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I repeated that to myself in my head over and over, trying to build up my confidence. It would be my mantra, and I wouldn’t let anyone tear me down again—that included my father.
But then dinnertime rolled around, and I was given some news that I did not particularly like, news that threatened everything I was trying to do.
My father sat across from me at the dinner table, dark eyes on me as I began to eat. He reached for his glass, taking a small sip. “I’m glad to see Zander helped you home. I would’ve been there if I could’ve; I was actually with Rocco Moretti. I heard his son stopped by today with some flowers.”
I nodded, but I didn’t say anything.
“We’re going to find out who shot you, mija. Cypress needs to know that we Santoses are not to be trifled with.” He paused, cutting into his meat. He stabbed that piece with his fork, bringing it to his mouth. “I do want to speak more about Luca. What do you think of him?”
“He’s fine.” I wouldn’t tell my father anything else; I only gave him as much information as he needed, nothing more.
“I was hoping he’d be more than fine. He’s twenty years old. His father has been looking for a wife for him for some time now.” He held onto his fork and his knife, and for a split second, I imagined taking that knife and plunging it into one of his black eyes. “He asked if I had any possible matches lined up for you, and I said no.”
Something inside me twisted, an uneasy feeling rising in my gut as I listened to him.
“How would you feel if you married Luca Moretti?” The way my father posed the question, I knew nothing I could say right then would make him happy. He knew I hated Rocco; marrying into his family was the last thing I’d ever want to do.
The fucking last thing.
“I thought you needed an heir to be on the Black Hand?”
“I do, as does Rocco.”
“Then why—”
“You’re old enough, Giselle. And with you being shot… it behooves us to have more allies. If you were engaged to Luca, I would have all of Rocco’s connections at my disposal.” Because, in the end, it would be about him. It might be my marriage, but it would be about him. “And, besides, with Shay having claimed many of the other heirs, the Black Hand needs outside blood to begin with.”
I understood what my father was saying: if he won the position on the Hand, Luca would still marry me. If Rocco won it, I would marry Luca. My father thought he had the whole thing in the bag, so he was betting on getting Rocco’s men and connections for himself.
“It’s not official yet, but it’s getting close,” my father warned me, those black eyes searing into me like hot knives, right in the heart. “I trust you would never do anything to jeopardize yourself in the eyes of your future husband.”
“Of course not, Daddy.” As meek as I sought to be, I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “But Luca Moretti? Surely there has to be someone else—” Marrying into the Moretti family was not something I wanted. Seeing Rocco, being a part of his family… who’s to say he wouldn’t try anything with me again? I would never be safe.
Although, now that I was thinking about it, I wasn’t really safe here, either. Not in this house. Not with my father calling the shots—and that’s why I had to take him down, one way or another.
But how?
“Luca brings the most to the table. The Moretti family is an old, respectable family. You taking their last name will be anything but a hardship.” He glared at me, a muscle in his jaw tightening. “This is not up for debate, mija. If I say you will marry Luca, you will marry Luca, and that’s the end of it.”
I couldn’t say anything to that, and I tried my best not to let my seething show. If my father thought I would be quiet and accept the fact that I would marry Luca Moretti, he couldn’t have been more wrong. I’d rather die than marry Luca. I’d rather die than marry anyone.
This was my fucking life, and by God, I wasn’t going to let any man dictate what I did with it.
Not anymore.
