Giorgia ~

I had been sprawled across my bed, lost in the pages of my favorite fashion magazine for the past half hour, when a soft knock on my bedroom door broke my concentration. My gaze shifted instinctively to the classic clock on the wall, and I noticed with a start that it was already time for dinner.

I opened the door, and as expected, Wilma stood there, her expression as calm as ever. "Dinner's ready," she said, her voice gentle. I nodded in response, and without another word, she turned and walked away. Wilma had been the head caretaker of our mansion for as long as I could remember. In her fifties, with fair skin and black hair always pulled into a tight bun, she was, without a doubt, the kindest person I had ever known in my eighteen years of life.

I descended the stairs, making my way toward the dining area when I spotted my older brother, Antonio, heading in the same direction. Together, we entered the expansive dining room, the massive white marble table dominating the center, with grand chandeliers hanging above, casting a soft glow. I took my usual seat, Antonio directly across from me, with Mother seated beside him.

We sat in silence, waiting for our father and younger sister, Martina, to join us. After a few moments, Father arrived and settled into his usual chair, his expression already tense. As expected, Martina was late for dinner... again. Father's irritation was palpable, and her tardiness wasn't helping matters. I grabbed my phone to call her, but just as I was about to dial, Martina walked into the dining room and slid into the seat beside me.

Dinner passed in its usual silence, but tonight, the stillness felt different-like the calm before a storm. Just as the tension in the air seemed ready to explode, Father cleared his throat, signaling he was about to speak. "Antonio and Giorgia, I want you both in my study after dinner." A sense of dread settled over me, a gut feeling that something was terribly wrong. I could see it in his tone and on his face.

I glanced at Antonio, searching for any sign of reaction, but as always, I was met with his cold, unreadable face. Was this some kind of unspoken rule all Capos followed? To keep their emotions and expressions locked away, even in front of family? Antonio wasn't the Capo yet, but he would be after our father's death, which wasn't anytime soon. In the past few years, Antonio had grown more distant, shutting himself off like a typical mafia man, and it pissed me off. We were family-he didn't need to treat us like this, too. I just didn't want him to turn into our father.

Martina turned her head toward me, a questioning look in her eyes. I met her gaze, and she raised her eyebrows, mouthing, "What's going on?" with a spoonful of mashed potatoes hovering near her mouth. I shook my head slightly, silently telling her I had no idea what the hell was going on. It was my favorite meal, but I couldn't bring myself to eat. The thought of Father's sudden request for a meeting had completely stolen my appetite. That was the problem-I couldn't eat when something was off, no matter how small. But deep down, I knew this wasn't something small. I could feel it-this meeting wasn't going to end well.

After dinner, Antonio and I made our way to Father's study. He knocked on the door, and Father's gruff voice echoed from inside. "Come in." We stepped into his massive study, a room starkly different from anything else in the house. It was all marble, glass, and crystal-luxurious, yet somehow cold and impersonal. The study was supposed to be his private space, but even that felt like it didn't truly belong to him.

Father was seated in his chair behind the massive desk, a cigarette already lit between his fingers. He took a long drag, exhaling the smoke into the air with a deliberate calmness. Antonio walked over to the small bar area and took a seat on one of the stools, while I settled onto the sofa near Father's desk.

"You know our relationship with the Mexican cartels isn't good," Father began, getting straight to the point. "Because of that, the drug routes from both sides have been blocked."

I didn't understand why I was there. Father never included women in the business-he always believed women were the weaker section of society, unfit for such matters.

"And now, the time has come for us to strike a temporary peace deal with the Cartels to expand our territory," Father continued, his tone matter-of-fact. "The Cartels' Capo, Omar Rodriguez, is looking for a wife for his oldest son, Javier Rodriguez. And you, Giorgia, are supposed to marry him." He paused, locking eyes with me. "Tomorrow, they'll be coming here for dinner, so you'd better be ready."

I froze. For a moment, I couldn't even process what he had just said. My mind went completely blank, and my blood ran cold. I turned to look at my father, but he didn't seem the least bit affected. Of course, he didn't care-he never did. His gaze was fixed on me, waiting for a reaction, but I couldn't give him one. I was paralyzed, unable to move or even comprehend the gravity of his words. After a few moments, I nodded slowly, because what else could I do? There was no choice, no option to refuse. I glanced at Antonio, hoping for some sign of support, but for just a second, I saw a flicker of worry in his eyes-one that quickly vanished, replaced by his usual calm, controlled mask. And in that moment, I felt utterly hopeless.

I knew my work was done, so I stood up and left the study. As soon as I was out of there, I broke into a run, not stopping until I reached my bedroom. I slammed the door behind me and collapsed onto the bed. The tears came quickly, burning as they slipped down my cheeks. My chest ached with the weight of it all. How? How could they give me away like this? What was I-some sort of bargaining chip? A sheep for sale?

I I had heard and read about Javier Rodriguez in the newspapers and on social media. He was a ruthless beast. Sometimes, I even overheard my father and Antonio discussing how he had slaughtered our men and sent their remains back to us in pieces. In our world, most married men abused their wives-my father was a perfect example. Those women were treated like the dirt beneath their husbands' shoes. And worst of all, even after marriage, these men continued to visit their mistresses and whores without a second thought.

What if Javier turned out to be just like the rest? Actually, there wasn't even an "if" in that question-he was definitely going to be the same as all the others. Why would he be any different? In fact, I was certain he'd be worse than everyone else. I knew I had to marry one day, but why him? I would have been fine marrying a low-ranking soldier in the Famiglia-hell, I would have been fine marrying anyone but him. But, unfortunately, I had no choice. Was this really the end?

My end?