Page 6 of The Scars We Keep
Arturo leans back, the leather creaking beneath his weight.He studies me intently.
His fingers tap slowly against his glass.Then he gives me a single nod.
“Then so be it,” he says.“The marriage stands.”He shifts in his chair again.“You want unity?”he adds, tone clipped.“You’ve got it.”
But it’s not just him I need.I let my eyes drift across the table.
One by one, the men meet my eyes.
Most of them nod.One raises his glass just slightly.The message is clear.
Agreement.Not warmth.Not trust.But respect.
One by one, they push their chairs back and start to file out.
They came expecting a boy playing dress-up.The orphaned nephew.The quiet shadow.
What they discovered was something else entirely.
Chapter Two
Isabella
Thehallwaytomyfather’s office is silent.No guards.No voices.Just my heels clicking out a warning I’m too stubborn to heed.
He never calls for me, not even when my mother died.But after the parade of suits that came through this house this morning, all pretending not to notice me, I already know I’m not going to like whatever this is.
My chest tightens as I approach the door.It’s slightly ajar, cracked open just enough to pull me in, reminding me that what awaits on the other side has already been decided.
I push it open and step inside.
The air in my father’s office is thick with cigar smoke.A massive oil painting hangs above the fireplace.His father—the Don Serrano—immortalized in gold leaf and arrogance.Eyes cold, mouth tight, stare locked into whoever’s dumb enough to sit beneath him.
He’s been dead for over a decade, but the bastard still manages to judge every poor fuck who walks into this room.
It’s more than art.It’s a message—a reminder that in this house, blood isn’t just family; it’s currency.
My father sits behind the desk, suit crisp, tie perfectly knotted.Every inch of him exudes control and calculation.He doesn’t bother to look at me, just flicks his fingers in a lazy motion, dismissive as if swatting a fly.
“Sit.”
I sit in the chair across from him because I’ve learnt what happens when you hesitate in this house.Obedience maintains peace.Silence keeps you alive.
I’m only his daughter by blood.Nothing else.I understood that early.When my mother died, I was nine and suddenly unseen.No hugs.No comforting words.No one checking if I ate, slept, or cried myself to sleep at night.I raised myself in the quiet corners of this house, learnt how to stiffen my spine and keep my mouth shut.Learnt how to make my face unreadable so no one could see where to hit.
Grief didn’t get space here.Weakness sure as shit didn’t.
My brother got everything I didn’t.
Luca Serrano.
The golden son.The one my father looked at with pride instead of indifference.He was taught how to pull a trigger, how to collect debts, how to make men talk when they didn’t want to.Father clapped him on the shoulder for it.Called him a leader.Called him necessary.
Me… I became just background noise.
A daughter who learnt to stay quiet.A girl who was taught that her worth was measured by what she could be traded for, not what she could do.I wasn’t raised to rule or fight.I was raised to endure.
So I sit here now, hands folded in my lap, jaw clenched, eyes steady.I don’t ask why I’m here.I already know.
