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His voice is desperate now, the cockiness completely gone, replaced by fear. “Please, Rafael. You can’t do this over a woman.”
I shake my head, almost in pity. “You still don’t understand, Delaney. Amelia is not just ’a woman’ to me. She is the one I’ve chosen. Anyone who dares to threaten that, to come between us, is not just making an enemy of me. They’re signing their own death warrant.”
His struggles against his bindings become frantic, his earlier confidence shattered, his fate sealed by his own foolishness.
The guards await my orders, their expressions grim yet understanding. The message is clear: Amelia is mine, and I will protect and cherish her with every fiber of my being. Anyone who dares to challenge that will face the full extent of my wrath, without mercy, without hesitation.
I pull out my gun. “No, don’t,” he cries, but he says nothing else. I squeeze the trigger, and he rocks back, blood spraying out the back of his head.
“Not as protected as you thought,” I say, stepping away from the corpse. “Clean that up. Inform Ivanov his pet is dead.”
Gianni, who’s been silent till now, steps forward from the darkness. “That’s the first person you’ve killed personally in years,” he remarks, a note of concern in his voice.
I holster the gun, turning to face him and my men. “Anyone who threatens Amelia will face the same fate,” I state, the declaration as much a promise to myself as it is a warning to others.
“Understood,” Gianni replies, his voice steady as he moves to take care of the aftermath. “I’ll deal with the body. You better go get into your new suit. Married life beckons.”
7
AMELIA
Dad and I sit across from each other at a small, candlelit table in the corner of a restaurant in Manhattan. It’s cozy, intimate, expensive.
He’s trying to maintain a semblance of cheer, raising his glass to toast our ‘new beginning,’ but his eyes betray a deep unease.
“Why are we here?” I ask. “And why didn’t you invite Mom or Mia?”
He ignores my question. “So, Amelia, how are you feeling about everything? The debts cleared, our family finally breathing easier?”
Dad attempts to steer the conversation, but his voice trembles slightly at the edges. “You want everything to be okay for your family, don’t you?”
I smile, playing along, yet my mind is miles away, lost in thoughts of Rafael. “Of course, Dad. But why did you only invite me?”
He hesitates, his fork pausing mid-air. “There’s something we need to discuss. About Rafael.”
My heart skips a beat at the mention of his name, a flutter of excitement mixed with apprehension stirring within me.
Despite the turmoil surrounding our situation, my obsession with him, with the man who saved us, refuses to wane.
“Amelia, you have to marry Rafael Bianchi,” he blurts out, desperation and urgency mixing in his voice.
My heart skips a beat, disbelief washing over me. “What? Marry him? This has to be some kind of joke.”
But the look in his eyes is all too serious, grounding the moment in a reality I can’t comprehend. “I’m dead serious, Amelia. If you don’t marry him, he’ll have me killed. Our whole family.”
“You’ve been gambling again, haven’t you?” I see the truth in his eyes before he even admits it.
His shoulders slump, defeated. “Yes, I’ve been gambling. But I swear, Amelia, I’ll stop. I just need you to do this. Rafael is a billionaire. He’ll be a good husband to you.”
The realization hits me like a slap in the face. “You’re only thinking about Rafael’s money, not about whether your daughter will be happy. How could you?”
He glances at his watch, panic creeping into his voice. “We don’t have time for this. We need to be at the church in ten minutes. It’s this, or your sister never goes to college. She’ll be dead, your mom too. Please, Amelia, I’m begging you.”
Looking into his pleading eyes, I make the hardest decision of my life.
“I’ll do it,” I say, my voice cracking with emotion. “But this is for Mia, not you.”
He reaches for me, but I step back, solidifying my resolve. “I’m doing this for Mia,” I repeat, clinging to that thought like a lifeline as I steel myself for the sacrifice ahead.
