Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
“You used to tell me everything.” Valentina joins me at the vanity and grabs my brush. “What gives?”
I offer a half-hearted shrug. My sister’s too intelligent to pacify with excuses, but my pain is a burden only I can bear. As an older sister, it’s my job to set an example, and in our family, the bar is so high, not even perfection is good enough.
“Sometimes it’s just fun to dream,” I admit.
I don’t tell her that I’ve also been hiding large amounts of cash for the inevitable fallout when my current engagement dissolves.
Valentina smooths my waist-length hair over my shoulders and starts to brush it. “Why would you need to dream about a different life when this is the one you chose?”
I apply my foundation as she detangles my hair because, truthfully, I don’t know how to answer that without giving too much away.
“You told me it was your choice to marry Matteo after Angelo went to prison,” she reminds me. “But it’s been six years, and you only ever see him for appearances.”
“Is that any different from most of the couples we know?”
“Well, no,” she mutters. “But it wasn’t like that with Angelo. You saw him almost every day.”
“Angelo and I weren’t right for each other.” I sigh.
Val rolls her eyes. “Come on, Abella. You were crazy about him. I’ve never seen you look at Matteo the same way. I just want to know what really happened. It’s been years, and you still won’t tell me.”
“Can we please not talk about this right now?” I dab my makeup a little too vigorously with the sponge. “I need to get downstairs before Papà comes unglued.”
“You never want to talk about it,” she argues. “Something is off with you, and I don’t like all this secrecy. You have a bunch of apartment brochures and a bottle of sleeping pills on your dresser. What am I supposed to think?”
I rub at my aching temples and groan. “I don’t have time for this conversation right now.”
“Or ever,” she huffs.
Silence and tension linger between us as she styles my hair in a sleek ponytail and I finish applying my makeup. Guilt gnaws at me as I meet her gaze. We share some of the same features—black hair, olive skin, high cheekbones. But she looks more like our father, while I inherited most of our mother’s traits.
“I hate it when we argue,” I tell her.
“So do I.” Her voice cracks. “I don’t like seeing you close yourself off like Mom did. You have a support system—there’s a whole army of women who would go to battle for you. Please don’t forget that.”
“I know.” I choke back my emotions as I rise and smooth out my dress. “Do I look okay?”
“Beautiful as always.” She offers me a sad smile.
I thank her and step into a pair of black pumps, steeling myself with a breath.
“Do you think this is about the treaty?” She chews on her bottom lip, trying to hide her nerves.
“What else could it be?” I swallow. “Silvio isn’t doing well, and until Angelo can take over the role of Don, it will fall to Matteo to serve and fulfill the conditions of the treaty.”
“That’s a lot of pressure,” Val says.
“I know.” I stare at the wall, emotionally bankrupt.
Sensing the direction of my thoughts, Val pulls me in for a hug. “Swear that you’ll be okay.”
I offer her a watery smile as the lie slips from my mouth. “I swear.”
Voices drift from my father’s office as I pause on the last stair. There’s never a good occasion to be summoned by him, but things have been particularly tense lately. With the Vitale patriarch on his deathbed, and Angelo in prison, Matteo will have to marry—and soon.
The thought of my father learning our engagement isn’t moving forward fills me with dread. He’s already made it known he isn’t happy every night at the dinner table. At this point, the entire household staff is aware of my failings as a daughter.
I steal a moment for myself as I mentally prepare to face him. As I do, I wonder if my mother felt the same suffocating weight in her chest when he tired of her. He was always cruel to her, but in the end, it was unbearable. For her, death was the only escape.
“Abella,” Papà calls out from the cracked door. “Come to my office now.”
His voice holds a familiar note of anger. Maurizio Moretti doesn’t like to wait on anyone, but least of all females who are of little use to him.
I straighten my spine and walk to his office, slipping into the performative role I’ve played my entire life.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” I meet my father’s stony gaze before I turn to my fiancé and press a modest kiss to his cheek. “Matteo, I wasn’t expecting you.”