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I’m nothing but a commodity.

Maybe I had a slimmer-than-slim chance to get out if Viv married this man or had done so with Marcello. But even so, I’m worth something to Dad. I’m currency in his mafia bank, to roll out and marry if he chooses.

Which he freaking has and now the door’s slammed shut.

There’s no two-year term. There’s nothing for me.

“On the bright-ish side,” I mutter as I fix the burnished gold mask that matches my dress, “maybe he’s so old he’ll keel over by the end of the night.”

Someone raps on my door and before I can speak, my father bursts in. I think this is his first time in here, though he makes it seem like a regular occurrence. I swallow down the anger and dislike, focusing on the fact that I love him.

“Lucia, I need you to behave. This man, Callahan, he’s not what you’re used to.”

Does he even know what I’m used to? But I don’t speak. I just tap my toe on the floor and wait.

Dad moves around my room, picks up an old bear, and curls his lip, tossing it to the ground. “You’ll need to get thischildish shit out of here. He’ll be up here for your wedding night. It’s tradition since you still live with us, and we’ll need proof of the consummation.” He looks around the space. “A man doesn’t want to be turned off by this stuff.”

I almost point out there are a lot of sick men who are turnedonby it. But I don’t even want to have that image in my head. “I will, Dad.”

“And obey him. He made that clear.” Dad straightens his tie, his mask sitting on top of his head like he doesn’t really know what to do with it, or if he should wear it at all.

“Whose idea was it to wear masks?” I ask.

“Callahan’s. Not mine,” he snaps.

Masks, apparently, are in. Everyone always trying to hide who they really are, what their true intentions may be. Like a mask can act as some kind of self-protection. I mean, what the hell? What is my asshole of an arranged soon-to-be husband trying to cover up by making everyone wear freaking masks? I try and reel in my snark so it doesn’t come out when it shouldn’t. Like now. Or when I meet the old dude I’m marrying.

“Callahan?” I repeat.

“Callahan Murphy. He doesn’t use the Amalfitano name. Maybe he does on some deals… I don’t know. But my point is, don’t piss him off, Lucie. Don’t upset him. He’s brutal, dangerous, and he doesn’t play by the rules. I don’t know how he treats women; he might beat them if they disobey, so behave.”

I blink rapidly, my heart clenching painfully. “You’re selling me off to a wife-beater. Thanks so much, Dad.”

Dad ignores my caustic words. “A powerful man, a ruthless one. Not once since I met him has he played the game, but he has respect, connections, and more importantly, things I want. A lot of things. So behave. Be good. A good wife,capisce?”

“Yes, understood.”

He leaves, and I think about climbing out my window, but I’m three stories up. I’m stuck, like it or not. So I square my shoulders like I’m walking to my eternal doom and head down to the great room where we’re holding my engagement party-slash-surprise wedding to a fucking vicious brute.

The music reaches me, followed by the murmur of voices. I peer inside but can’t bring myself to walk through the doors, so I take a left and head into the library. I can at least steal a drink to numb the shit plaguing me. How much booze is enough to go through with this kind of sham?

I glance at the bottles on the bar. Shit. No Jack Daniel’s. I don’t even care that much for it, but it’s familiar. Instead, I swipe a bottle of scotch and pour it into a glass. There are small glass bottles of Coke. I use the opener and I’m about to top it up when I realize I’m not alone.

“At least it’s scotch this time. But that’s two fifty a bottle, so probably best not to poison it with Coke.”

I know that voice, and my entire body revs and purrs, my pussy starting to ache and tingle with memory as I pour it into my glass. Only then do I turn.

“Told you I’d find you. And here we are, in masks again. I figured you’d like that touch of reliving our first night together,” Frank says, his gaze dark and intense as it skims over the length of my body. “Did you want to come closer so I can feel that sweet, tight cunt again?”

The vulgar words make me quiver. He’s leaning against the door, tall and lean in a black suit that’s probably beyond expensive. I know Dad favors Armani or BOSS. This… it looks made to fit. Custom. He renders me brain-dead, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as my body pleads with me to let him do exactly what he just asked.

“You should go,” I say. “You have no idea who my father is.”

“Fuck.”

It’s soft. He straightens up and slowly approaches.

“I don’t?—”