Chapter 31
31
Victoria
By the time the grandfather clock in the hall chimes, indicating it’s seven, I’ve already changed outfits three times and fantasized about faking my own death twice.
Apparently, neither plan is acceptable.
Which sucks.
Unlike Juliet, I have no way of making it look believable, and with my luck, I’d one hundred percent accidentally kill myself for real.
Running away is another option.
If I jumped out my window, it’s a straight shot to the backyard. I bet I could be miles away before anyone realizes I’m gone.
Who am I kidding? This place is probably locked down like Fort Knox. I won’t be able to make it out of my bedroom, let alone the house.
Take my mother right now…
She currently stands right in front of me, fussing with the sleeves of a black silk dress I don’t remember owning. “Stop slouching,” she smooths a wrinkle that doesn’t exist. “He’ll be here any minute p>
“He,” I echo, catching her gaze in the mirror. “You mean the monster who bought my life like he went online and ordered a bride p>
Her fingers pause. “Victoria, please p>
I arch a brow. “Which part am I supposed to be polite about? The financial collapse or the arranged marriage p>
Her mouth flattens in displeasure. Sorry, I don’t feel bad for you, Mom. “We need this dinner to go well. Lorenzo insisted it be… civil p>
I snort. “His version of civil involves arson and threats. Or did you forget he apparently works for the Mafia now p>
A hollow laugh escapes her. “And that is why you have to play nice p>
This is all too much.
I’m pissed and angry, yet I can’t do anything about it.
Not unless I want my fiancé to put out a hit on my parents.
Well…
No. I don’t want that. Even if they suck as parents, I’d never wish them harm, nor would I sell them, but I digress.
With a shaky breath, I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
I might look pretty, but I want to gag. Even though I recognize the girl in the mirror, she’s not me.
A knock sounds at the bedroom door.
Helen’s voice floats through, tight and formal. “Miss Victoria. They’ve arrived p>
They. Who the hell is they? Did he bring the rest of the mob? I hope not. I’m not sure I can handle that. One criminal is enough for me.
My mother grabs my shoulders. “Remember your manners p>
I shrug her hands off. “He ruined us. You sold me. What’s the etiquette for that, exactly? Do I curtsy p>
Her jaw clenches, but she doesn’t respond.
Good.
I follow her down the hallway, my heels clicking with each step. The house smells fantastic. It appears father is trying hard to impress Lorenzo because he pulled out all the stops.
Speaking of the asshole… when we reach the dining room, my father stands right outside the doors, hand clamped around a decanter of scotch.
That’s great, Dad. Perfect time to get sloshed.
But why should today be any different? Just because we have a Mafia guy in our house who wants to kill us.
Yes, please… Let’s continue with business as usual.
He looks like shit. His collar is too stiff, as is his tie, but it’s his bloodshot eyes that really give him away.
“You’re late.” He glances at me and then looks away just as fast.
I fold my arms across my chest. “You scheduled a family dinner to celebrate selling me. Forgive me if I didn’t rush p>
His jaw flexes. “This arrangement will save us p>
“At my expense p>
“That’s enough,” my mother hisses. “Please. Don’t do this here p>
“Where then?” I ask, voice low. “Or better yet, when? During the vows p>
Before anyone can answer, the dining room door opens, and one of the members of the staff bows slightly. “The room is ready p>
It’s now or never.
We step inside.
The dining table is set like a stage, with crystals gleaming and candles flickering.
Oxygen explodes from my lungs as I see the room isn’t empty.
At the far end, in my father’s usual chair, sits the man who stole everything from me.
Lorenzo wears a black shirt open at the throat, tattoos teasing his collar.
His rings catch the candlelight as he lifts a glass, the metal glinting.
If I think there’s a chance I’ll be able to walk in without catching his attention, I’m instantly proved wrong. Because as soon as I step inside the room, his gaze finds me instantly. For a moment, everything goes quiet.
He rakes his eyes over me slowly—not hungry, not soft. Assessing. Cataloging the girl he once knew against the woman he now owns.
His mouth curves, and it’s not in a smile that forms on his full lips. It’s something colder.
Shit.
This is not good.
The room begins to spin.
Get it together, Victoria.
Don’t fall on your face. You can’t appear weak.
“Little Bird.” Lorenzo’s voice is as smooth as an expensive whiskey. “You clean up nicely p>
I lift my chin, forcing my feet to move, each step measured. “You’re in my father’s chair p>
He leans back, casual and powerful. “Oh, princess. I’m in everyone’s chair p>
The man beside Lorenzo snorts under his breath, swirling his drink. Who is this asshole? One of his hired goons?
My father clears his throat like he wants to reclaim some authority he hasn’t possessed in weeks. “Please. Sit, Victoria p>
I slide into the chair opposite Lorenzo, my parents flanking me. The candles flicker between us, casting shadows across his face. If this weren’t bad enough, now he looks downright deadly.
Great, I love this for me.
A server pours wine, and another brings plates, but Lorenzo… he just watches me.
The asshole sitting beside Lorenzo, and whose name I still haven’t gotten, breaks the tension first, lifting his glass toward my parents with a lazy half smile. “Thank you for hosting us. It’s not every day I get to attend a secret wedding p>
Secret wedding?
Why is it a secret?
And by secret… what does that mean?
My mother’s laugh comes out brittle. “We’re… honored to have you p>
Lorenzo taps his fork against his plate, the metallic ring slicing through the room. “Relax. I only commit arson when it’s necessary. So have no fear, now that I’m getting what I want, you’re perfectly safe… well, unless Victoria chooses to disobey p>
My father chokes on his wine.
“And we should believe you?” I stare at him across the table. “You burned down our factory, and don’t even get me started on the rest of what you did p>
Lorenzo’s gaze slides to mine, amused. “Allegedly p>
“Allegedly? You admitted to it.” My fingers tighten around my fork. “You called it leverage p>
He shrugs, unbothered. “Semantics p>
Dessert forks clatter softly as the staff reset the table between courses. No one has touched the food yet.
Who could possibly have an appetite right now? His friend, that’s who. He’s currently lifting his fork to his mouth.
My father clears his throat. “We should discuss logistics. The wedding is… in a few days. The guest list, the ceremony, press control p>
“As I’ve said before. This is private. No guests,” Lorenzo cuts in, slicing into his steak with calm brutality.
“Will your mother be attending?” I ask.
“My mother is dead.” The rough baritone of his voice leaves no room for questions. I want to ask more, but I don’t dare.
“As I was saying…no press. Priest is already booked… someone I can trust. Other than that, not a word p>
My mother blinks. “I thought p>
He smirks. “You thought what? That I was going to make a big announcement p>
My stomach twists. “Well, you did go out of your way to strong-arm me into the sham of a marriage, so why is it a secret p>
He spears a piece of meat and lifts it. “You agreed to marry me p>
“Cut the shit, we both know I didn’t really agree to shit p>
He chews, slow and deliberate, eyes locked on mine. “Little Bird, I don’t like your attitude p>
“Stop calling me that p>
“Why? It’s so fitting after all, even more so today than five years ago p>
“You need therapy p>
Lorenzo flashes me a grin edged in ice. “I am therapy p>
His friend lets out a bellow of a laugh. “You’re something, that’s for sure p>
“Who are you?” I scoff. “A name would be nice p>
“Oh, this is Rafe… but you don’t need to concern yourself with him. He’s here to make sure you all stay in line p>
A.k.a. he’s a crazier motherfucker than Lorenzo…
My father dabs at his mouth with a napkin, trying to steer the conversation back to something he understands. “Our reputations have taken a hit with all the… recent events. Maybe we should announce the marriage p>
“No,” Lorenzo replies, resting his knife on the edge of his plate. “We will do no such thing. If you want to keep your house and not lose everything, you will obey my rules p>
My mother’s fingers tremble against her wineglass. “We will. We’re grateful for your help, Lorenzo p>
His head tips slightly. “You should be. I don’t usually save the people I dismantle p>
Her face goes pale.
I slice into my own steak just to have something to do with my hands. “And what do you get out of this, aside from new toys to break p>
He smiles slowly. “I get you p>
The words land like a slap.
Heat floods my cheeks, equal parts anger and something I don’t want to name.
“You can’t own a person,” I hiss, setting my fork down a little too hard.
He lifts his glass, eyes dark. “That’s adorable. Wrong but adorable p>
Rafe’s gaze flicks between us, measuring the distance and most likely the danger of me stabbing his friend with a knife. “Maybe we steer away from the ‘owning people’ part of the discussion while we’re all armed with cutlery p>
“What will you do to stabilize the public opinion of my company?” Always business with my father.
“A few puff pieces.” Lorenzo rests his chin on his knuckles. “Don’t worry, I’ll make you look like a saint so fast your head will spin. Profits will be back to normal in no time p>
My fork nearly snaps in my hand.
My mother gives me a warning look. “Victoria.. p>
I force a smile that feels like it might shatter my face. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t be a problem. Even if I hate him, and you basically sold me off like cattle.. p>
Lorenzo’s eyes flash with something sharp and fleeting. “Careful, Victoria. You might hurt my feelings p>
“You don’t have feelings,” I whisper.
He leans in, elbows on the table, voice dropping low. “No. I had them. Once. I donated them to a cause p>
My throat tightens. “Which cause p>
He smiles, small and vicious. “You p>
Rafe shifts uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “How about we talk about something that doesn’t sound like the setup to a murder-suicide p>
“Oh, relax,” Lorenzo reaches for his wine again. “If I kill anyone tonight, it’ll be metaphorical p>
My father drains his glass, the crystal clinking against his teeth.
The main course is cleared. Dessert arrives. No one looks particularly thrilled about the soufflé.
My mother picks at hers. “We were thinking of hosting the wedding in the garden, near the fountain. It photographs beautifully p>
“No pictures. And there is no need for a big wedding…” Lorenzo says. “The location is ideal, though. We aren’t too close to the ocean. That way, no one will accidentally drown.” He lifts a brow, almost in challenge.
“You mean when you throw someone in,” I mumble under my breath, but he still hears.
His lips twitch. “Accidents do happen p>
I stare at him across the table, nausea rising. “Why are you doing this p>
His expression doesn’t change. “I told you. Consequences p>
“For falling in love with you?” I whisper.
His gaze sharpens. “For walking away p>
The words slice me open.
I look down at my dessert, breath shaky. “You think ruining my family, forcing me into a marriage, taking away my freedom… evens us out p>
“I don’t believe in even,” he answers. “I believe in balance p>
“That’s the same thing p>
“No.” His eyes darken, voice low. “Even is forgiveness. Balance is knowing someone finally feels the weight you’ve been carrying for a years p>
Silence grips the table.
My mother stares at her plate.
My father drinks even more alcohol.
Rafe studies Lorenzo. There is something in his features I can’t read. If I had to guess, it’s worry, but maybe loyalty all tangled into one.
I squeeze my hands together under the table. You’ll survive this. You’re stronger than you think.
A tremor runs up my arm. Am I, though?
Lorenzo must see something in my gaze because he flashes me a warning. One that says whatever you’re thinking about… stop.
Too bad for him, he has no control over my thoughts.
My mother lifts her glass to her lips. “To the new family p>
Lorenzo raises his glass. “To mergers p>
I stare back at him, throat burning. “To surviving p>
We drink.
The meal is agonizing and through it all, Lorenzo watches.
Like he’s ten moves ahead in a game the rest of us are still learning the rules to.
When dessert plates are cleared, and coffee poured, he finally pushes his chair back, napkin dropped neatly on the table. “Walk with me,” he says, his gaze locking on mine.
It isn’t a request.
My spine freezes. “I’m fine here p>
His brow arches. “I wasn’t asking if you were fine. I’m telling you to walk p>
My mother opens her mouth, then closes it again.
I stand.
Because I don’t have a choice. Because the whole house knows it.
I follow him out of the dining room, the murmur of my parents’ voices fading behind us. He leads the way down the corridor, past portraits of dead Danforths. Ornate frames won’t hide the fact that we are new money and pretending to be the opposite, but at this point, I’d pretend to be anything not to have to go ahead with this sham of a wedding.
It’s pointless, though. Lorenzo will never let me go.
We reach the end of the hall, the moonlight spilling through the tall glass doors that lead out to the terrace.
“Why are we here? To discuss my cage p>
He steps closer. “You think this is about a cage?” he asks softly.
I meet his gaze, anger bubbling up inside me. “Isn’t it p>
His lips curl. “No, Little Bird. This is about a mirror p>
“What does that even mean p>
“It means… ” He brushes a knuckle along the edge of my jaw in a touch that feels more like a threat. “You’re finally going to see what you turned me into p>
I swallow, refusing to let him see me flinch. “What kind of monster are you, Lorenzo p>
The smile that follows is slow, brutal, devastating. “The kind you made p>
He steps back, leaving the ghost of his touch and the echo of his words hanging between us.
The voices from the dining room drift faintly down the hall—my mother and father entertaining our future executioner with small talk.
And me?
I stand in my parents’ house, in a dress I didn’t choose, promised to a man I used to love and now barely recognize—
And realize I’m not waiting for a rescue.
I’m standing at the beginning of a war.
One I didn’t start. One I’m not sure I can win.
But one I’ll have to survive.
Because if Lorenzo Amante thinks he’s the only one who learned how to weaponize heartbreak—
He’s not paying close enough attention.
And that?
Might be the only advantage I have left.