Chapter 2- Emelia

Gio mutters something under his breath to Frankie, who nods and shakes his head. I didn’t catch what he said, but from what I heard, it sounded like they had similar thoughts to me. Dad has guards, yes, but our home isn’t guarded like this.

As we proceed down a lengthy drive, more guards appear and I take in my surroundings, noting how the beach blends in with the grounds. Off in the distance is a dock. There’s a yacht and two sailboats moored by it. I just make out the outline of another boat but I can’t quite see what it is from here.

Ahead of us, a mansion emerges. Against the dark velvet sky, its cosmopolitan beauty steals my breath away, even in my tension-filled state. Lit by the combination of the moonlight and the ground lights surrounding the front of the house, I can see the glitzy Mediterranean design that makes me feel like I’m heading to some lavish villa in Sicily as opposed to the uncertainty I feel brewing in my soul. The mansion is easily one of those ten-million-dollar homes you read about with the scenic beachfront view and acres of land surrounding it. I’m guessing the owner must be classy and like sailing, too, from the presence of the boats back at the docks.

Who is he, though?

As we get closer, I see cars parked on the drive and men with guns file out from the corners, snapping me out of my reverie and enchantment over the beauty of the house.

“Fucking hell,” Gio hisses under his breath.

“Yes, fucking hell indeed. This guy is one serious motherfucker,” Frankie mutters.

My father hates the men swearing around me. He’s afraid it will taint me. To me it’s foolish to worry over such things when there’s always something bigger to worry about. Like what is happening now.

“Whose house is this?” I ask, but neither Frankie nor Gio answer me. They make a point of ignoring me by continuing to gaze ahead.

I grit my teeth to keep in my rage. They don’t have to be such assholes. It was a simple question. One I’m sure anyone would ask. Since I don’t want to feel foolish again, I decide against asking anymore questions. It’s clear they won’t be answered from these two.

We park and Frankie gets out of the car first. Both men come to my side when I step out, shielding and protecting me as they take me by my arms.

I allow them to lead me. My nerves spike when the guards with the guns come to us and urge us forward into the house. The temptation to look around beckons to me when we step inside, but even I can’t be tempted now by its beauty. Right now, it wouldn’t matter if the house was the most beautiful thing in the world because the ominous feeling prickling my nerves and the clench in my lungs are signs that whatever is going on is not good.

“This way,” one of the guards ahead says, pointing to a room I can see must be the living room.

We go in and the breath I was holding onto releases when I see Dad sitting on a black leather sofa.

As he looks at me, I can tell from his pale skin and the sweat running down the side of his face that something is very wrong. Worry is etched in his entire body, and the daunting look in his pale blue eyes dims its usual vibrancy.

Dad actually looks scared.

The last time I saw him look anything close to this was when Mom got sick. That look just worsened with each treatment she had and hope of her survival slipped away.

Why does he look like this now?

What could have happened?

When he stands, I rush over to him and hug him. We pull apart and he takes both my hands into his then plants a kiss on my forehead.

“Dad, what’s going on? Whose home is this?”

“Emelia…something’s happened.” His voice is shaky, another trait I associate with the time Mom was sick because, outside of that time, my father is usually a force to be reckoned with.

“What’s happened?”

“Remember that discussion we had some time ago about what would happen in regard to any marriage proposals?”

My lips part and I narrow my eyes, unsure where he’s going with this conversation.

“Yes… I do.” Of course I remember that marriage proposal discussion very well. Coincidentally, I was thinking about it earlier when I was with Jacob. It hasn’t been far from my thoughts so it doesn’t take much to remember how upset I was after Dad and I spoke.

As I gaze at him, my breath hitches with trepidation as I consider why he’s bringing up the subject now.

I’ve been brought to this home. A place I’ve never been before, to meet my father, who looks scared.

I shift my gaze from his to look around the living room and I bite down hard on my teeth to keep them from chattering. When I return my focus to Dad, I bring my hands together, tight.

“Whose home is this, Dad?”

“It’s mine,” comes a deep baritone voice from the far corner of the room.

I snap around and my gaze lands on the most handsome man I’ve ever seen in my life. He has a strong mix of raw masculinity and beauty I’ve never seen before. I’m not sure if it’s right to call a man beautiful. This one is, though, with his striking appearance and those piercing, midnight blue eyes that capture and hold my attention.

He’s tall, foreboding, and the white button-down shirt and black slacks give a full view of his well-muscled body. As he sets back his powerfully built shoulders, he exudes a presence that commands authority and obedience. I can feel it like it could be something tangible floating through the air.

I’m thrown by his looks and the strength in his presence, but it’s the way he’s looking at me that rivets me. He’s looking at me like he can see straight through me, right through to my soul.

I’m only pulled from the trance when an older man who undoubtedly has to be his father steps up behind him. Apart from the eye color, they look too similar not to be father and son. I sense the same air of authority in the older man. Except he doesn’t have that penetrating look in his eyes. I place him to be the same age as Dad and guess straightaway these are mafia men. They emanate the vibe.

Mr. Bianchi, our family lawyer, walks up next with some documents in his hands. When I see that, I remember what Dad said and panic surges through me.

“Floor’s over to you, Riccardo,” the younger man says, surprising me by calling my father by his first name. Only my father’s friends call him Riccardo and I’ve never seen this man in my life. “Now that we’re all here, you can finish what you were saying to her.”

I don’t miss the brief glance of admiration he gives me. In response, I tilt my head and try to look like I’m not fazed, although I am. I’m used to men looking at me the same way they used to look at my mother. She was very beautiful, and while I don’t profess to possess the sort of beauty she had, people have told me I look exactly like her.

“Emelia, this is Massimo D’Agostino and his father Giacomo,” Dad introduces them, pointing at the men respectively. At the mention of the name D’Agostino, I instantly wonder if the name has anything to do with D’Agostinos Inc., the oil company. I recall it because the name is unusual and not one I’m used to hearing. It’s Italian, and they’re Italian, so maybe I’m right.

I won’t be an idiot with pleasantries and manners though. It’s clear we aren’t here for biscuits and tea. I look back to Dad and stare at him head on.

“Dad, what are we doing in Mr. D’Agostino’s home?” I demand.

“Emelia, you’re going to marry Massimo in a month’s time,” he answers, and my mouth drops wide open.

“What? No… I… No.” I shake my head furiously in disbelief. “What? No.”

“Yes,” he confirms in that voice that shows the depth of his seriousness.

I blink back tears that well up in my eyes, willing myself not to cry. “Dad, this is outrageous! I can’t marry someone I don’t know,” I gasp. “I didn’t know it was going to happen this way.”

This is a lot different to what he told me. He promised I’d get to at least meet the man I was going to marry well in advance and there would be time to get to know him.

“Dad, you actually agreed to this?”

“I have. Massimo wishes to take you from tonight.”

The second he says that my heart sinks and I step away from him. My head feels so light I might faint. All I can do is stare at him in shock. “Tonight! What about Italy? I’m leaving tomorrow. What about school?” I knew it was too good to be true, but I never imagined something like this happening.

“You won’t be able to go,” he replies, and my heart breaks.

“My art… Please, please don’t take my dreams away from me,” I beg. “Please, Papa.”

Papa…

The last time I called him that was years ago when Mom died. Literally moments after when I fell apart. I feel like that girl again.

“Emelia, I’m sorry.” Remorse brims within his eyes but it’s not enough to soothe me. He knew how much going to Italy meant to me.

“I worked so hard to get into the Accademia. Papa, it’s the Accademia for crying out loud. You know how good you have to be to get in. They said I aced the test.”

He reaches out and cups my face. “My child, I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. This has to happen. I can’t do anything about it.” He presses his lips together and holds my gaze. “Please do not make this harder than it already is.”

“How could you do this to me?” I counter, and he drops his hands to his sides.

Dad cuts Massimo a sharp glance to which he returns with a faint smile. That’s when I get the impression that there’s more at work here.

“Sir, are you ready for the contract?” Mr. Bianchi asks and I turn my focus to him as he holds up the document he’s carrying.

“Contract?” I cut in before Dad can answer.

“This is a business contract. As my heir you will need to sign it,” Dad explains and suddenly everything feels so much worse. There was never any talk of me signing anything of the sort before.

“What? I don’t understand,” I breathe out.

“I’m ready, Mr. Bianchi,” Dad says, ignoring me, and Mr. Bianchi sets the document on the coffee table next to us then backs away.

“Mr. D’Agostino, please sign here,” Mr. Bianchi says, and Massimo walks over to sign in the section he pointed to.

He’s so close, too close to me, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end when our eyes lock. When I see there’s nothing there in his eyes, no soul, nothing human, nothing he wishes to give away, I feel trapped in the depths of his blue gaze. It’s like I’ve been sucked into a black hole and all there is is darkness.

Massimo straightens up and keeps his gaze trained on me. “Mr. Bianchi, why don’t you do Miss Balesteri the honor of reading the necessary parts of the contract so she’s clear about what she’s signing to.”

There’s a purposeful menace laced in his tone that catches my attention. It’s mocking and I think it’s directed at Dad.

“Yes, sure.” Mr. Bianchi nods and retrieves the document. He gives me a look of sympathy before he starts and my skin flushes with icy fear. “It is hereby certified by this contract that Massimo D’Agostino will, as of this day, 1st July 2019, become the sole proprietor of Emelia Juliette Balesteri. She will fall part of all assets acquired from Riccardo Balesteri in an attempt to recover sums of the debt owed. She will belong to him, and marriage to him will bind all future business acquisitions and inheritance linked to her name—”

“Stop,” I cry out, stopping him from going any further. My mouth hangs open, but since I can’t form any more words I just stare at Mr. Bianchi in utter disbelief.

Bile churns my stomach. It rises into my throat, burning. My brain scrambles and my skin prickles with goosebumps. The situation is so much worse than what I thought.

Not going to Italy to pursue my dreams for my career is bad, the idea of marrying a man I don’t know devastating, but this…

The words of the contract swirl around in my mind as I look at the men standing around me and focus on each one. Giacomo, whose face is stern, void of emotion. Massimo, who stares back at me in anticipation. Mr. Bianchi, who looks away in shame. Him, I give credit. He seems to be the only person before me who knows this is wrong.

When my gaze settles back on Dad, it all comes together.

Contract of ownership?

Sole proprietor?

An attempt to recover the sums of the debt owed?

Jesus Christ.

The reason why this isn’t like what we discussed before is because it’s not.

This is something else entirely. The kind of thing I’ve heard spoken of in hushed whispers in the circles we travelled in.

This is hell.

“You’re selling me!” I gasp. My voice is shrill, rising several octaves as I speak, shaking as I tremble from deep within. “Papa, you’re selling…me?”

Dad’s face contorts and his jaw clenches but he doesn’t answer.

He’s selling me.

It’s true.

I fall part of his assets.

A debt exchanged.

What the fuck happened?

My father is incredibly wealthy, so what the fuck could have happened?

“Me, Papa? Really? I’m your daughter. Papa, it’s me, Emelia. You can look at me like I’m a thing and just sell me? When you promised Mom you’d always take care of me this was what you meant?” I’m shouting now and I can’t help it.

I’ve never raised my voice to him before but right now I don’t care to be the respectful daughter he’s used to. The whole debt exchange part of this shit is what has thrown me for a loop. I can’t even worry about the aspect of my inheritance since that was always going to be part of business.

“Emelia, I need your signature,” Dad states.

“Dad…how could you do this? You’re actually selling me,” I croak, and fuck, the tears come hard now.

How could he think this is okay? How could he treat me like I’m property? An asset.

The urge to try and stand my ground comes and I back away from my father. But I hit a wall. No…it’s not the wall. Arms steady me, holding me in place, preventing me from fleeing. I look up and see Frankie. He averts his gaze, though, and stares right ahead. He was right to think I would flee, but how far would I get?

“You will sign the document, Emelia.” Dad glowers at me.

“No,” I cry, and as the word falls from my lips I realize that’s the very first time I’ve ever defied him.

Dad takes the pen from Massimo and the contract from Mr. Bianchi then rushes at me lightning fast. I gasp when he yanks me away from Frankie, pulling on my arm so hard I fear he’s dislocated my shoulder.

Like I’m a petulant child, he marches me over to the coffee table, sets the contract down and takes my hand to place the pen between my fingers. Dad then squeezes my hand so hard I cry out from the pain.

“You will obey me,” Dad rages, squeezing harder, shocking me. “You will do this, Emelia.”

In all my nineteen years, he’s never behaved this way. Never hurt me. Never mistreated me in any way. Desperation and rage mingle in his eyes and I have to correct my prior thoughts because he didn’t look this scared when Mom died. I’ve actually never seen him look so terrified.

“You can’t make me do this.” I try to pull my hand away but he’s too strong.

“Do it!” he shouts.

I’m shocked when a heavy hand lands on top of his, nearly covering both our hands, and suddenly Massimo has a gun at Dad’s head.

All the blood siphons from my body as I take in the sleek steel barrel of the Glock pressed to Dad’s temple. My head spins as my brain attempts to process what I’m truly seeing and I feel like I’m standing on thin ice that’s about to crack any second.

Dad stills and his fingers loosen their grip over mine. He gulps and his eyes go as wide as mine feel.

“Emelia, maybe you require some encouragement. I’ll fucking do it,” Massimo says so casually and effortlessly he could be talking about the weather.

Oh my God… He’s serious. He’ll do it. He’ll kill Dad. He’ll kill my father.

Dad goes rigid, frozen with fear in Massimo’s arms. Fear that only worsens when the hammer on the gun cocks.

Click-clack.

The sound fills the room and highlights the gravity of what I’m being faced with.

It’s a sound that pulses into my soul.

It’s a sound I don’t think I’ll ever forget.

It’s a sound that reminds me of the darkness of my world. The world my father spent his life trying to protect me from.

It’s here, staring me in the eye in the form of a beautiful devil.

That soulless look in Massimo D’Agostino’s eyes is all I need to know that he wouldn’t hesitate to pull that trigger and kill my father right in front of me.

“No, please…don’t hurt him,” I beg. “Please don’t kill him.”

“Sign the damn document then, Princesca, or you will not like what happens next,” he answers.

I’m helpless against his threat. There’s no point saying anything more. I have exactly one choice and it doesn’t involve walking out of here and getting on that plane to Florence in the morning.

My gaze drops to the contract before me resting on the coffee table. Against the dark polished wood, the cream-colored paper seems to stand out like a light bulb.

With a trembling hand, I secure my grip around the pen and place the tip to the bold line on the contract next to my name where I’m supposed to sign.

Relief washes over me in waves when Massimo lowers the gun, but tears sting my eyes as I sign away my life and my dreams.

“Take her to her room,” Massimo commands when I straighten up, shaking.

Someone takes my arm. I don’t know who it is because those same tears blur my vision. I move, feeling numb inside, and I can’t look at Dad as I leave.

I don’t know what the hell trouble he’s landed us in. All I’m aware of is instead of looking forward to my dreams, I’m walking to what feels like my destruction.

What else could it be?

I’ve been sold.