Chapter 2 — The Marriage Proposal
Adrian
Adrian De Luca stood on the edge of the sprawling balcony, the city below unfurling like a mosaic of light and shadow. The sea stretched to the horizon, its surface glinting like molten silver under the setting sun. From this height, the chaotic streets seemed almost serene, their noise muted by the estate’s imposing walls. But inside Adrian, serenity was an illusion. His thoughts churned, the weight of another family responsibility pressing heavily on his shoulders. He turned the signet ring on his finger, the coiled serpent engraving catching the fading light—a habit he couldn’t seem to break in moments of tension.
The estate behind him loomed in quiet opulence, each stone steeped in the weight of De Luca history. This place, perched high above the city, was both a fortress and a throne—a symbol of power and of the isolation that came with it. Adrian’s gaze lingered on the streets below, the shadowy intersections where the rival factions prowled, waiting for an opportunity to strike. Sienna Moretti was their opportunity unless he acted now.
A quiet knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. “Mr. De Luca, she’s arrived,” one of his men announced.
Adrian nodded but didn’t turn immediately. He inhaled deeply, letting the salt-laden breeze fill his lungs. Sienna Moretti was a complication he hadn’t sought, but her presence here was necessary. If the De Luca family was to maintain control and prevent the rival factions from exploiting her father’s debt, she had to be brought into the fold.
When he descended the marble staircase into the grand foyer, his sharp gray eyes found her immediately. Sienna Moretti stood in the cold opulence of the estate, looking both out of place and defiantly unbowed. Her paint-splattered jeans and worn leather jacket clashed starkly with the gleaming chandeliers and polished floors. A faint streak of dried paint on her cheek caught the light, an unintentional badge of her defiance.
Her hazel eyes, flecked with gold, locked onto his the moment he appeared. Adrian saw it at once—the fire. Her posture was rigid, her jaw set, her expression a careful mix of wariness and determination.
“Mr. De Luca,” she said, her voice steady, clipped. Yet, beneath the sharpness, he caught a lyrical undercurrent, like the faint hum of a melody.
“Miss Moretti.” Adrian inclined his head and gestured toward the study, a room far more intimate than the cavernous foyer. “This way.”
He led her into the panelled room, its dark wood and leather furniture exuding a quiet power. The air carried the scent of aged books and crackling firewood, the flames in the stone hearth casting shifting shadows that danced across the walls. Adrian closed the door behind her and motioned toward the chair opposite his desk.
She didn’t sit.
“I’m not here to play games,” Sienna said, crossing her arms over her chest. Her gaze flicked briefly to the golden laurel comb pinned in her hair—a subtle reminder of the father whose legacy had brought her here. “Your men have been following me. I’ve found the warnings—the threats. If you think I’m going to be intimidated—”
“This isn’t a threat,” Adrian interrupted, his voice calm but unyielding. He leaned back against the desk, mirroring her stance with his arms crossed. “It’s a solution.”
She laughed, sharp and bitter. “A solution? You mean some deal you think you can force on me because my father—” Her voice wavered, just for an instant. She swallowed hard and continued. “Because my father made mistakes? I don’t owe you anything, Mr. De Luca.”
“Your father owed us everything,” Adrian replied, his tone softening but only slightly. “Now that debt falls to you. That’s how the world works, Miss Moretti. You know that as well as I do.”
Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t look away. Most people wilted under his gaze, but not her. He couldn’t decide if it was courage or sheer stubbornness.
“What is it you want from me?” she asked, her voice quieter now, but no less sharp.
Adrian pushed off the desk and stepped closer, his movements deliberate. He knew the weight of his presence and used it now, letting her feel the gravity of what she was dealing with.
“A marriage.”
The word hung between them, heavy and absolute. Her eyes widened, but only for a heartbeat before narrowing again.
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not,” Adrian said. He took another step forward, close enough to see the faint freckles scattered across her nose, the way her lips pressed into a tight line. “Your father’s debts are extensive, Miss Moretti. More than you could ever hope to repay. But if you marry me, those debts disappear. You’ll have my protection—and my family’s protection—from everyone, including the people who vandalized your studio.”
Her breath hitched at the mention of the studio. The reaction was subtle, but Adrian noticed.
“And what do you get out of this?” she asked, her voice colder now, cautious.
“My family’s reputation remains intact,” he replied evenly. “We avoid the chaos of unpaid debts and the perception of weakness. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
“An arrangement,” she echoed, her tone dripping with disdain. “You mean a business transaction. You think you can frame me like one of your family portraits—lifeless and controlled?”
Adrian’s jaw tightened. “I’m offering you a way out, Miss Moretti. You can keep your studio. Your life. You don’t have to lose everything your father built.”
She shook her head, taking a step back. “And what about my freedom? My choices?”
“This isn’t about freedom,” Adrian said, his voice hardening. “It’s about survival.”
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the crackling fire. Sienna’s gaze dropped to the floor, her arms tightening around herself as if shielding something fragile. Adrian could see the battle in her eyes—the war between her pride and the harsh reality closing in around her.
“Why me?” she asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
Adrian hesitated. He could have given her the logical answer—that her connection to the debt made her the obvious choice. But instead, he found himself saying, “Because you’re different. You don’t belong in this world, Miss Moretti. And that might be the only thing that keeps you standing.”
Her eyes snapped back to his, and for the first time, Adrian saw something beyond anger or defiance. There was fear, grief—and something else. Something he couldn’t name.
“I need time to think,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.
“There’s no time,” Adrian replied. “The rival factions are already circling. If you don’t agree now, they’ll seize the debt—and they won’t be as... accommodating as I am.”
Her expression darkened. “Accommodating? You call this accommodating?”
“It’s the best offer you’ll get,” Adrian said flatly. “The only one that keeps you alive.”
She stared at him, her hazel eyes searching his face as if trying to find a crack in his armor. At last, she exhaled a shaky breath and nodded once.
“Fine,” she said, her voice barely audible. “I’ll do it.”
Adrian didn’t allow himself to feel relief. This was only the beginning.
“Good,” he said simply. “Our lawyers will handle the paperwork. The wedding will be arranged within the week.”
He turned to leave, but her voice stopped him.
“I’m not doing this for you,” she said, her tone sharp. “I’m doing this for my father. And for my studio. Don’t think for a second this makes me one of you.”
Adrian glanced back, his expression unreadable. “Noted.”
As he walked out of the study, the door closing behind him, Adrian felt an unfamiliar sensation settling in his chest. It wasn’t relief. It wasn’t satisfaction.
It was doubt.
