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ADELINA

“ H e doesn’t want to meet you.”

“What?” My hands are buried in my hair in the process of braiding the wild mess of my auburn curls into something more manageable when my father drops that bombshell over the edge of his morning paper.

“I said he doesn’t want to meet with you.”

“Papà, you expect me to marry someone I have never met?”

“Addie, I have no control over this.”

“Of course you do!” I rapidly twist my fingers back and forth, ignoring the burn in my knuckles and the ache in my shoulders. “You’re Pascal Castiglioni. Your name demands respect. Surely, you can do something to make him meet me?”

“And he is Raffaele Varricchio,” my father replies dryly. “You know their reputation. Do you really think I would be marrying you to him if I had the kind of power he would listen to?”

He has a point, but that doesn’t stop the twist of discomfort in my gut. I know Raffaele is a dangerous man and the hatred I hold for him burns through my chest daily, but I at least wanted to let him know about that hatred to his face before we tied the knot. I don’t want him to have any illusions that this is anything other than a business deal.

“Papà, he killed my fiancé and now I’m marrying him. Is there anything you can do to make this happen for me? I don’t want the first time I see him to be on my wedding day. I won’t know how to hold myself or how I’m supposed to act.”

My father lowers his paper and folds it slowly. “Just be your wonderful self, my daughter,” he says. He sets the paper down next to his breakfast bowl and stands. “I know this is painful for you, dear.”

“That’s a word for it,” I murmur, finally reaching the ends of my hair. I twist once more and secure the thick braid with a band.

“But you need to do this.” He reaches across the table and takes one of my tired hands as I drop them to the table to rest. “I will be safe because of this. As will you. We will become joined with his family and thus, we will be safe from his wrath. You’ve seen how he absorbs families into his own. This way, we won’t lose ourselves. You don’t want my name to become an afterthought, do you?”

“No.” I sigh softly as a bubble of guilt worms under my ribcage.

“And you know how business is struggling. Without the injection of funds from the Giordanas, we risk going under. But because of you, I have another chance at this. That man is allergic to failure, so he will ensure that we will be fine.”

“Maybe it’s a sign to get out of the counterfeit business, Papà,” I say. “Into something more sustainable.”

“What, like art?” He snorts, and the mockery is thinly veiled in his words. Then he softens his tone. “We are in debt, Adelina. You know this. If I do not pay, then all sorts of dangerous people will come for my head. You don’t want to see your dear Papà killed by debtors, do you?”

“Of course not!” My eyes widen. “Papà, I would never wish for such a thing!”

“Then doesn’t not seeing Raffaele before the wedding seem like just a small price to pay for my safety? And for yours?” He lifts his wiry gray brows and tilts his head. “You’re saving me, my child. And that is something I will never be able to repay. It pains me deeply that I cannot be the one to save you, and getting into bed with a man like Raffaele is… risky. But do you see another option? He will come for us eventually, you know this. This way, you become his beautiful wife and I will be safe.”

I know he speaks from the heart, and everything he lists are reasons I hold very dear to my own heart. Watching the Varricchios tear through smaller families was something we all turned a blind eye to because it was someone else, not us, who was suffering. But then Raffaele expanded and now, no one is safe.

Carlos can attest to that.

“Alright,” I say eventually, forcing a smile. “I don’t need to meet him beforehand.”

“That’s my girl.” My father retracts his hand and quickly returns to his paper. “And the wedding will be small and intimate so you do not have to worry about how to act. Just be yourself. Keep him happy for a little while, and everything will work out. Trust me.”

“I trust you, Papà.”

“Engaged?” Marie lunges across the table to grab my hand, throwing my forkful of pasta out of my grasp in the process. “Where’s the ring?”

“Marie!” I jerk my hand back with a laugh. “I don’t exactly have one yet.”

“Wait, is this one of those moments where I should be super- duper concerned about your mental well-being? Because let’s be real here.” Marie releases my hand and lowers her voice. “You buried one fiancé at the start of the month and now you’re set to marry another?”

Her sparkling eyes carry a wealth of concern and confusion, and my heart swells at the sight. We met in college some eight years ago now and instantly clicked. Her carefree outlook on life was a breath of fresh air for me. I was used to living under lock and key as a Mafia princess, and Marie was the complete opposite. She was everything I wanted to be and more, and since she had no idea who I was or the kind of world I was from, she treated me just like a regular person. Which was amazing in college, but it’s not as smooth now, given my current situation.

“No, you don’t need to worry,” I assure her, rescuing my fork from a pile of sauce. “I know it might look bad, but honestly, after Carlos passed, I kind of realized something. I think I only said yes to him because I felt obligated to, y’know? Like I wasn’t in love with him at all. He was just comfortable to be around.”

My lie makes the pasta in my mouth taste like ash, and my stomach rolls painfully. I can’t tell her that one marriage was to save my family, and this one is for the same reason, just to someone worse. Just like I can’t tell her Carlos was actually murdered instead of dying in a car accident. I can’t tell her that I miss him so much that I cry myself to sleep or that I’m scared I will lose myself in a bid to save my family.

All I can do is smile as she raises her brows and shakes her head. “Really? Could have fooled me. I thought you two were made for each other.”

“Nah. He was clingy and kind of gross when we were together. And he never backed me up about anything, not even when I was overcharged at the grocery store! He’d get really moody too about my art, and I think I was just so used to his being around that it felt like the next logical step.” There is some truth to my lie, in a way. It makes it a little easier.

“Hmm, alright, say I believe you. Tell me about this new guy and how he managed to woo you in three weeks. Is he a widow fucker or something?”

“Marie!”

“What?” She laughs loudly and picks up her wine glass. “That’s a real thing!”

“I’m sure it is. But no, Raffaele is a… family friend. I’ve known him for years but it wasn’t until Carlos passed that I sort of really saw him, y’know? And he was so sweet and kind.” I weave a tale of what I hope he will be like, and Marie drinks it up like I’m pouring honey directly down her throat. Part of me feels I should warn her that he could be an asshole, but at this point, I have no idea.

He could be anything from a soft bear to the coldest, cruelest man alive.

Who knows if he will even let me see her once we’re married?

I mean, a man who makes a deal for a person can’t be that great of a man. My father acts only out of desperation, and with my support, but what does that say about the one offering the deal?

“Well, he'd better be some kind of dreamboat. That’s the only reason I can think of that you would keep him away from me,” Marie says between sips. “I can’t believe it. In one month you’ve lost one fiancé, gained another, and then you’re getting married next week?”

“Mmhmm. A May wedding.”

“How beautiful.”

“Which is actually why I asked you here for lunch,” I say, lowering my fork once more. “It goes without saying, but would you be my maid of honor?”

Marie’s screech is so loud that several other people in the restaurant turn to stare as she launches out of her seat and throws her arms around me. “Yes! Oh, my God, yes!”

“Why is this a surprise?” I laugh, hugging her back. “You were going to be my maid of honor at my other wedding.”

“That doesn’t make it any less special,” she says, kissing my cheek and then retaking her seat. “It’s not every day you get to be a maid of honor, never mind twice . And for my best friend!” She throws one hand up, then picks up her napkin and dabs at her eyes.

“You’re my best friend for sure, and I want you there,” I say. “I can’t do this without you.”

Would she still say yes if she knew who I was and what kind of criminal world I lived in? Would she look at me the same? I can’t tell. I’d like to tell myself that yes, she would. But growing up in this life has taught me that no one is that reliable.

“Stop,” Marie says bashfully, weeping gently. “This is my moment.”

“You won’t have to do much, either, because it’s all being taken care of.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the wedding is next week,” I say. “The planning is basically over.”

“Wait, really? Okay, you need to tell me everything. Color scheme, flowers, meal plans, everything .”

“I will, just excuse me for a sec first, okay?” With a laugh, I rise and step away from the table.

As I hurry to the bathroom, I glance back to see Marie texting eagerly on her phone. I can only imagine who she is texting. I manage to keep the smile on my face as I enter the bathroom and am greeted by chilled air and the sharp scent of floral antiseptic. The bathroom is thankfully empty, and after checking the other stalls, I quickly throw myself inside one and lock the door.

The mask slips.

I’m getting married to a murderer. A monster . The head of a family that’s been tearing through all the power in this city like we were just placed in his way to be devoured. How am I supposed to keep Raffaele happy when each time I’m near him, I will only be able to think of Carlos?

Raffaele has a dangerous reputation, and the closer we get to the wedding date, the more uncertain I become. Can I really do this? Can I really walk down that aisle and bind myself to a man like that?

The tears come suddenly, flooding my eyes. Scratchiness sweeps up the back of my throat, and I huddle on the toilet seat, pressing my hands over my mouth to muffle the sobs bubbling in my chest.

I miss Carlos. Things were easier when it was just him.

I miss him.

I miss my mom.

Maybe there’s another way, another solution that I can’t see yet that involves my art or something else. My mind races as fast as the tears pour down my cheeks, destroying my carefully applied makeup. I weep until my phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out expecting a text from Marie asking what’s taking so long.

It’s not from Marie. It’s from my father.

I read the message, and it sobers me as quickly as pouring an ice bucket of water over my head.

“Shit.”

Raffaele is refusing to honor the payments until we’re married. He doesn’t trust that I won’t back out, so he won’t provide business or debt relief until the day we are married. In his text, my father says he can’t wait until then so he’s taken out another loan to tide him over until Raffaele sends his first payment, but I’m not to worry. One more debt won’t break us with Raffaele poised to help us.

My heart sinks to the dark depths of my gut.

Backing out is not an option.