Chapter 5

ELENA

Marry Dominic Moretti. My father’s number one rival.

I sat on the floor—my back against the bed, staring blankly at nothing. How could my father even think about doing this to me? Didn’t he care about me at all?

Growing up, I never questioned the way he treated me differently from Rachele. He always said it was because he was trying to protect me. I believed him. I trusted him. But now… now I wasn’t so sure.

Tears pricked my eyes again but I forced them back. Crying wasn’t helping—it hadn’t helped all night. I’d spent hours doing just that—crying, pacing, screaming into my pillow—trying to make sense of why my own father would hand me over to a man like Dominic.

I’d heard enough about Dominic Moretti to know what kind of life awaited me if this marriage happened. He was ruthless, cold, and dangerous. People feared him for a reason and I didn’t need anyone to tell me that being his wife would be a living hell.

The frustration inside me boiled over and before I realized what I was doing, I started throwing things across the room. A vase shattered against the wall, and the sound barely registered in my ears. My heart was pounding and I screamed, hoping somehow it would make the pain go away. But it didn’t. If anything, it only made the ache in my chest worse.

I slumped back onto the floor—exhausted from the outburst—and my eyes landed on the framed photo of my mother sitting on my drawer. Her warm smile and kind eyes seemed to reach out to me, and for a moment, I felt like a little girl again.

“Mom,” I whispered, my voice cracking. Tears blurred my vision as memories of her began flooding my mind. She always made me feel safe, like nothing in the world could hurt me as long as she was there. If she were still alive, she wouldn’t have let this happen. She wouldn’t let papa force me into this.

I reached out and grabbed the frame, holding it close to my chest. “What do I do Mom?” I choked out. “I don’t know how to stop this.”

A loud knock at my door snapped me out of my thoughts. I froze, clutching the frame tightly, and then I heard Rachele’s voice on the other side.

“Elena,” she called, her tone as cold as ever. “Dominic’s here and papa wants you downstairs now.”

I didn’t respond right away. My throat felt dry, and my chest tightened again.

“Elena!” she called again, sounding impatient.

“I’m coming,” I managed to say, though my voice cracked slightly.

Her footsteps faded away and I let out a shaky breath as my eyes then drifted back to my mother’s photo.

“I’ll be strong,” I whispered, trying to convince myself. “You always said I was a strong little girl, didn’t you?”

Setting the frame back on the drawer, I wiped my face with trembling hands. My reflection in the mirror was a mess—puffy eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, and hair sticking out in all directions. I couldn’t let them see me like this.

I stood up and grabbed my makeup bag, quickly applying concealer to hide the dark circles under my eyes. I added a bit of blush to bring some life back into my face and finished with a nude gloss on my lips. The sunflower perfume I loved so much was the final touch.

I glanced at myself one last time in the mirror. I didn’t look like the same girl who had been crying her eyes out all night, but inside, I still felt shattered.

Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and made my way to the door. The weight of what was waiting for me downstairs made my legs feel heavy, but I forced myself to move. One step at a time, I descended the stairs, my heart pounding with each step.

As I made my way down the stairs, my fingers brushed along the cool surface of the wall. Each step felt heavier than the last, my grip tightening on the handrail as though it could somehow keep me grounded. My heels clicked softly against the tiles, the sound echoing in the silence of the room below.

I could feel their eyes on me. My father’s gaze, intense and expectant, Rachele’s sharp with whatever judgment she had in mind, and then others—strangers, distant faces I didn’t recognize but could still feel sizing me up. Anxiety crawled up my spine, but I kept moving, trying to appear calm.

When I reached the bottom of the staircase, I froze.

Him.

The man I’d bumped into at the club, The man I’d slapped, he was Dominic Moretti.

My heart nearly stopped—my chest tightening so much it hurt. “You…” I breathed, my voice barely a whisper before it climbed into a yell. “You!”

Everyone’s attention snapped to me and then my father’s voice cut in, calm but with that cold edge that warned me to choose my words carefully. “You two know each other?”

I opened my mouth to answer but found I couldn’t. Words failed me as panic swirled in my chest. I was too stunned to even process the situation.

Dominic, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease. His voice was smooth, laced with what I could only call fake charm. “Not exactly. But we’ve… bumped into each other a few times.” He paused, his lips curving into the faintest smirk. “She’s quite the fiery one I must say.”

My stomach dropped. Fiery? That could mean anything.

My father chuckled lightly at Dominic’s words, clearly entertained as if this was some kind of joke. He gestured between us, formal despite the casual atmosphere. “Well, for the sake of proper introductions, Dominic, this is my daughter, Elena. Elena, this is Dominic Moretti.”

The name hit me like a punch to the gut.

I didn’t move at first, but when Dominic extended his hand, waiting, I knew I had no choice. Swallowing hard, I reached out, forcing myself to take his hand. His grip was firm but unhurried, his smirk lingering as he looked down at me.

“You look surprised, Elena,” he said, his tone amused as if he were enjoying every second of my discomfort.

I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. My mind raced, replaying everything—bumping into him, slapping him—and I could help but think about what he could say to my father. If he told him about the slap… then I’d definitely be done for.

Dominic didn’t let go of my hand right away and I couldn’t help but glance at my father. He seemed oblivious to the tension, like this was all part of his grand plan.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Dominic added, his voice dripping with a politeness that felt more like mockery.

I finally pulled my hand away, my throat dry and my heart pounding. This couldn’t be happening.

I sat there in silence, nodding only when I felt it was absolutely necessary. My voice felt trapped somewhere deep in my chest—buried under layers of disbelief and rising anger—and my thoughts spun wildly, trying to process that the same Dominic Moretti who was supposed to be my father’s rival was now somehow part of this twisted arrangement.

I avoided his gaze as much as possible but I could still feel it. Dominic’s eyes brushed over me like a weight—heavy and deliberate—and no matter how much I stared at the floor, I knew he was watching me. It made my skin crawl, but I stayed put, unwilling to show any more emotion than I already had.

Then my father spoke, his tone almost too casual for what he was about to suggest. “Dominic, would you like some private time to speak with Elena? Get to know her better?”

My head snapped up, and my stomach twisted. I braced myself, expecting Dominic to decline, but his words hit harder than I could have imagined.

“There’s no need for that,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying an undertone of finality. “I’ll have more than enough time to get to know her after we’re married.”

I felt my chest tighten, and before I could stop myself, the words exploded out of me. “Wait, what!?”

He turned his head slightly, meeting my wide-eyed stare with an almost smug calmness. “Don Falcone, I accept your offer to marry your daughter Elena.”

The room spun for a second, and I turned to my father, desperate to see some hint that this was all a cruel joke. But his face was a picture of triumph, as though he’d just won a game he’d been playing for years.

“Papa, you can’t be serious!” I pleaded, my voice trembling despite my attempt to stay composed. “You can’t allow this!”

My father barely looked at me, his tone dismissive. “I don’t see why not. This is for the good of our family, Elena.”

“For the good of the family?” My voice cracked. “What about me papa? Don’t I have a say in this?”

But before he could answer, Dominic’s voice cut through, sharp and heavy. “If she disagrees,” he said, his tone dark and deliberate, “then I’ll make sure my parents’ deaths are avenged. I’ll spill the blood of every last Falcone.”

The room went silent, the weight of his words suffocating. My heart hammered in my chest, but I refused to let the fear show.

I turned to him, my anger pushing past the panic. “Are you threatening me to marry you?” I asked, my voice hard and clear.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. “Dare me and see,” he replied simply, his voice like ice.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. My father said nothing, his silence speaking volumes. This was all part of his plan.

Fine. If this was the game they wanted to play, then I’d make my own rules. I turned to my father, then Dominic, and raised my chin. “I’ll agree to this marriage,” I said firmly, “but only on one condition.”

Dominic raised an eyebrow, intrigued. My father and Rachele both stared at me like I’d grown a second head.

I continued, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “There has to be a legal agreement. If Dominic so much as puts a scratch on me, I’ll have his head. Literally.”

The room erupted. My father slammed his hand on the table. “Elena!” he barked, his face red with fury.

Rachele gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, before she burst into laughter. “Oh, this is rich. You’ve lost your mind.”

But Dominic… Dominic didn’t react the way I expected. His expression didn’t shift. If anything, he looked amused. He leaned back slightly, nodding once. “Done,” he said, his voice calm and resolute.

The room froze again.

“What?” my father asked, his voice laced with disbelief.

Dominic turned his gaze to him. “She wants that condition. I’ll accept it.”

I stared at him, trying to figure out what game he was playing. Was he calling my bluff? Or was he really that confident?

“Then it’s settled,” Dominic said, standing up slowly. His eyes lingered on me for a moment, and a faint smirk tugged at his lips.

I didn’t move as he turned to my father, shaking his hand like they’d just sealed the greatest deal in history. My father’s expression softened into satisfaction and Rachele looked between us, still trying to decide if she should laugh or gloat.

I sat there, my heart pounding and my fists clenched. It was done. My future had just been handed over to Dominic Moretti, a man who could ruin me if he wanted to.

And all for “peace.”