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“No,” I whisper, shaking my head as if that might erase what I just heard. “No, Papá, you’re not?—”

“I am,” he says. “It’s done.”

“Matteo Davacalli. No.” I take a step back, like the space between us will undo what I’ve heard. “No, this isn’t happening. You can’t do this. This wasn’t the plan. I was supposed to marry his son, the boy I once knew, not… not the devil wrapped in silk and power!”

My knees almost give out. My hands shoot out to the vanity for support, my knuckles going white. My chest tightens, and I forget how to breathe.

He doesn’t flinch. “The deal stands. The name stands. The groom changes.”

I stare at him—this man who raised me, protected me, once swore he’d never hand me over to monsters. And now here he is, offering me up to the biggest one of them all.

The silence stretches. Suffocating.

And then, softly— “You’re feeding me to the Warlord.”

“Marcello, what are you talking about?” my mother asks—voicing exactly what I’m thinking. “She’s marrying Matteo now? As in… the father of Daniele?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” My father sighs heavily, placing a hand on his hip. “The wedding will still take place. You will still get married, and this deal will still go through.”

I can’t believe this.

Only a week ago, we buried my brother in a cemetery just twenty minutes from this very cathedral. That same day, I was betrothed to my childhood friend. And now, a week later, I’m set to marry his father.

I shake my head. “No. Papá, I won’t marry him. I’ll find Daniele—I’ll talk to him. Just two days ago, we were steady, aligned… we were ready to face this together. He can’t just be gone…”

There’s no way he would abandon me. He gave me his word. He promised me.

“There is no other choice, Maria.”

“He’s a widower. His wife passed away not long ago. How do you expect me to be the bride of a man who already had a wife?”

My father pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to maintain his composure. I know he hates when I push back—but I refuse to let him dictate this.

“You won’t be the first woman to marry a widower, and you definitely won’t be the last.”

I throw my bouquet onto the armchair and step toward him, rage and desperation mixing in my blood. The hairs on the back of my neck stand as I close the space between us—the man never meant to be challenged. But right now, I don’t give two shits. This is my life he’s playing with, and I refuse to marry the Warlord.

“You can’t do this to me. I don’t agree to this.” I seethe, my anger rising higher than it’s ever dared with him. “If fucking Daniele isn’t here, then there is no wedding.”

“Watch your tongue, Maria.” The fury in his eyes makes me falter, but the fire inside me pushes through. “I am still your father, and you remain under my care.”

“I am twenty-four, Papá. I’m an adult. I can walk out of here right now, and you can’t stop me.”

I see the muscle in his jaw twitch.

“Not with my name, you don’t. If you walk out of those doors, you’ll be stripped of it all—my fortune, my mercy, my name.” My father storms over and grabs my wrist. “If you leave this cathedral, you will never again be allowed near this family.”

My lips part. A gasp slips free.

“Marcello,” my mother says, her voice sharp and low. “She’s our daughter—my daughter. You won’t speak to her like that. She is the last of our children. Your heir. You’ll disown her over my dead body.”

My father’s eyes dart to hers, and I see the regret hit him immediately. He does love me—I know he does. But he’s running on grief and desperation. We all are.

He blinks, then turns his gaze back to me. Guilt and remorse flicker in his eyes.

“You will marry this man, or our family will pay a price we cannot afford.” His grip on my wrist tightens. “Do you want your brother’s blood to be for nothing?”

“Marcello,” my mother gasps again.