still didn’t confirm.
He didn’t have to.
He stood.
And when he spoke, his voice was the voice of a man who has chosen a path before anyone else knew there was one.
“There is only one solution.”
Massimo didn’t react, but the room did.
My pulse tripped.
“No.” I shook my head. “You can’t be serious—”
My father didn’t look at me.
He looked at Massimo.
“Your family has the reach. The power. The leverage.”
Massimo remained silent. He didn’t have to speak to dominate the space.
My father continued, “If she is tied to you, no one moves against her. No one risks a war.”
My heart hammered.
Tied to him.
Tied to this.
To violence and politics and blood.
My voice cracked. “You mean—”
“Marriage,” my father finished.
The word hit with the weight of a verdict.
I looked at Massimo, expecting — hoping — to see something human in him.
Shock.
Resistance.
Discomfort.
Anything.
But his expression didn’t change.
His posture didn’t shift.
He spoke as if he had already considered this far before we entered the room.
“It’s necessary,” Massimo said.
Not desired.
Not chosen.
Necessary.
The floor felt unsteady beneath me.
“And what do I get?” I asked, voice thin but steady.
Massimo didn’t answer immediately — he thought.
He always thought before he spoke.
Which made the words matter more.
“You get to stay alive,” he said.
It wasn’t cruelty.
It was truth.
My father nodded — like the matter was settled.
But Massimo wasn’t finished.
His eyes returned to me — direct, piercing, impossible to look away from.
“And you get my name,” he added quietly.
I swallowed. “Your name doesn’t mean safety.”
“No,” he agreed.
“It means consequence.”
The room went still.
My father looked between us — two pieces being placed, aligned, locked.
“When?” I whispered.
“Before anyone learns about tonight,” Massimo said.
“So soon?” My breath broke on the words.
He held my gaze, voice low and unyielding.
“Delays invite enemies.”
My father nodded in agreement.
My pulse pounded — one loud, uneven rhythm.
“And what if I say no?” I forced out.
Something flickered in Massimo’s eyes — not anger.
Recognition.
Because I was asking the only real question.
He stepped closer — not touching me, but close enough that the air shifted.
Close enough that I had to tilt my chin to keep his gaze.
“If you say no,” he murmured, “I will protect you anyway.”
The words shouldn’t have made my heart stop.
But they did.
Because there was something in them that didn’t sound like strategy.
“And?” I whispered.
“And,” he continued softly, “you will be alone while you do it.”
The choice wasn’t about obligation.
It was about isolation.
Survival alone.
Or survival with him.
My father waited — silent.
Massimo waited — still.
And I realized — again — the most dangerous man in the room wasn’t the one who spoke loudly.
It was the one who didn’t have to.
My lungs trembled.
Before I could answer — before my mind could settle — the door slammed open.
A guard stumbled inside, breathless, eyes wild.
“Senator — you need to see this. The news—”
His voice broke.
“They’re saying the attack was successful.”
Massimo turned sharply.
“What do you mean?”
The guard swallowed hard.
“They’re reporting—”
His eyes flicked to me.
“They’re reporting that Miss Hale is dead.”
Silence shattered.
My heart stopped.
Massimo’s jaw tightened — a fraction.
The smallest crack in steel.
My father didn’t move.
The guard whispered, voice shaking:
“Everyone thinks she died in the attack.”
My father’s gaze slowly shifted to Massimo.
Massimo looked at me — and the decision was no longer political.
It was personal.
His voice was quiet, deadly sure.
“You’re mine now.”
- Writer
