You sat frozen at the long mahogany dining table, your hands clenched in your lap beneath the silk of your dress. A tight, ice-cold knot formed in your stomach as your father, Don Romano, leaned back in his chair, a cigar resting between his fingers. Across from him sat Emilio Ricci, a man old enough to be your father—your supposed fiancé. His gold rings glinted under the chandelier light as he took a slow sip of wine, his gaze settling on you like you are nothing more than a prized possession.

“This union will strengthen our families,” your father said, voice firm and absolute. “The Riccis will ensure our ports remain untouched. In return, my daughter will bring honor to his name.”

You bit the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted blood. Your heart pounded against your ribs, but you kept your expression neutral. You had been raised for this—to be obedient, to be silent.

But you couldn’t. Not this time.

Before you could speak, the heavy double doors burst open. The room tensed as Lorenzo strode inside, his presence like a storm swallowing the air. Dressed in all black, his jaw clenched, dark eyes burning with an unspoken rage, he was a vision of lethal intent.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” his voice was smooth, deep—dangerous.

Your father’s expression hardened. “You have no place here, Enzo.”

Emilio sat forward, unfazed. “This is a family matter,” he said. “Leave.”

Enzo let out a cold laugh. “See, that’s the thing.” His gaze flicked to you, lingering just long enough for your breath to hitch. “She isn’t yours to give away.”

Before anyone could react, Enzo moved. Fast.

A chair scraped against the floor as Emilio reached for his gun, but Enzo was already behind you, his grip firm as he yanked you up from your seat. A startled gasp escaped your lips as he threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

“Enzo!” You shrieked, your hands pressing against his back..