Zara Pov
"Zara, you need to stop overthinking this. Things may not be as bad as you fear," my best friend and childhood companion, Tima, tries to convince me the best way she can. But deep down, she knows I have every right to be terrified.
Who wouldn't be? I'm about to be handed over to the most feared man in the country—a mafia lord, my father's boss. A man who has been married three times, yet no one knows what happened to any of his wives. And worst of all? He's older than my father.
Yet, my own father is willing to sacrifice me to him—all for power and position.
"Tima, please stop." My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn't care. "Stop trying to sugarcoat this shit. We both know exactly what I'm walking into, so don't act like I'm overreacting."
I pushed myself up from the couch, my chest tightening, and headed straight for the mini bar. I needed a drink.
"I'm sorry, Zara," Tima said softly, following close behind. "I wasn't trying to upset you. I just don't want you to go into this paralyzed with fear. I'm scared you won't survive if you do."
Her voice wavered, and I knew she was holding back tears. Tima had always been emotional, but this time, I couldn't bring myself to comfort her.
"I'm not mad at you," I muttered, pouring a generous glass of wine. "I know you're just trying to help, but maybe… maybe fear is exactly what I need right now."
Tima stepped closer, concern etched on her face. "Zara, you need to slow down with the wine. You've been drinking non-stop since your father told you about the marriage."
She reached for the glass, but I was faster. I pulled it away and took a slow sip, letting the warmth burn its way down my throat.
I turned to face her, my frustration boiling over. "Tima, what do you all want from me?" My voice cracked slightly, but I kept going. "Can't you all just let me breathe for a second? I'm about to be handed over like a sacrificial lamb, and the least you could do is let me have a few moments of freedom. Because soon enough, I won't even be able to decide when to eat or sleep."
Silence stretched between us. The weight of my words lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating.
**********************
After dropping Tima off at her crib, I decided to go talk to my mother. Maybe—just maybe—I could convince her to plead with my father. Even though I knew it was nearly impossible.
As I drove into my father's mansion, the sight of new soldiers standing guard made my stomach tighten. Their sharp gazes followed my car, their hands resting on their weapons. The security had increased.
A fresh wave of unease settled in my chest.
He was strengthening his hold.
Was this marriage truly that deep?
I refused to park inside the garage. Something told me I wouldn't be staying for dinner.
As I stepped out of my car and walked toward the front door, it swung open before I even knocked. A maid stood there, her head bowed.
"Good evening, ma'am," she greeted, her voice barely above a whisper.
I sighed. "How are you?"
She hesitated, then responded in that lifeless, practiced tone, "I'm good, ma'am."
She wasn't. None of them were. My father made sure of that.
"Where's my mother?"
She quickly pointed toward the garden. "She's outside, ma'am."
"Alright. Thank you."
Walking through the house felt suffocating. The air was thick with a silence that carried unspoken rules—rules that had shaped my life from birth. Every corner, every painting on the walls, every perfectly arranged piece of furniture reminded me of one thing.
I was nothing more than a pawn.
As I stepped into the garden, the sight of my mother made my heart sink. She was seated elegantly, sipping tea from fine china. She looked breathtaking in a luxurious bohemian-style gown, her jewelry sparkling under the golden rays of the setting sun. Her face was flawless, makeup perfectly done—like she wasn't worried at all.
A sharp pain shot through my chest.
Had she even shed a single tear for me?
For a moment, I thought about turning back. What was the point of this conversation? She had always been on my father's side. That's how they had survived together all these years.
But before I could take a step back, she saw me.
"Zara, darling!" she called out, standing up and opening her arms for a hug. "Why do you look so dull?"
I hesitated before walking up to her, forcing a greeting. "Good evening, Mom," I sighed.
She pulled away slightly, her sharp eyes scanning my face. Then she scoffed.
"Why are kids these days so ungrateful?" she muttered. "Your father and I are securing a strong position for you and your future children, yet you act as if we're throwing you into a pit of fire."
I clenched my fists. "A position for me? Or for your hunger for power and wealth?"
Her expression darkened. "Watch your tongue, young lady."
I scoffed. "Be honest, Mom. This has nothing to do with me."
"Would you shut your mouth, you stupid girl?" she snapped, her voice cutting through the
the air like a blade.
I took a step back. My mother rarely raised her voice at me. If she was this on edge, that meant—
A chill crawled up my spine.
I wasn't alone.
The tension in the air shifted, and before I even turned around, I knew.
A familiar presence loomed behind me.
A presence that had haunted me since childhood.
"I've always told you, Carmela, you spoil this child too much."
My breath caught in my throat as I turned.
There he was.
Lorenzo De Luca.
My father.
His tailored suit was crisp, his posture controlled, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—cold, calculating—bore into me with the same merciless intensity I had feared all my life.
My hands trembled at my sides.
"You should have slapped the nonsense out of her the moment she spoke such rubbish," he continued, stepping closer. "Instead, you stand here exchanging words with her."
My mother turned away slightly, and for the briefest moment, I saw something in her face—something she quickly buried. Fear.
Even she knew that arguing with him was dangerous.
I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to stay steady. "I'm just trying to understand, Father," I said. "Why him? Why Vittorio?"
He smirked, amused by my defiance. "Because it benefits me. And because you, my dear, are of no other use to this family."
My chest tightened. "I'm your daughter, not a bargaining chip!"
Lorenzo's smirk faded, his expression turning deadly.
"You are whatever I say you are."
He took a slow step closer.
"And you will marry him. Because I command it."
Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.
"Father, please—"
"Enough." His voice was sharp, final.
My stomach churned, but he wasn't done.
"You are useless to me if you cannot increase my wealth. Your brothers are out there training to strengthen this family. And you? What do you expect me to do? Leave you to rot?"
The disgust in his tone made my skin crawl.
"Is the fact that you're a girl not useless enough?"
My mother flinched. "Lorenzo, that's enough!" she snapped, stepping between us. "You don't need to speak to her like that."
He scoffed, barely sparing her a glance.
"Zara, go home and get some rest," my mother added quickly, her voice softer, as if that would make me feel better. "We'll talk later."
I turned to leave, my hands shaking. My father had reduced me to nothing in just a few words.
I should have expected it.
As I reached the exit, his voice stopped me one last time.
"The boss will be here for dinner on Wednesday," he called out. "So get yourself together, Zara. If you embarrass me, I will treat you the same way I treated the last soldier who betrayed me."
I froze.
A sickening memory flashed through my mind—the blood-stained floor of my father's office, the screams that echoed for hours, the soldier's lifeless body dragged away as if he had never existed.
I swallowed hard. I didn't need to ask what that meant.
Fighting back tears, I walked out of the garden.
Out of my childhood home.
Out of the last shred of hope I had left.
As I drove away, feeling lost and powerless, one painful thought ran through my mind:
If only I wasn't a girl… maybe I would have mattered.