Elena’s hand closed lightly around Sophia’s wrist.
“Before you say yes,” she whispered, “there’s something about this marriage you need to know. Something my brother doesn’t know I know.”
Sophia looked past her.
Luca Moretti still stood in the center of the marble foyer, impossibly tall beneath the crystal chandelier, his black suit making him look like he belonged to the shadows rather than the sunlight pouring through the windows.
He was watching them.
Not suspiciously.
Almost nervously.
That was what Sophia couldn’t stop noticing.
For a man whose name had apparently frightened people across half of northern Italy, Luca Moretti looked strangely prepared to be hurt.
“Is this the kind of secret where I should run?” Sophia whispered.
Elena’s expression tightened.
“The kind where you should decide with your eyes open.”
“That sounds worse.”
“It probably is.”
“Elena.”
Luca’s voice crossed the room.
His sister turned.
“Yes?”
“If you’re frightening my future wife before she’s been here ten minutes, at least give her lunch first.”
Sophia glanced at him.
Future wife.
The words should have terrified her.
Instead, what terrified her was how calm he sounded saying them.
Elena released Sophia’s wrist.
“Later,” she murmured.
Then she smiled at her brother with the innocent expression of someone who had probably never been innocent a day in her life.
“I was only welcoming her.”
“You’ve never welcomed anyone in your life.”
“I’m growing.”
Luca’s mouth almost twitched again.
Sophia noticed.
So did Elena.
And something passed between brother and sister that Sophia couldn’t understand.
Marco stepped forward from near the door.
“The priest is still waiting.”
Luca’s face changed.
The almost-smile disappeared.
He looked at Sophia.
“Nothing happens tonight unless you agree.”
Sophia blinked.
“My father said—”
“I know what your father said.”
His tone was quiet, but something hard entered it.
Sophia suddenly remembered why she was there.
Three months earlier, her father, Daniel Bennett, had arrived at her bakery in Boston after closing time. He had looked ten years older than when she’d seen him the week before.
He told her he owed money.
A lot of money.
Not to a bank.
Not to a friend.
To people whose debts didn’t disappear because someone filed bankruptcy.
Then he told her about Luca Moretti.
The Moretti family could erase the debt.
In exchange, Sophia would marry Luca.
She had assumed it was some ancient arrangement designed by dangerous men who considered daughters useful currency.
Her father had insisted there was more to it.
He never explained what.
Now Luca was standing in front of her telling her she could walk away.
“If I say no,” Sophia asked, “what happens to my father?”
Elena’s eyes moved sharply toward her brother.
Luca was silent for a moment.
“Nothing tonight.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No.”
“What happens to him?”
Luca looked toward Marco.
“Leave us.”
Marco hesitated.
“Elena too,” Luca said.
Elena folded her arms.
“I live here.”
“Then go live in another room for five minutes.”
Sophia nearly laughed.
Elena gave her brother an irritated look but walked away.
Marco followed.
The enormous foyer became suddenly intimate.
Sophia hugged her arms around herself.
Luca came no closer.
“Your father believes this marriage settles his debt,” he said.
“Doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Then if I refuse?”
“I will still cancel the debt.”
Sophia stared.
“You will?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His expression became unreadable.
“Because you aren’t responsible for what your father did.”
That answer rearranged something inside her.
She had expected cruelty.
Possessiveness.
Maybe arrogance.
She had not expected fairness.
“So why am I here?”
His jaw shifted.
“Because your father offered the marriage.”
“And you accepted.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Luca looked toward the windows.
Beyond them, Lake Como glittered like polished glass beneath the afternoon sun.
When he spoke again, his voice was flatter.
“My family expects me to marry.”
“That’s romantic.”
“I didn’t claim it was.”
“And five women already said no?”
His eyes returned to hers.
“Who told you five?”
“Your face.”
For the first time, he actually smiled.
It was small.
Brief.
But it changed everything.
The intimidating Mafia boss vanished for one second, replaced by a man who might have been handsome enough to make people forget how dangerous his name was.
Then the smile faded.
“Six,” he said.
Sophia’s mouth opened.
“Six women?”
“Five left after meeting me. One refused before she arrived.”
“Wow.”
His brows lifted.
She immediately covered her mouth.
“Sorry.”
“You’re going to comment on it now?”
“No. I was commenting on the statistical consistency.”
He stared at her.
Then laughed.
It was one quiet sound, rough from lack of use.
Sophia found herself smiling.
And that scared her more than anything.
Luca Moretti was dangerous.
She knew that.
She had not forgotten why armed men stood near the gates or why people lowered their voices when his name was spoken.
But danger was not always simple.
Neither were people.
“Why did they leave?” she asked.
He shrugged.
“You saw me.”
“Yes.”
“That was enough.”
Sophia frowned.
“You mean because you’re tall?”
“Among other things.”
She looked him up and down deliberately.
Luca’s expression became cautious.
“You are alarmingly large,” she admitted.
His eyes hardened, just a little.
There it was again.
That expectation.
The old wound.
Sophia continued.
“But unless you plan to eat me, I don’t see the emergency.”
Luca froze.
From somewhere down the corridor came what sounded suspiciously like Elena choking on laughter.
Sophia looked toward the sound.
“Is she listening?”
“Yes.”
“Elena!”
“I’m not here!” Elena called.
Sophia laughed despite herself.
When she looked back, Luca was watching her differently.
Not like a man interviewing a stranger.
Like a man trying to understand something dangerous.
Hope.
“You don’t have to marry me,” he said.
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“There will be rules.”
“Whose?”
“Mine.”
“That seems unfair already.”
“Security rules.”
“Oh.”
“And privacy.”
“Yours or mine?”
“Both.”
“And what do you expect from a wife?”
That question changed him again.
The Mafia boss returned.
Controlled.
Careful.
“Nothing you don’t freely choose.”
Sophia studied his face.
He wasn’t flirting.
He wasn’t trying to impress her.
He wasn’t making promises sweet enough to hide a trap.
He was giving her an exit.
And strangely, that made staying feel possible.
She thought about her bakery back home.
Her father.
The debt.
The desperation that had brought her across an ocean.
Then she thought about Luca bracing himself when he first saw her, expecting disgust before she had even spoken.
Maybe she was making the worst decision of her life.
Sophia had made plenty of bad decisions.
She once tried to carry a six-tier wedding cake down a staircase by herself.
She had dated a drummer named Kyle for eleven months.
She had invested eight thousand dollars in a bakery oven that turned out to have a faulty thermostat.
But somehow, standing in that enormous Italian mansion, looking at Luca Moretti, this did not feel like the worst decision.
It felt like the first decision she had made entirely because she wanted to know what came next.
“When’s the ceremony?”
Luca stared at her.
“What?”
“The priest. Marco said he’s waiting.”
“You’re saying yes?”
“I’m saying I’m not running.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No,” Sophia agreed. “But it’s a start.”
Something vulnerable moved through his face before he hid it.
“Seven.”
“What?”
“If you leave tomorrow, you’ll be the seventh.”
Sophia tilted her head.
“Then I guess you’d better make breakfast convincing.”
She turned toward the staircase.
Halfway there, she remembered Elena.
The secret.
She stopped.
Luca noticed.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
It was a lie.
And apparently a terrible one.
Luca’s gaze narrowed.
But Sophia escaped upstairs before he could ask.
Elena was waiting in Sophia’s room.
Of course she was.
The bedroom was larger than Sophia’s entire apartment in Boston. Tall windows opened toward the lake. Fresh flowers stood beside a carved wooden bed.
Elena shut the door.
“You agreed?”
“Not officially.”
“You’re considering it.”
“Yes.”
Elena looked genuinely troubled.
Sophia set her handbag on the bed.
“Tell me.”
Elena paced once before stopping.
“My brother thinks your father contacted us because of his debt.”
“He did.”
“No.”
Sophia frowned.
“Elena—”
“Your father’s debt is real. But Luca didn’t choose you because your father offered you.”
A cold feeling entered Sophia’s stomach.
“What does that mean?”
Elena went to a desk and opened a drawer.
She removed an envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Sophia took it.
It showed the front of her bakery in Boston.
Rainy street.
Yellow awning.
And Sophia herself, visible through the window, laughing as she handed a box to an elderly woman.
The photograph had been taken from across the street.
Her fingers tightened.
“What is this?”
“My brother had it for almost a year.”
Sophia looked up sharply.
“A year?”
“He knew who you were before your father ever made the proposal.”
The room seemed suddenly colder.
“No.”
“Elena—”
“He never approached you. Never contacted you. As far as I know, he never even went inside your bakery. But he knew about you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Sophia stared at the photograph again.
Her bakery.
Her face.
Her life.
All captured without her knowledge.
A knock sounded.
Both women froze.
“Sophia?”
Luca.
Elena snatched the photograph.
Too late.
The door opened.
Luca saw his sister.
Then the envelope.
Then the photograph.
His entire body went still.
The change was terrifying.
“Elena.”
His voice was barely above a whisper.
Elena lifted her chin.
“She deserved to know.”
Sophia looked from one sibling to the other.
“Know what?”
Luca’s face had lost every trace of warmth.
Not anger at Sophia.
Fear.
“Elena,” he repeated, “leave.”
“No.”
“Now.”
Elena hesitated, then moved toward the door.
As she passed Luca, she said quietly, “Tell her the truth before somebody else does.”
The door closed behind her.
Sophia held up the photograph.
“You knew me.”
Luca did not answer.
“For a year?”
Still nothing.
“Luca.”
“Yes.”
Her pulse jumped.
“Were you watching me?”
“No.”
“This picture suggests otherwise.”
“I was watching your father.”
That stopped her.
“My father?”
Luca walked toward the window.
He seemed too large for the elegant room, like something carved from another, harsher world.
“Your father’s debt isn’t what he told you.”
“What did he tell you?”
“That he borrowed money after a failed business deal.”
Luca looked at her.
“He lied.”
Sophia’s stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
“Your father didn’t borrow from me.”
“Then who?”
“A man named Vittorio Rinaldi.”
The name meant nothing to her.
But the way Luca said it did.
“Who is he?”
“My enemy.”
The word landed heavily.
Sophia’s fingers went cold.
“Why would my father owe money to your enemy?”
“Because the money wasn’t the real debt.”
Luca reached inside his jacket.
Sophia stiffened before realizing he was removing his phone.
He unlocked it and handed it to her.
On the screen was a photograph of her father leaving a restaurant.
Beside him stood a silver-haired man in a gray coat.
Another photograph showed them entering a warehouse.
Another showed her father accepting a folder.
Sophia shook her head.
“I don’t understand.”
“Rinaldi has spent two years trying to weaken my family. Your father became involved with people working for him.”
“Involved how?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“But you investigated him.”
“Yes.”
“And that led you to me.”
Luca’s eyes lowered for a fraction of a second.
“Yes.”
“Why the photograph?”
His silence answered before his words did.
“I saw you.”
Sophia waited.
Luca looked uncomfortable in a way she would not have believed possible ten minutes earlier.
“You were outside the bakery giving food to a homeless man,” he said. “It was raining.”
Sophia remembered.
An old veteran named Frank sometimes slept near the train station.
“You had no umbrella,” Luca continued. “You gave him yours.”
“That still doesn’t explain the photograph.”
“I asked Marco who you were.”
“And then?”
“And then I told him to stop investigating you.”
“But you kept the photo.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His eyes met hers.
This time, the Mafia boss had no defense.
“Because I wanted to.”
Sophia’s heart missed a beat.
That should not have mattered.
It did.
“So when my father offered the marriage…”
“I already knew your name.”
“Did you manipulate him into offering me?”
“No.”
“Did you threaten him?”
“No.”
“Did you create the debt?”
“No.”
“Can you prove that?”
“Yes.”
The certainty in his answer eased something inside her.
Not everything.
But enough.
Sophia sat on the edge of the bed.
“This is insane.”
“Yes.”
“You realize this is insane?”
“I’m aware.”
“You kept a photograph of a woman you’d never spoken to.”
“Yes.”
“That’s a little creepy.”
“I know.”
She almost smiled.
Almost.
Then she remembered the question that mattered.
“Why did you agree to marry me?”
Luca looked at her for a long time.
“Because when your father said your name, I thought…” He stopped.
“What?”
His voice grew quieter.
“I thought perhaps, for once, life was offering me something before it could take it away.”
Sophia forgot how to breathe.
Then Luca straightened.
“But if knowing this changes your answer, I understand.”
Again.
He was giving her a door.
She looked at the man everyone seemed afraid of.
The man six women had rejected.
The man who had secretly carried one photograph of her for a year and somehow believed that made him less worthy of being chosen.
She should have walked out.
Maybe any sensible woman would have.
Sophia Bennett had never been accused of excessive good sense.
“I’m still here.”
Luca stared at her.
“I noticed.”
“And I still haven’t said no.”
“No.”
“So stop deciding for me.”
Something flashed in his eyes.
Respect, maybe.
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
Another knock came.
Marco’s voice.
“Signor Moretti?”
Luca opened the door.
Marco stood outside, pale.
“What?”
“We have a problem.”
Luca’s posture changed instantly.
“What happened?”
Marco looked at Sophia.
Then back at Luca.
“A car was stopped at the lower gate.”
“So?”
“The driver was carrying a message from Rinaldi.”
Luca’s expression turned to stone.
Sophia stood.
“What message?”
Marco swallowed.
“He says the American girl does not belong to you.”
Luca’s eyes darkened.
“And?”
Marco hesitated.
“He says if the wedding happens tonight, there will be blood before morning.”
For the first time since Sophia arrived, Luca Moretti looked exactly like the man people warned her about.
He stepped into the corridor.
“Double the guards.”
“Luca,” Sophia said.
He stopped.
She had expected anger.
What she saw was something worse.
Fear.
Not for himself.
For her.
“The wedding is canceled,” he said.
Sophia folded her arms.
“You said nothing happens unless I decide.”
His jaw tightened.
“This is different.”
“No. This is exactly when that matters.”
“Sophia.”
“If Rinaldi thinks he gets to decide who I marry, he has another thing coming.”
“This isn’t a bakery argument.”
“No. At my bakery, people are usually more reasonable.”
“Sophia.”
She walked toward him until she was standing directly in front of his chest.
It was ridiculous how far she had to tilt her head.
“I came here because men made decisions about my life without asking me,” she said. “My father. You. Whoever Rinaldi is. I’m done with that.”
Luca’s eyes stayed on hers.
“So I’m making this decision.”
Silence.
“I’m marrying you tonight.”
Marco stared.
Elena appeared at the end of the hallway.
Luca looked down at Sophia as if she had just stepped willingly into a fire.
“You don’t understand what you’re choosing.”
“Then explain it while I’m getting dressed.”
And for the second time that day, Luca Moretti had absolutely nothing to say.