Chapter 3 The Woman Who Wouldn't Bend

*Vivienne Castellano's POV*

I had met arrogant men before, but Dante Marchetti belonged in a category of his own.

He had the confidence of someone who had never heard the word no. The worst part was that he probably had the money to make the world agree with him.

I walked out of his office gripping my folder, heels clicking against the marble. I kept my face composed until the elevator doors closed.

Only then did I let myself breathe. My hands were shaking. I pressed them flat against the folder and waited for the trembling to pass.

Marrying him was not an option. I would rather rebuild the firm from nothing than hand my future to a man who valued my grandfather's signature above my consent. But beneath the anger, something quieter ached. He had looked at me as though he understood how afraid I was, and that unsettled me more than any threat.

My phone buzzed.

*Mother.*

"Vivienne, darling. How did it go?"

"Productive."

"Did he agree to help us?"

I closed my eyes. She still believed this was only about saving the firm. She didn't see how carefully Dante had cornered me.

"He agreed to provide some documents."

"And the marriage?"

"I won't discuss that over the phone."

A pause. Then, softly, "Please don't make this harder than it already is."

The words stung more than I expected. "I'm not the one who created this, Mother."

"I know."

"Then stop asking me to accept it as though I have no choice."

Her sigh was small and tired. I heard how thin her breath sounded, and shame washed through me.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm only frightened. I'll come home tonight, and we'll talk properly."

"I'm frightened too, darling."

I ended the call and sat very still for a moment before ordering a car.

---

Castellano Legal occupied two floors of an aging building downtown. The reception area needed paint, the waiting-room chairs were older than I was, and the air conditioner rattled like a dying engine.

But it was home. My grandfather had built this firm on the belief that everyone deserved a fair hearing, and I had spent my life trying to deserve the name on the door.

Now that same legacy threatened to swallow me whole.

"You're back early," Elena called from reception. "Did you get the documents?"

"Some of them."

"That sounds promising."

"It would, if our mysterious benefactor weren't also arranging my marriage."

Her eyes went wide. Before she could speak, Daniel hurried over with a stack of files, his brow creased with worry.

"The bank called again. They want an answer by Friday."

Friday. The building my grandfather had bought with his own savings could be gone by then.

"Tell them we're reviewing our options."

"They've heard that three times."

"Then they can hear it a fourth." I softened my tone. Daniel was as tired as I was, and none of this was his fault. "Thank you for holding everything together."

He hesitated. "There's something else. Someone requested the old financial records yesterday. They said they represented the Marchetti organization."

My stomach dropped. "Did you let them in?"

"No. I told them the files weren't available."

"Good. Nobody touches those without my approval."

---

In my office, I spread Dante's documents beside the files from our archive and spent an hour comparing dates, loans, and correspondence. Most of it looked ordinary. But one name kept surfacing: Bellandi Holdings.

It appeared on three documents across nearly twenty years. The company had sent money to my grandfather's firm shortly before the Accordo was signed. Later, the payments stopped abruptly. In one ledger, someone had drawn a hard line through its name.

Why erase a business from the record?

I photographed the pages and searched our archive. Nothing. As if Bellandi had never existed.

A knock. Daniel stood in the doorway, pale. "Marco Rossi is here to see you."

Dante's shadow. I straightened. "Send him in."

Marco entered with a slim envelope and a face as unreadable as his employer's. He set it on my desk.

"Documents Mr. Marchetti promised. He also asks that you remember some records can be dangerous to examine without understanding their history."

"Tell him that if he wants my cooperation, he can stop speaking in riddles."

"I'll pass it along."

He turned to leave.

"One more question. Have you heard of Bellandi Holdings?"

He stopped. It lasted barely a second, but I saw it: recognition, and beneath it, something like fear.

"No," he said.

The lie was smooth. I might have believed it if I hadn't spent my career watching people lie.

"Thank you for your time."

When he left, I opened the envelope. A financial statement. A copy of the Accordo. And a handwritten note addressed to my grandfather, ending with a line that turned my blood cold:

*If the truth about Bellandi ever emerges, neither family will survive what follows.*

I read it twice. My grandfather had carried this alone, just as my mother had carried her illness. The people I loved most kept protecting me with silence, and the silence had left me standing at the edge of something I couldn't see.

This was no longer only about a marriage or a failing firm. Someone had spent years burying a truth, and by finding its name, I had become part of it.

I picked up my phone and stared at Dante's number. I didn't trust him. I wasn't sure I ever would.

But if he knew what Bellandi meant, I would make him tell me.

Even if I had to walk back into the devil's office to do it.