Chapter 1

Arianna

"Y our father requires your presence, princess."

I know better than to keep my father waiting. Don Giovanni De Luca waits for no one, not even his prized possession, me. I nod at my father's righthand man, Matteo, and follow him wordlessly. Matteo is a brute of a man. Vicious and cruel, he takes pleasure in the work he does for my father. He'd never lay a finger on me, in fact, he's one of the few people who acknowledges my presence and shows me any kindness. But there are times when I still feel an irrepressible shiver of fear in his presence, knowing what he is capable of.

We walk through the seemingly endless maze of corridors in the mansion we call home. Not that it feels like a home to me. I see it for what it is—a gilded cage. I'm sure most people would envy my life of luxury; the beautiful dresses and jewels, the extravagant gifts, and the elaborate vacations to our many homes. But these things come at a price far greater than money. My freedom.

My father didn't make his millions by being a good guy. Some say there are things in this life that money can't buy—my father would disagree. He owns everything and everyone in his life. Including me. I can't do anything without his permission. I'm his perfect little girl. His angel. His trophy. His prisoner. There's nothing I can do about it. And I hate him for it.

I tried to run away when I was sixteen. Since then, my every move has been closely watched. As much as I'd like to escape, I haven't dreamed of trying it again. Not after what my father did to punish me. He knew that he couldn't hurt me, beating me didn't work anymore, and anything else would reduce my potential value as a bride if I was damaged goods. But my maid, Maria, was a different matter.

Maria was a kind and sweet girl who had been trafficked from her home in Bulgaria. My father brought her to keep my sister and me company and look after us when we were young, for we no longer had a mother or any other women in our lives, though she wasn't much older than us. She became our only friend. Father knew that I cared for her, and so, when she helped me escape, it was Maria who paid the price.

She was tortured for hours until she finally gave in and told them where I had gone. After my father had me brought home, he took me to her where she was tied up, bruised and bloodied, and took great pleasure in telling us both her fate. She was to be sold off as a sex slave. To be used for the sick fantasies of rich, powerful men. They dragged her away, sobbing and pleading for mercy in a language no one else spoke, before I could tell her how sorry I was.

Not long after that. I lost my sister, Adelina, too. I have no one left who cares for me. No one to care for. The fight has gone out of me. There's no use trying to leave. Father would find me, and he'd come up with a cruel and unusual way to punish me, I'm sure. So, I play at being his good little girl. It's my penance, if I hadn't run away, Maria and Adelina would still be here.

When we reach the heavy oak doors of my father's study, Matteo raps his tattooed knuckles on the door twice in quick succession.

"Come in," my father's voice barks out.

Matteo opens the door for me, and we enter. I hear the door click shut behind us and I know without looking that Matteo is standing guard in front of it. The inexplicable urge to run grips me and I have to force myself to stand still. It's not like I'd get far if I tried anyway.

"Father, you asked for me," I say, keeping my gaze focused on my feet.

As usual, I am wearing the low heels and knee-length, high necked dress that my father prefers me in. My long black hair that reaches past my waist is neatly put up in a ballerina bun. I have small diamond studs in my ears and a plain gold chain with a matching diamond pendant around my neck. There's nothing about my appearance that can anger him. So why do I feel such a sense of dread?

"Arianna, this is Don Lorenzo Lucchese. He's come from New York to meet you," my father announces.

I know the name, Don Lorenzo Lucchese is the head of one of the most brutal and powerful Mafia families in New York. Father has been trying to form an alliance with him for years. Not that my father would expect me to know this, he doesn't share his business dealings with me. But I keep my eyes and ears open, and he isn't exactly subtle about talking as if I'm not there. After all, who would I tell? I never leave the compound. I have no friends or people I could talk to, even if I wanted to. Yet, I know far more than he realizes. Not that I'd admit it. Knowing too much is dangerous around men like my father. Being his daughter wouldn't protect me from his wrath should I cross him. What I have no clue about is why Don Lorenzo Lucchese would come all the way from New York to see me .

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Don Lucchese," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

I raise my eyes to look at my unexpected visitor. The powerful Don Lucchese is not what I expected. For starters he's old. Really old, he has to be at least seventy by the look of him. He stands stooped over a gold-tipped cane, several inches shorter than my father. I'm sure he'd like people to think the cane is part of his ensemble, but I can tell he needs it for support. He's a walking cliché, a Mafia don from a bygone era in a three-piece, pin-striped suit. On his heavily lined face, he sports a thin gray mustache beneath a bulbous nose. His cruel mouth twists into a lecherous grin.

"Why, Don De Luca, she's even more becoming than you said. If I'd known you were hiding such a beautiful creature I'd have agreed to your proposal sooner. Though, technically, it is my proposal that the delectable Arianna needs to agree to," he says.

"Arianna is a good, obedient girl. She agrees," my father replies, his tone making it clear that he is commanding me as such.

"Excellent. As long as she continues to be obedient as my wife, we will have a very happy alliance indeed. And of course, I expect that everything you have told me about her is true. If I were to find out otherwise on the wedding night, I would be most disappointed. And when I am disappointed, heads tend to roll."

"I would not lie to you, Don Lucchese. The girl is pure and will be yours—your virgin bride."

"Good. Then it is done. Arianna will be my wife and our two families will unite," Don Lucchese announces, greedily staring at me, his eyes roving over my body and lingering on my chest.

A white fleck of spittle lands on his chin and I feel physically repulsed.

Oh god, I'm going to be sick.

I have to get out of here, but I feel as though I am trapped in quicksand, as if the floor is swallowing me whole. I can't believe what I am hearing, I've done everything my father wanted, I've been the dutiful daughter. The thought of being with this lecherous, old man sickens me.

"No."

The word escapes my lips, tumbling from my brain before I've even registered that I said it out loud. My father and Don Lucchese look as shocked as I am by my outburst.

"Forgive my daughter, Don Lucchese. You know how prone to hysterics women can be. She is no doubt nervous, as any innocent, young bride would be, about the wedding night. But I assure you, she will do her duty to me as my child and to you as your wife."

He says this with utter conviction, his voice brokering no further argument from me. I know I will pay for my outburst. I wince at the memory of my father's punishment when I last disobeyed him.

"I am sure she will. Like horses, women must be broken. I will take great pleasure in training the last of that spirit out of this little pony."

With these words Don Lucchese circles behind me, surveying me like cattle at the market. I force myself to remain still. The sharp sting of his cane whipping the back of my legs takes me by surprise and causes me to stumble and fall to my knees. Sharp tears sting at the corner of my eyes, but I quickly regain my composure and stand up again, eyes downcast. I will not give either of them the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Nor will I risk further retribution from my father by speaking up for myself.

"I see you've already trained her well, Don De Luca," he announces approvingly.

He places his hand on the small of my back and faces Father. His touch repulses me and it takes all of my willpower not to swat his hand away. He languidly strokes his hand down to land on my ass, cupping it and giving it a mean, possessive squeeze.

I cannot believe my father is allowing this. That he's letting a man lay his hands on me. Better men have died for less.

But Father's gaze remains impassive. It's clear that to him, the deal is done. I no longer belong to him. I'm now the property of this cruel, sadistic old man.

"Arianna, you can go. Bid your fiancé goodbye. The wedding is in a week," Father declares, dismissing me.

"Goodbye, Don Lucchese."

I choke the words out and force myself to hold his papery, wrinkled hand and kiss the ring on his finger. I resist the urge to gag from his stale, musty smell as he leans in to kiss me on both cheeks.

"I look forward to seeing you in white, my bride," he says in a tone that somehow makes the innocent words sound depraved.

Matteo finally stands aside, opening the door for me. It takes every ounce of my strength not to bolt and run as I allow him to escort me back to my room. Once inside, he wordlessly closes the door and I hear the key turning, locking me inside. If my father thinks I'm going to remain his obedient little girl, he's wrong. I don't care what he does to me. What threats he makes against me. I will not marry that man, I'd rather die than live the life he has planned for me. There's no one left I care about that he can hurt. I know now exactly how my sister must have felt. Why she chose to end her life after my father married her to a monster.

Just a few weeks after my failed escape attempt, Adelina's arranged marriage was expedited. She was only eighteen at the time. I'd begged her to run away with me, but she was too afraid, too trusting to leave. She believed that the man Father wanted her to marry would be kind and loving. He was handsome, charming, and rich, she fell head over heels with the idea of him, or at least the idea of escaping from our father.

A few months after the wedding they had come to visit. I could see the fading yellow bruises, though she had tried to hide them under makeup. She was wearing a long-sleeved top and trousers with a scarf knotted around her neck, attire that was far too hot for the summer's day. When I had finally managed to get her alone, I had ripped the scarf off, around her neck was an angry red band where he'd choked her. Her arms had been covered in handprint-shaped bruises and cigarette burns. The light inside her eyes had gone. She'd reassured me that things would get better, that she needed to be a better wife.

I had tried to argue that we could find a way out for us both. But all of my begging and pleading fell on deaf ears. A look of determination crossed her face. Her mind was made up. If I'd known it was the last time I'd see her, I'd have fought harder. Just a week later Father called me to his office and told me the news. He was sat casually at his desk, reading a newspaper as he told me that my sister had taken her own life.

I have always wondered if what he told me was the truth. If Adelina truly did kill herself. Or whether Di Stefano killed her, and my father chose to remain his ally anyway.

It's been almost seven years but just thinking of Adelina freshly opens the hole she left, and the dull ache of loss becomes a sharp pain once again. I have to escape. My life depends on it.