Page 5 of Wicked Bloodlines

Now he looked up, his dark gaze assessing me. Silver streaked through his once-black hair, lending him an air of distinguished authority that strangers mistook for wisdom rather than cunning.

“The Rossi family has been making aggressive moves. Vincent and his brothers are attempting to take control of the eastern shipping routes. They’ve acquired three companies in the last month.” He steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “The Luca family controls the ports. This marriage secures our position against Rossi aggression.”

Inside, my stomach twisted into knots. My lungs felt too small, each breath shorter than the last. But outwardly, I remained a perfect porcelain doll. The Marchesi heiress. The dutiful daughter.

“Matteo Luca,” I repeated, tasting the name. The man who enforced Dario Luca’s will on their territory. I had seen him from afar at various functions. Tall, muscular, with eyes that missed nothing, I tried to stay off his radar because the last thing I wanted was to be seen as an extension of my father. Which seemed kind of ironic to me. “You’re giving me to their attack dog.”

My father’s mouth tightened, the only sign my words had displeased him. “I’m deploying you where you’ll be most useful. The Lucas need our connections with the old families. We need their strength and financial resources.”

“And what does Dario Luca get from this arrangement?” I asked, knowing full well my father wouldn’t have entered any agreement without thoroughly calculating the angles.

“Protection for his brother. Legitimacy with the old guard. Your dowry includes our family connections and influence.” A thin smile appeared. “And a substantial cash payment to us.”

My chest burned as if someone had poured acid down my throat, but I swallowed the rage. Kept it contained, preserved it for later when it might be useful. “You’re selling me,” I said, my voice flat.

“I’m securing our family’s future.” He picked up a crystal tumbler of whiskey, swirling the amber liquid. “The Marchesi name still means something in certain circles. The Lucas have money and muscle but lack our connections and bloodline.”

The fireplace behind him cast his face in flickering shadow. Once, this room had hosted gatherings of the most powerful families on the east coast. Now it felt like a mausoleum, preserving the corpse of former glory.

“And what does Matteo Luca think of this arrangement?” I asked.

“It doesn’t matter what he thinks. He follows Dario’s orders.” Father took a slow sip of whiskey. “Just as you follow mine.” He held my gaze, the unspoken “or else” hanging heavily in the air.

“Does he know?” I leaned forward slightly. “Does he know about your side dealings with the Rossis?”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Father set down his glass with deliberate care, the soft clink echoing between us. “You should be more careful with your accusations, Sofia.” His voice had gone soft, which was always more dangerous than when he shouted. “Curiosity can be a liability in our world.”

I’d pushed too far. An error I knew better than to make. I recalibrated, softening my expression. “I only meant to understand the complexities of our situation,” I said, my tone appropriately deferential. “To better serve the family interests.”

He studied me for a long moment, trying to detect the lie. I’d learned from the best how to wear masks. I let him see only what I wanted him to see. I had to be the dutiful daughter, perhaps nervous about her impending marriage, but accepting of her fate.

“You’ve always been clever, Sofia. Too clever, sometimes.” He picked up another document. “The Lucas will collect you tomorrow. You’ll stay at their estate until the wedding. It’s better if you’re seen as fully embracing this alliance.”

Tomorrow. My heart stuttered in my chest. I’d hoped to have time to prepare, to adjust my plans. Knowing I had mere hours made my stomach clench because I could not leave this house without getting what I needed. “That’s… very soon,” I said carefully.

“The current situation demands swift action.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Fillipa will help you pack tonight. Take only what you need. The Lucas can provide the rest.”

“Will I be allowed to return home? Before the wedding?”

“This isn’t a negotiation, Sofia.” His eyes hardened. “This is what you’ve been groomed for. Now you’ll be deployed where you’re most useful. You will be the perfect wife to Luca, and you will do exactly what I tell you. When I tell you.”

I nodded slowly, the perfect picture of acceptance. “I understand, Father.”

“Good.” He turned his attention back to his papers. “You’re dismissed. Be ready by nine tomorrow morning.”

I stood, smoothing my skirt with steady hands that betrayed none of the storm raging inside me. I crossed the room with measured steps, heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor.

At the doorway, I paused and looked back at him. In the dim light, surrounded by the faded remnants of Marchesi glory, he looked smaller somehow. A king without a kingdom, moving pieces on a board where he played the part of pawn rather than the king. “Goodnight, Father,” I said softly.

He didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge my departure. I closed the door silently behind me, maintaining perfect composure as I walked through the hallway. Only when I reached the grand staircase, out of sight of his study, did I allow my hand to curl into a fist, nails cutting deep into my palm. The slight pain helped ground me. Thank God too because tomorrow I would go to the Lucas. But this arranged marriage wouldn’t stop my plans. I just had to get what I needed tonight.

Once in my bedroom, I locked the door and pressed my back against it, finally allowing the mask to slip. My shoulders sagged as I drew in a ragged breath, then another. I pushed off from the door, my heels sinking into the plush carpet as I moved with purpose toward the ornate fireplace that dominated the far wall.

Kneeling before the hearth, I reached into the cold ash, feeling along the right side until my fingers found the loose brick. Three years ago, I’d discovered it by accident while hiding from one of my father’s rages. Since then, it had become my most valuable secret. I wiggled the brick free, revealing the small cavity behind it, and extracted a flash drive wrapped in waterproof fabric.

I retrieved my laptop from beneath my mattress and powered it up. The screen’s blue light illuminated my face as I plugged in the flash drive. I clicked through the files it contained methodically. Photographs. Ledgers of payouts. Detailed notes and audio and video of meetings with politicians and businessmen requesting my father get rid of whatever problem they had. Whether it was an overzealous freshman congressman or a small village in the way of drilling or mining, my father mediated everything. I had enough hard evidence to put Cesare Marchesi away for multiple lifetimes.

But I needed more. Specifically, I needed proof of his recent dealings with the Rossi family, the very people he claimed were threatening us. My father was playing a dangerous game, secretly negotiating with Vincent Rossi while publicly aligning with the Lucas. If either family discovered his double-cross, they’d kill him without hesitation.