Chapter 2 — The Marriage Ultimatum

Serena

The townhouse loomed before Serena like a specter of her past, its ivy-clad façade and iron-wrought balcony deceptively tranquil under the warm glow of late afternoon. She paused on the cracked sidewalk, her slender hand tightening around the strap of her leather bag. The familiar scent of espresso and cigarette smoke drifted from an open window, mingling with the faint murmur of conversation from within. It should have been comforting—a reminder of home—but instead, it set her teeth on edge.

Her gaze lingered on the etched Moretti crest above the doorframe, a stark reminder of the legacy she had tried so hard to escape. The symbol of their family’s power, now faded and weathered, seemed to mock her. It was a relic of a dynasty fraying at the edges, just like the house itself.

The front door creaked open before she could knock. A hulking figure filled the doorway: Franco, one of her father’s ever-loyal enforcers. His suit strained against his broad shoulders as he gave her a curt nod, stepping aside to let her in.

“Signor Moretti is waiting for you in the study,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

Serena didn’t reply, brushing past him into the dimly lit foyer. The air inside was heavy, thick with the scent of aged wood and something acrid she couldn’t quite place. Despite the thin veneer of elegance, the townhouse exuded an air of quiet rot, its grandeur dimmed by years of neglect and desperation. The threadbare rug stretched across the creaking floorboards, and faint water stains marred the ceiling. Every corner seemed steeped in decay, a testament to a family clinging to its former glory.

She hesitated at the base of the staircase, her eyes tracing the familiar path to Matteo’s room. Her little brother. Sixteen years old and already bearing the weight of their father’s expectations. She’d come back for him. Every step she took deeper into this house, every demand she endured, was for him.

A faint laugh drifted down from upstairs. Matteo. The sound softened her resolve and sharpened her fear. He deserved a better life, far away from this place. Far away from the men who would mold him into something unrecognizable.

“Serena.”

Her father’s voice cut through her thoughts, sharp and commanding. She turned to find Vittorio Moretti standing in the doorway of the study, his imposing frame silhouetted against the dim light within. His silver-streaked hair was slicked back, his tailored suit immaculate as always. He held a cigar in one hand and a glass of amber liquid in the other, his dark eyes narrowing as they swept over her.

“You’re late,” he said, stepping aside to let her enter.

“I wasn’t aware this was a timed appointment,” Serena replied, her tone clipped. She brushed past him into the study, her chin held high despite the pounding of her heart.

The room was as oppressive as she remembered, with its dark wood paneling and shelves of dusty books that no one had touched in years. The faint aroma of cigars clung to the air, mixing with the scent of old paper. Her father gestured for her to sit in one of the leather armchairs near the desk, but she remained standing, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What do you want, Papà?” she asked, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions roiling beneath the surface.

Vittorio took his time, settling into the high-backed chair behind the desk. The leather creaked under his weight as he regarded her with the calculating gaze she’d come to despise. He took a slow drag from his cigar before crushing it into the ashtray with deliberate precision.

“I’ve made arrangements,” he said finally, his tone casual, as if he were discussing the weather. “You’ll be married within the month.”

Serena’s stomach dropped. For a moment, she wondered if she’d misheard him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, leaning forward slightly, the desk between them suddenly feeling like a chasm. “To Luca DeLuca. It’s been decided.”

The name hit her like a physical blow. Luca DeLuca. The son of Don Vittorio DeLuca, their family’s longtime rival. She’d heard whispers of him over the years—cold, ruthless, dangerous. A man who ruled with precision and fear. And now, she was to marry him?

“No,” she said, her voice firm. “Absolutely not.”

Vittorio’s expression darkened, the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth betraying his irritation. “This is not a negotiation, Serena.”

“I’m not a pawn in your power games,” she snapped, taking a step closer to the desk. “You promised me when I left that Matteo wouldn’t be pulled into this. That was the deal.”

“Do you think your life is separate from this family? From me?” Vittorio’s voice thundered through the room, silencing her. He rose from his chair, his presence towering and suffocating. “Everything you have, everything you are, is because of this family.”

Serena swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. “You mean because of the blood on your hands.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he reached into a drawer and pulled out a photograph, sliding it across the desk toward her. She hesitated before picking it up, her breath catching as her eyes focused on the image.

Matteo. He stood near the docks at La Sirena Harbor, his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, his posture tense. Beside him was one of her father’s men, a menacing shadow that loomed over her brother like a predator. The graffiti-covered walls and rusting cranes in the background made her stomach churn.

“What is this?” she demanded, her voice trembling despite her efforts to steady it.

“Matteo is… impressionable,” Vittorio said, his tone almost mocking. “He’s been spending time with the men. Learning the ropes.”

Her blood turned to ice. “You promised me he wouldn’t—”

“I promised nothing,” he interrupted, his voice cold. “Matteo is a Moretti. It’s time he starts acting like one.”

Serena’s grip tightened on the photograph, her nails digging into its edges. “He’s just a boy.”

“He’s my son,” Vittorio countered, his eyes blazing. “And he will do what is required of him. Unless…”

“Unless what?” she spat, already knowing the answer.

“Unless you marry Luca.” He leaned back in his chair, his expression one of calculated triumph. “The union will solidify peace between our families, ensuring Matteo’s safety. Do this, and Matteo will remain under my protection. Refuse, and I won’t lift a finger to stop him from being pulled in.”

Serena’s vision blurred with fury, her hands trembling as she fought to maintain control. This was her father’s way—turning love into leverage, making every choice a trap. Her mind raced with images of Matteo, his laughter, his sketches, his dreams of becoming an artist. He didn’t belong in this world. She couldn’t let him be consumed by it.

“You’re a monster,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

Vittorio smiled faintly, as if the insult amused him. “I’m a pragmatist. The world is cruel, Serena. You can fight it, or you can survive it.”

She turned away, pacing the length of the room as her mind raced. What would her mother have done in this situation? Her gaze flicked to the pendant resting against her collarbone, its cool weight grounding her. She could almost hear her mother’s voice, urging her to protect Matteo at all costs.

And Luca. What kind of man was he? The whispers she’d heard painted him as a calculating figure, someone who would see this marriage as nothing more than a transaction. The thought of being bound to a man like that made her stomach churn. Yet, the alternative was unthinkable.

“Fine,” she said finally, the word tasting like ash on her tongue. “I’ll do it.”

Vittorio’s smile widened, a predator satisfied with its prey. “You’ve made the right choice—for Matteo’s sake.”

She spun on her heel, storming toward the door. But before she reached it, Vittorio’s voice stopped her.

“Serena.”

She froze, her hand on the doorknob.

“Don’t make me regret trusting you,” he said, his tone laced with warning. “This is bigger than you. Remember that.”

She didn’t reply, yanking the door open and stepping into the hallway. The walls seemed to close in around her as she made her way to the front door, her breaths coming in shallow gasps.

Matteo’s laughter echoed faintly from upstairs, a cruel reminder of why she was doing this. Of who she was doing this for.

Outside, the cool evening air hit her like a slap. She paused on the sidewalk, clutching her bag as she fought to steady her breathing. The townhouse loomed behind her, its ivy-clad walls seeming to mock her retreat.

For Matteo, she would endure. For Matteo, she would survive.

Even if it meant marrying Luca DeLuca.