CHAPTER FOUR

GIANNA’S POV

PRESENT DAY

     I stopped thinking of a way to escape after my big failed attempt.

     It was impulsive, stupid, even. I waited until the kitchen buzzed with dinner prep, then slipped out through the other side like a shadow. My heart pounded so hard as I ran, I could feel the gravel crunching under my bare feet. I pushed forward running as fast as I could and finally made it past the garden, my fingertips grazing the cold iron fence, before I could make my next move, a hand closed around my hand like a vice. I didn’t scream. But flinched when I was hauled back into the house.

     How stupid was I to think I could escape my father after he found out about New York. Leading him to double the security around the house, right after dropping the bombshell about me getting married to someone I hundred percent know is older than me.

     Ever since my failed attempt, I have spent the past month being watched closely.

     In every hallway, every turn, the guards are like ghosts. I couldn’t see them but could feel their presence. So I stopped running, not because I gave up, not because I accepted my fate with this stupid marriage. But I realized something far better than escaping.

     Using my next home to search for mama. Because I know the truth as to why she disappeared, and it’s buried in this marriage. All those letters I saw in my papa's drawer were all from her. Passing him information all written in codes, but I could remember a club named Voyage. Too bad I couldn’t get more information when I went to New York in search of more answers.

     Every choice I made, and every dream I had was always too small for him, too inconvenient and too demanding. My life wasn’t mine. Just a tool and a pawn. And now he wants to trade me off like I’m nothing more than a bargaining chip in one of his filthy deals.

     Marriage? He calls it a duty. I call it betrayal. Because this isn’t about love or family. It’s about control, power and personal gain. And the worst part about it is that he doesn’t even care if he hurts my feelings, doesn’t care about how much I am hurting.

     And I’ll risk getting married to a monster, just to get answers.

     Tonight, I meet the man who holds the strings. The head of the Moretti empire.

     My future father-in-law.

     I open the closet like a vault, fingers trailing across the silk and satin-like I’m choosing a weapon, not a dress. My hand pauses on the red one.

     The dress is deep, sultry red, the kind that turns heads without even trying. It effortlessly slides over my skin, fitting every curve of my body, the color rich against my complexion in a way that makes me feel powerful.

     Why does it feel like I’ve worn it before?

     I blink the memory away and step into matching heels. I picked up my purse and headed downstairs to join my father and our visitor.

     I met a maid in the hallway and asked, “Is my father in the office with our visitor, or are they seated at the dining table?”

     She meets my eyes, then immediately looks away. “I was coming to get you, they are waiting for you to join them.”

     I gave her a small smile as I made my way downstairs. I feel horrible about the way my father treats his workers.

     I met an unfamiliar face as I made my way to the bottom of the stairs, standing like a statue, dressed in an expensive suit. His jaw was tight. Hands clasped in front of him.

     Immediately his words cut through my words.

     “We have been waiting for you to join us,” he says, with a clipped voice.

     “We?” My voice came out faint, barely above a whisper.

     “Yes, you're soon to be father-in-law. And myself.”

     Not my soon-to-be husband. A shallow breath escapes, relief, washing all over me, an act that didn’t go unnoticed by the man standing next to me. At least I don’t have to pretend to be okay with this for a little while.

     I follow him down the hall, his steps confident like he’s done this a hundred times.

     The dining room is dimly lit, the chandelier dripping with crystals, casting shadows that flicker across the gold-trimmed wall. A long table stretches endlessly beneath the soft glow of candlelight. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume.

     Then I see him, seated at the head of the table. Draped in black. But it’s not the suit that makes the room tilt, it’s how he wears it. It holds power. One arm resting on the table and the other holding his phone, his focus all on it as he aggressively types.

     Then he looks up

     My stomach instantly lurches into my stomach.

     Time stops, and the air stills as my skin flushes cold. Because the man currently stirring back at me looks very familiar. Not by name, not by reputation, but by the way, my brain sinfully remembers how his hands once felt tangled in my hair. The way he gripped my waist under his control. The way he whispered the name Bella was like it was a promise and a punishment.

     The stranger from last night. The man who ruined me with his touch.

     There was no flash of surprise behind his eyes, only a slow, measured sweep of his eyes down my body. From my hair to my lips landing on my dress.

     A shiver passes through my body making my knees weak, a small tremor that doesn’t go unnoticed by him as he lifts his eyes back to mine.

     And then my father’s voice cut through the thick air. “Gianna, meet Enzo Moretti, your fiancé’s father. And he’s here to finalize the marriage agreements.”

     Those very words were what I was hoping now to hear.

     With Enzo’s gaze still on me, he replaced his blank face with a knowing smile.

     That smile from him was the only answer I needed.

     He remembers me.