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We negotiate. As much as Pia Celestina likes to pretend that we’re approaching this marriage with a begging bowl, we aren’t. The Caruso family needs money and respectability, yes. But we offer valuable shipping lanes and contacts that Dominic Palermo can’t access on his own.
When we are done haggling over the terms, my future mother-in-law leans back and regards me as if I were an insect she wants to grind into the ground. “The marriage will be in April,” she says. “That is a tradition in our family.”
Five more months of freedom. “Very well.”
“We will announce the engagement in March,” she continues. “Until then, I’ll be watching you, Mirabella. If you do anything that impinges on Palermo honor, the deal is off.”
Renzo is unhappy on our way back home. “You are making a mistake. That woman is a viper, and her son is a monster.”
“A rich monster,” I point out. “One who offers enough money to tempt the Biraghi.”
“Why does Elisa’s happiness have to come at your expense?”
I glance at him in surprise. “I thought you’d be pleased about this match. We drove a hard bargain in there. They’re giving us a lot of money. Enough not just to survive but also to thrive. My father would have been thrilled.”
Renzo’s expression turns stormy. “I am not Aldo,” he says. “We care about different things. And Mira, you’d do well to remember that your father’s single-minded focus on the family fortunes was what got him killed.”
CHAPTER8
MIRA
The invitation to the poker game in Venice arrives, just like clockwork, in the waning weeks of January.
I shouldn’t go. The official announcement of my engagement is only a month away. For Elisa’s sake, I shouldn’t do anything to jeopardize the Palermo deal.
And I don’t think I can face Andrei again. Not under the current circumstances. There’s been a lot of gossip about the Sidorov-Nekrasov merger and not a lot of details, but he’s practically engaged, and so am I. Nothing good will come of going.
I can’t help but fly north anyway.
Andrei greets me at the entrance to Casanova. Unheeding of anyone watching, he grabs my shoulder and practically drags me to a corner. “You’re engaged?” he demands. “To Dominic Palermo? A man who gets pleasure from beating powerless women? Are you fucking insane?”
He’s angry.Furious.Joy bubbles in my heart, and I squelch it. His feelings don’t matter, and neither do mine. At the end of the day, we’ll both do what’s necessary for the good of our families.
“Should I congratulateyouonyourengagement?” I look up to meet his stormy eyes. “Ekaterina is truly lovely. She’ll make you very happy.”
He doesn’t let me change the topic. “Does he do it for you?” he hisses into my ear. “Did I not hit you hard enough with the flogger last year? Do you prefer Dominic’s particular brand of pleasure instead?”
I suck in a shaky breath. “You know that’s not true. The reasons I’m marrying Dominic have nothing to do with pleasure. He doesn’t give me what I want, no. But he gives me what I need. Money, reputation, prestige?—”
“Fuck that.” His voice cuts like a whip. “None of that matters. You seem to think you are a pawn on the chessboard of your life, Mira, but you are the fucking queen. All that matters is what you want.”
Fuck that, he says. As if I made this decision lightly. “It’s easy for you to say,” I snarl like a mortally wounded animal. “Your family is stable. You have all the money in the world. Everyone respects and fears the Sidorov Bratva. You don’t know what desperation feels like. If your family’s survival depended on it, you’d put your needs above your desires.”
His fingers dig into my shoulders. I don’t flinch away; I welcome the pain. It reminds me I’m still alive. “No matter what my family needs, Mirabella,” he says, and the caress in his voice feels like a fist around my heart. “I would never putanyoneabove you.”
I blink back my tears. “Don’t say that.” I can’t look at him. I can’t be here. Coming to Venice was a mistake. “Words are easy. This time next year, we’ll both be married to other people.” I pull away from his grip. “I need to leave.”
And then I flee.
CHAPTER9
MIRA
Pia Celestina chooses my engagement dress, a frothy and hideous pink tulle affair. It arrives on the morning of the party. I’m putting it on when there’s a knock at my bedroom door.
“Come in,” I call out.
It’s Elisa. She’s holding a small, square, gift-wrapped box in her hands. “This came for you,” she says.
