Chapter 3

Scarlett POV

It was one o'clock in the morning when I returned to the Falcone estate.

My father, Carlo, sat in the pitch-black study behind his massive mahogany desk.

He did not turn on the lights.

He had already been briefed on the disaster at the auction.

"Julian can no longer secure your position," Carlo informed me coldly. "Don Salvatore will read the briefing tomorrow morning."

I stood in the doorway, cradling my dislocated arm against my chest, the pain a low, insistent pulse that radiated from the joint with every beat of my heart.

"I have already dumped Julian, just as you wished," I replied hoarsely.

Carlo brought his fist down on the mahogany, and the sound was a sharp, percussive crack that fractured the room's oppressive stillness.

"You will marry a suitable puppet before the Don returns," Carlo demanded ruthlessly. "The arranged marriage cannot wait three days."

He named the man—a degenerate Capo from the Lee Family, twice my age, infamous for what he'd done to his first two wives. My stomach turned to ice.

"The contract is already being drafted. The ink will be dry by morning."

He was completely cutting off my path to becoming the Don. And he wasn't even giving me the dignity of a negotiation.

Twelve hours later, at one o'clock in the afternoon, I walked out of the syndicate's underground clinic.

The syndicate doctor had set my shoulder with a brutal, efficient shove that left me trembling and slick with a cold sweat.

My left arm was now securely strapped into a heavy medical sling.

I walked down the sterile white corridor and froze.

Julian was helping Chloe out of a black town car at the clinic entrance for a follow-up appointment.

Chloe had a small, circular bandage on her ankle, a minor scrape at best.

Leo, Luca, and Gabriel trailed behind them, carrying extravagant fruit baskets and gifts.

Chloe looked up and saw me standing there.

Her eyes instantly welled with fake tears as she stared at my sling.

"Scarlett, are you unwell because of the tiara?" Chloe asked in a trembling voice.

Julian turned his head.

His pupils contracted to pinpoints as his gaze fixed on my sling, and for the barest fraction of a second, his carefully constructed composure fractured.

Luca's face turned a sickly pale color.

Gabriel stood in the back, watching me with a cynical smirk.

I turned my back on them and started walking toward the exit, my stride measured and even.

"Scarlett," Chloe called out in a sickeningly sweet voice. "I was eavesdropping outside the study last night and heard Carlo has already chosen a new groom for you. The wedding is in three days." She paused, tilting her head with theatrical innocence. "A Lee Capo, wasn't it? I hear he's very... experienced with wives."

The name landed in the corridor like a grenade. Luca's fruit basket slipped an inch in his grip. Leo's jaw tightened. Even Gabriel's smirk faltered.

Chloe cast a covert, calculating glance at Julian to gauge his reaction.

The color drained from Julian's face, replaced by a rigid, dangerous stillness.

He dropped Chloe's hand and marched across the corridor to confront me.

"Are you done throwing your tantrum?" Julian demanded, his voice echoing off the tiled walls. "When did you ever agree to a wedding in three days?"

Chloe began to weep softly behind him.

"I would bless their union if Julian married you, Scarlett," Chloe lied with the practiced ease of a seasoned actress. "But this feels too sudden."

Julian did not even look at her.

"Leo, take Chloe inside for her check-up," Julian ordered sharply.

As they walked past me, Gabriel scoffed loudly.

"Faking a dislocation yesterday and announcing a fake wedding today," Gabriel commented, his tone dripping with disdain. "This is a highly dangerous game of chess, Scarlett."

Julian stepped directly into my path, radiating icy authority.

"You are using a fake marriage to force me to submit," Julian accused, his jaw clenched tight. "It is a cheap trick. Have Carlo retract the announcement immediately."

I watched him stand there, oblivious to my injury while four men fussed over Chloe's bandaged ankle. The contrast was so stark, so brutally clear, that it felt like a physical blow.

Chloe got an escort of four Made Men for a scraped ankle.

I had to wait alone in the dead of night to fix a dislocated bone.

"Is my marriage any of your business?" I asked him, my voice flat and even, stripped of all inflection.

Julian laughed bitterly.

He reached out and gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him.

"The entire underworld knows you belong to me," Julian warned, his thumb pressing hard against the nerve beneath my jaw. "Do not test my limits. Cancel this stunt, and we can pretend nothing happened."

I looked him dead in the eye, and whatever fragile thing had still existed between us simply ceased to be.

"Then let's break the Omertà, Julian," I said firmly. "I don't want the Romano Family's protection anymore."

Julian froze, his grip on my chin loosening in shock.

"You are using the manipulative tactics I taught you against me," Julian accused, his voice dropping to a low, guttural whisper. "You are exactly the calculating snake Chloe warned me about."

I wrenched my face from his grip, my expression impassive.

"You never have to worry about my business again," I stated coldly.

I walked past him and pushed the glass exit doors open, welcoming the crisp morning air.

"If you walk out that door, do not come crying to me," Julian shouted coldly behind me, his pride wounded. "The next time you beg for my help, remember how Chloe knelt and begged for my forgiveness last night!"

I did not look back.

I climbed into the back seat of my armored SUV, slamming the door shut on him and my past.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out. A single text message from Carlo was on the screen.

"The Lee contract is signed. The Capo expects his bride in three days. Do not disappoint me, daughter. You know what happens to useless assets in this family."

I locked the screen and stared at my reflection in the tinted window—a woman with one good arm, no allies, and a father who had just declared her disposable.

Then my gaze dropped to my coat pocket.

The satellite phone Dante had slipped to me six months ago sat there, cold and heavy against my ribs. A silent offer I had never intended to accept.

Three days.

If Carlo wanted to sell me to a monster, then I would choose my own monster.

I pulled out the satellite phone and stared at the single number programmed into its memory. Dante Vitiello. The man Julian had spent three years trying to destroy. The man whose very name made Capos cross themselves.

My thumb hovered over the call button.

Once I pressed it, there was no undoing what came next.

But I had run out of things to lose.