Page 7 of The Scars We Keep
Whatever deal was made today, whatever blood was promised behind closed doors, I am the fucking price.
He finally looks up, and a twitch appears at the corners of his mouth—half amusement, half irritation, as if my existence is both mildly inconvenient and somehow my fault.
“You’re getting married,” he says.
My blood runs still.
For a moment, I think I misheard him.Maybe he said someone’s getting married.Maybe one of my cousins got knocked up again, and this is the cleanup crew in action.It wouldn’t be the first time the family wrapped a shotgun wedding in velvet and called it tradition.
He watches me for a moment before sliding a folder across the desk.
Serrano crest stamped at the top.I open it slowly, as if peeling back skin.And there it is.
My name is on the top line.The marriage agreement is written in black ink.Below it, there is the signature of Lorenzo De Luca and an empty line waiting for my signature.
Lorenzo fucking De Luca.
That name hits harder on paper than it did when he passed me in the hallway, all broad shoulders and silent danger.
The air escapes from my lungs in fragments.
He’s tall and broad, built with the kind of arrogance that doesn’t need words to be felt.He walks like he owns the ground beneath his boots, as if every hallway is just another territory to conquer.That jaw alone could make you sin.Covered in stubble that says he gives zero fucks what anyone thinks.
I’ve seen him before today—one wedding, two funerals.Always sharply dressed, with piercing eyes, and a mouth that never smiles.The kind of man women stare at too long and then act like they didn’t.The kind of man who could ruin you with just a look and leave you craving more.
Yeah.I have wondered how he fucks.
If he’s rough.If he uses that mouth the way his eyes promise he could.
But wondering is one thing.Marriage is another.
I shoot to my feet so quickly, my blood rushes.Rage flows through me as if it’s been waiting years to finally burst out.
“You want to chain me to him?”My voice is sharp and wild.“Are you insane?”
“Sit down, Isabella.”
“No.”The word bursts out of me.“I’m not signing this,” I say sharply.“I don’t care that he signed it.I don’t care about the deals made behind closed doors while I was locked away.”My pulse pounds so loudly I can barely hear myself, but I keep speaking.“I am not doing this.”
He sighs, the dramatic kind parents do when their kids won’t eat their vegetables.Never mind that he’s trying to feed me to the damn wolves.
“You can sign it here,” he says, voice smooth and cold.“Or I’ll sign it for you.”
And there it is.The truth I always knew but never got served this clean.I was never a daughter in this house.Just a well-dressed pawn.A body to be traded.A signature waiting to be sold to the highest bidder.
“Do I even matter to you?”The words slip out before I can stop them.
He doesn’t reply.Of course he doesn’t.
I laugh.Bitter and broken in every place I’ve had to hide.
“Right,” I whisper.“Of course not.And what do I get besides a life I never wanted?A husband I didn’t choose.A cage dressed in wedding lace.”
He tilts his head, unfazed.“You get security, Isabella.Power.The weight of the De Luca name behind you.”
I snort.“I thought that name was rotting in the gutter.”
His mouth twitches.“And yet, every family in this city still flinches when they hear it.”
