"What the fuck? Dad, how can you even think this is acceptable?!"
My voice rang sharply through the villa's conference room. Black marble covered the walls, a heavy crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and a half-burnt cigar smoldered in an ashtray at the center of the table. The air was thick with expensive whiskey and tobacco, exactly the way it always was when my father prepared to announce something that froze everyone's blood.
My father, Lorenzo Costa, stood in front of the fireplace with his back to me. He did not move. That always made me uneasy. I knew this was how he ruled: with silence, not shouting.
I glanced down at the stack of documents in my hand, then back at him.
"Is this some kind of joke?" I asked quietly, though my voice trembled. "You want to marry me off to a D'Amato? They slaughtered everything that ever belonged to this family."
He turned slowly. The ember of his cigar glowed red between his fingers.
"It's not a joke. It's necessity." His voice was calm, the same calm he always used when delivering a decision.
"Necessity?" I laughed, sharp and bitter. "That's the word you're using to justify selling your daughter?"
"I'm not selling you. I'm saving the family." He placed the cigar in a crystal ashtray and finally met my eyes. "The D'Amatos control the entire southern weapons route. The police are breathing down our necks, and the Verona Cartel is already moving through the ports. This is the only move that can stop them."
I crossed my arms.
"You want me to marry Rafael D'Amato." Saying the name made my stomach clench. Ever since childhood it had turned me nauseous. The man whose family took my mother, my home, my childhood.
"Yes." My father's face remained unreadable. "Only a marriage can stop this war."
"I will not marry a cold-blooded murderer." My voice dropped, but rage tightened every word. "I'd rather drive a blade into myself than become a D'Amato."
He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell the tobacco.
"Think rationally. This isn't about you, it's about the Costa name." His gaze was sharp, merciless. "I won't allow us to lose everything just because my daughter is throwing a tantrum."
"A tantrum?" My eyes widened. "I'm the only one who never bought into the illusion you call power. That illusion killed Mother. You sent her into the fire when you let the D'Amatos attack us."
My father's face tightened, but he didn't answer right away. He only stared at me.
"Your mother was weak," he said slowly. "She couldn't survive in this world. You are not like her."
I turned away from him. A wave of heat swept through me, but not from anger. I stared into the crackling flames of the fireplace, and for a moment the air around me felt frozen. Tension lived beneath my skin, memories burned there: the touch of fire, the heat against my thigh. I stepped back twice and nearly collided with the table.
"You can light fires, Father, but you can't erase the ashes," I said, my voice cold and brittle as glass. "If you think I'll ever let a D'Amato touch me, then you don't know me at all."
"He doesn't need to touch you." He shrugged. "All you need to do is say yes at the altar."
I laughed, hollow and shaking.
"At the altar? Since when do you care about church?"
He didn't respond. His eyes only flashed. Then the door opened and Marco stepped inside. My bodyguard. My childhood friend. The only person I ever believed was on my side. Now he stood with his head lowered, his voice quiet.
"Sir, the car is ready. The D'Amato men are waiting at the gate."
I turned slowly toward him.
"Now?" I asked softly. He only nodded. In an instant, realization hit me. There would be no more arguments. No delay. I was leaving now.
"You really…" My voice faltered. "You really arranged for them to come for me?"
"The marriage will be announced tonight. You're traveling to Rome today." My father glanced at his watch as if he were discussing a business meeting, not his daughter. "You'll meet D'Amato there. In front of the press."
I breathed in steady rhythm, still hoping for one brief second that this was a threat. It wasn't. The Costa family always did what my father decided. And he was going to see this through.
I suddenly stepped to the table, grabbed a crystal glass, and hurled it against the wall with all my strength. Shards exploded across the floor.
"I won't let you decide who owns me!" I shouted, my throat burning, my hands shaking.
My father's face remained unmoved.
"Are you finished?"
I stared at him, fists clenched.
"One day you'll fall. And when that happens, I hope I'll be there to watch."
He nodded.
"Maybe. But until then, you carry the Costa name. And the Costa name is now allied with Rafael D'Amato."
My chest tightened. My throat burned as if fire lived inside me again.
"I hate you." The words cut clean through the silence.
"Hatred is stronger than fear," my father said. "Use it. It'll keep you alive against the D'Amatos, too."
I backed away slowly and turned to Marco.
"Don't talk to me. Don't try to protect me. Just stay away while you still can."
Marco nodded silently, shame written across his face, but an order was an order.
I walked toward the door. As I passed the fireplace, the flames lit my skin again. The scars on my thigh burned beneath my dress. I paused for a moment, staring ahead.
The sound of the fire was the same as it had been twelve years ago. The smell of smoke was the same. Only now I knew who had started it. And now they were forcing me to marry into it.
I stepped into the dark hallway. Outside, the air was cold. A black car waited at the gate. D'Amato men stood beside it in suits, motionless as machines. I got in. The door shut. The car pulled away, the villa's lights slowly fading behind me.
The rage no longer burned.
For the first time, I felt only one thing: this road was not leading to peace, but to something far darker. Something I would never be able to escape.