They buried my father beside a man he hated.

Don Luciano Scarpa. His oldest rival. Their graves now faced each other like twin statues cast in cold marble forever silent, forever watching. I wondered if they would fight even in the dark.

The chapel was packed, but no one cried. Not properly. Not like I did.

I sat in the front pew in a black veil, my fingers clutching the rosary beads my father used to hold during long negotiations. The beads were smooth from wear. Worn from prayers that may or may not have ever been answered.

When Cesare stood at the altar, I knew what was coming.

The way he adjusted his tie.

The deliberate pause before he began.

And the absolute stillness of every man in that room, each waiting to see what would happen now that the lion of Rome was gone.

"We gather not only to mourn," Cesare said, his voice steady. "But to continue."

That word struck something in me.

He continued, "Alessio Moretti was a father, a friend, a leader. He built an empire with precision and principle. But more than that, he built trust. And now, that trust must not go to waste."

I looked up slowly.

He hadn't even looked in my direction.

"In the absence of a male heir," he went on, “and to preserve the unity my brother worked so hard to create, I will take up the reins of the Moretti operations until stability is fully ensured."

Not a gasp. Not a protest.

Just silence.

Because they had expected this.

And so, if I was honest with myself, had I.

But not here. Not today. Not as my father's body still rested fresh in the ground beneath us.

Cesare ended his speech with a short nod, then stepped back as if he'd merely recited a weather report.

I sat motionless.

Rosa handed me a tissue. I didn’t take it.

Because what I needed couldn’t be dabbed away.

I needed truth.

And soon, I would begin to find it.

Even if I had to burn every lie to ash.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

The villa had gone too quiet. As if mourning had stolen the air from every corridor.

I walked barefoot down the hall, past the portraits and the bookcases, to the one place that still smelled like him, the study.

The door creaked open.

I stepped inside.

And froze.

Cesare was behind the desk.

My father’s desk.

Feet planted. Jacket draped over the chair. A glass of scotch half-finished beside the leather blotter.

He looked up, calm as ever.

"Couldn't sleep either?" he asked.

I stared at him. "What are you doing in here?"

"Getting settled."

"This was my father's room."

He nodded, rising slowly. "And now, as the man overseeing the family, it’s only fitting that I take his space."

Something snapped in me.

"You will never replace him."

He smiled. "I don’t intend to. But your attitude isn’t helping anyone, Valeria."

My fists clenched. "You speak as if this is normal. As if this wasn’t a hijacking."

His smile vanished. "Suck up the attitude."

My breath hitched.

The words hit harder than a slap.

"You forget yourself," he said coldly. "This is not a time for emotions. It’s a time for strategy."

I stepped closer. "And what strategy was it that killed my father?"

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t flinch.

Just picked up the glass and drank.

I turned to leave.

"Wait. There's one more thing," he said, voice calm and casual. "I’ve arranged your marriage."

I stopped cold. Slowly turned.

"Excuse me?"

"Enzo Battaglia."

I stared at him like he’d grown a second head. "The Enzo Battaglia? The one whose last fiancée drowned under suspicious circumstances? The one who broke his ex-wife’s jaw in three places?"

Cesare waved a hand. "Rumors. Every powerful man has enemies who talk."

"You expect me to marry a man known for violence against women?"

"I expect you to do your duty. This alliance will bring strength and protection. It’s time you stopped living in fantasy."

I took a slow breath. Then "I want Dario."

His face twitched.

"It’s either him or no one."

The silence stretched.

Then his hand struck me hard across the face.

"You will stop being a brat," he said, voice low. "My brother spoiled you. Let me correct that mistake."

I held my cheek. Tears burned at the corners of my eyes.

But I didn’t let them fall.

Because in that moment, I knew something.

He was not afraid of me.

But he should’ve been.

I stormed out of the study, the echo of his slap ringing louder than my own thoughts. My heart thudded against my ribs, not with fear but with fury. I needed air.

I headed toward the grand foyer, through the corridor that led to the front garden.

But something was wrong.

The guards at the door weren’t the ones I knew.

There were more of them. Younger, bulkier. Faces that didn’t belong to my father’s household.

They stepped forward when I reached for the handle.

"I’m going for a walk," I said.

"We have orders, Miss Moretti. No one goes out without clearance."

My brows drew together. "Whose orders?"

"Don Cesare."

My breath stilled.

So it was already Don Cesare now.

I stepped back slowly and pulled out my phone. Opened Dario’s contact. Called.

No answer.

I tried again. And again.

Still nothing.

The knot in my stomach tightened.

He always picked up.

Always.

Unless he didn’t want to.

My phone buzzed.

I lunged for it, hope blooming fast and dangerous.

Dario: I'm sorry, Valeria. I have to end this. My family is at risk, and we can't keep talking especially now that your wedding has been arranged. It's not safe. I'm sorry.

My breath caught.

I read the message again. And again.

He knew.

He knew about the marriage.

Everyone knew.

Everyone but me.

The tears came fast, uninvited.

I slid down the wall, my knees giving out beneath me. My chest tightened until I could barely breathe. The silence in the hallway roared in my ears.

This couldn’t be happening.

My life. My choices. All erased.

Gone.

Rosa appeared from the corridor, her voice soft. "I heard your voice. Are you okay?"

I looked up at her, mascara streaking my face, lips trembling.

She knelt beside me. "Valeria... come, let me help you."

But I didn’t move.

Because I couldn’t believe it.

I couldn’t believe that everything was over.

That my life had ended.

Just like that