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He studies me, head tilted slightly. Then understanding dawns in his eyes, followed by disbelief. “You have someone else in mind.”

It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “Yes.”

The lie comes easily, unexpectedly. I hadn’t planned it—wasn’t thinking beyond my refusal of Valentina—but as soon as the word leaves my mouth, I see Chiara’s face again. Her sleepy smile this morning when I slipped out of bed. The catch in her breath when I first touched her.

I have to keep her safe. And now that D’Angelo knows I stepped in—knows I staked a claim—he won’t let it go.

If she stays where she is, she’s a target. Exposed. Vulnerable.

But if she’s with me—publicly with me—he won’t touch her.

A marriage… the thought hits like a punch to the chest, sudden but solid. It gives me control. Access. Protection. Legitimacy.

She becomes untouchable.

And if I drop it now, maybe it’ll shut my father up. He’s too obsessed with bloodlines and power plays to see what this really is—strategy, not sentiment.

I didn’t plan this. But the second the idea forms, it feels inevitable. She’ll be mine in name. In law. In every damn way that matters.

“Who the hell is she?” he snaps. “What family? What does she bring to the table besides a pretty face?”

I move behind the desk, taking my rightful place, forcing him to be the one standing before me. “She’s not connected. Not powerful.”

“Then what use is she to us?”

I meet his gaze steadily. “She’s who I’ve chosen.”

My father’s laugh is sharp, disbelieving. “Since when do you make decisions with your heart and not your head? This isn’t like you, Marco. This kind of emotional thinking will get you killed. Get us all killed.”

“It’s not emotional,” I lie again. “It’s practical. Valentina Costa would be a viper in our nest. This woman… she’s loyal. Straightforward. No hidden agendas.”

“You sound like a lovesick boy, not the man I raised to lead.”

I say nothing, letting his words bounce off the armor I’ve built over decades of his disappointment. He paces the office now, agitated in a way I rarely see him.

“Who is she? Where did you even find her? And why the hell haven’t you mentioned her until now?”

“It’s recent,” I say, each lie building on the last, creating a structure I’m now committed to. “And she’s not part of our world.”

My father stops pacing. Stares at me like I’ve gone mad. “A civilian? You want to marry a civilian? Someone with no understanding of what we do?”

“She’ll learn.”

“If she doesn’t run screaming first.” He shakes his head, dropping heavily into the chair I’d vacated. “Marco, think about what you’re saying. The Costas are moving against us. D’Angelo is growing stronger by the day. We need allies, not liabilities.”

“I’ve made my decision.”

We stare at each other, two predators marking territory. Finally, he sighs, the sound of a man conserving his energy for battles he can win.

“Fine. Marry your nobody if you must. But when she can’t handle this life—when she breaks under the weight of who we are, what we do—don’t come to me for sympathy.” He stands, straightening his suit jacket with a sharp tug. “Just make sure she gives you sons. Even a child from an unwise match is better than no heir at all.”

He leaves without another word, the door closing firmly behind him.

I sink into my chair, the weight of the decision I’ve just made settling around my shoulders. Marriage. To Chiara. A woman I met yesterday, took to bed last night, and left sleeping in her sheets this morning.

I close my eyes, and there she is—soft, warm, wrapped around me. No games in her eyes. No agenda. Just raw, unfiltered need. For a few hours, I wasn’t a Bianchi. Wasn’t heir to an empire. I was just a man—wanted for himself.

The decision hardens in my chest, solid and final. Chiara is mine now. Mine to protect. Mine to own. Mine to bring into my world and keep, whether she’s ready or not. She’ll understand soon enough. She’ll come willingly—or she’ll be convinced.