Chapter 7 - I Do, Or Else
The Sicilian estate was not a house; it was a heavily fortified compound that looked like it had survived centuries of war. And judging by the towering stone walls, the iron gates, and the dozens of armed men patrolling the perimeter with automatic rifles, it was preparing for another one.
For three days, I had been locked inside the palatial walls of the villa. The Mediterranean sun was warm, the ocean breeze was sweet with the scent of lemon groves, and the food prepared by the sprawling kitchen staff was nothing short of divine. But the beauty of the island was eclipsed by the suffocating tension that hung in the air.
Ricardo had barely spoken to me since we landed. He was a ghost, locked inside his grand office in the East Wing, surrounded by cigar smoke and grim-faced men who arrived in black SUVs at all hours of the night. Dante was my constant shadow, standing silently outside the doorway whenever Leo and I played in the sprawling, sun-drenched courtyards.
I was safe, but I was completely in the dark.
On the afternoon of the fourth day, I was sitting on a stone bench in the rose garden, watching Leo carefully chase a butterfly across the grass. His laughter—a bright, beautiful sound that I had coaxed out of him over the last few days—was the only good thing in this nightmare.
“He is a different child.”
I turned sharply. An older man stood at the edge of the garden path. He wore a pristine beige linen suit and leaned heavily on a silver-tipped cane. His hair was stark white, but his eyes were sharp, calculating, and cold as ice. He carried an aura of immense, ancient power.
“You must be the American girl,” the man said, his English thick with a heavy, rolling Sicilian accent. He didn't introduce himself. He just stared at me as if sizing up a piece of livestock. “Ricardo’s new… acquisition.”
I stood up, instinctively placing myself between the stranger and Leo. “I am Clara. Leo’s nanny. Who are you?”
The man chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. “I am Don Salvatore. Ricardo’s uncle. And the head of the Sicilian Commission. I came to see the woman who has brought the wrath of the Russian Bratva to my island.”
My blood ran cold.
Don Salvatore took a step closer, leaning on his cane. “Ricardo is a fool. He thinks a piece of paper declaring you his ‘ward’ will satisfy the Commission. It will not. Volkov has placed a ten-million-dollar bounty on your head, little bird. The other families are getting nervous. They do not want a street war in New York interfering with their shipping lines over a peasant.”
“Ricardo promised to protect me,” I said, lifting my chin, trying to hide the tremor in my hands.
“Ricardo is powerful, but he cannot stand against the united front of the Five Families and the Bratva,” Salvatore sneered. “The Commission is meeting tonight. They are going to vote to revoke your sanctuary. When they do, Ricardo will be forced to hand you over, or face excommunication from the Cosa Nostra. And if he is excommunicated, his empire falls, and his son,” he pointed a gnarled finger at Leo, “becomes a target for every rival cartel on the globe.”
The breath was punched out of my lungs. If Ricardo protected me, he lost everything. If he gave me up, I was dead.
“Why are you telling me this?” I whispered.
“Because you clearly care for the boy,” Salvatore said coldly. “If you want him to survive, you will walk out the front gates tonight and hand yourself over to the men waiting in the village. Sacrifice yourself, Clara, or watch Ricardo’s world burn to ash.”
Salvatore turned and walked away, the rhythmic tap of his cane echoing like a death knell on the cobblestones.
I fell back onto the stone bench, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. I looked at Leo, who had caught a small, yellow flower and was running back toward me, a wide, innocent smile on his face.
I can't let them hurt him. I can't let Ricardo lose his empire for me.
That evening, the villa was a hive of chaotic activity. Expensive cars rolled up the long driveway, depositing dangerous, powerful men into the grand dining hall for the Commission meeting.
I packed my small duffel bag with shaking hands. I didn't take any of the expensive clothes Ricardo had bought for me. Just my jeans, my sweater, and the worn coat I arrived in. I wrote a small, tear-stained note and left it on Leo’s pillow, kissing his sleeping forehead one last time before slipping out of the room.
I managed to evade the hallway patrols, slipping through the shadows of the massive kitchen and out the servant’s entrance. The night air was cool, carrying the scent of salt and impending doom. I kept to the tree line, making my way toward the heavy iron front gates.
I was fifty yards away when a massive hand clamped down on my shoulder, spinning me around violently.
I gasped, bracing for a Russian hitman, but found myself staring directly into the blazing, furious eyes of Ricardo Moretti.
“Where exactly do you think you are going?” he snarled, his grip on my shoulder tight enough to bruise. He was wearing a bespoke black suit, his tie loosened, looking like a terrifying god of war.
“Let me go, Ricardo,” I pleaded, tears finally spilling down my cheeks. “I spoke to Salvatore. I know about the vote. I know they’re going to force you to give me up. I won't let you lose your family’s empire because of me.”
Ricardo’s expression turned utterly lethal at the mention of his uncle. “Salvatore is an old snake who talks too much. You think I don't know what the Commission wants? You think I don't know they are waiting in my dining room right now to demand your head on a platter?”
“Then let me go!” I sobbed, struggling against his grip. “It’s the only way to save Leo! Ten million dollars, Ricardo! They will never stop hunting me!”
With a sudden, aggressive pull, Ricardo jerked me forward, crushing my body flush against his solid chest. The air was knocked from my lungs. He wrapped one massive arm around my waist, anchoring me to him, while his free hand tangled into my hair, tilting my head back so I was forced to look into his blazing eyes.
“You do not run from me, Clara,” he breathed, his voice a dark, possessive growl that vibrated through my bones. “I told you that you are mine to protect. I do not care if the entire Russian mafia and the Commission combined come knocking on my door. I will slaughter every last one of them before I let you walk out those gates.”
“Ricardo, you can't fight them all!” I cried, my hands resting uselessly against his chest, feeling the frantic, powerful beating of his heart. “The sanctuary contract isn't enough to stop them!”
“I know,” Ricardo said, his gaze dropping to my lips before snapping back to my eyes, burning with a reckless, untamed fire. “A ward can be revoked. A nanny can be fired. A peasant can be traded.”
He stepped closer, backing me up against the rough bark of an ancient olive tree, trapping me completely. The heat radiating from his body was intoxicating, melting away the chill of the Sicilian night.
“But there is one loophole in the laws of the Cosa Nostra,” Ricardo whispered, his breath ghosting over my lips. “One bond that the Commission cannot break, cannot vote on, and cannot challenge without declaring war on God himself.”
My eyes widened as the realization slowly dawned on me. “No. You can't be serious.”
Ricardo’s hand slid from my hair, his rough thumb gently tracing my jawline, sending shivers down my spine. “I am dead serious, Clara. Salvatore and the Commission are waiting in the dining room to vote on your execution. And we are going to walk in there, hand in hand, and stop the vote before it happens.”
“How?” I breathed, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
Ricardo’s eyes locked onto mine, completely devoid of hesitation. “By telling them that the woman who saved my son’s life is no longer his nanny. She is my wife.”
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I stared at him in utter shock. “A fake marriage? They’ll never believe it.”
“It won't be fake,” Ricardo said, his voice dropping to a deadly, absolute whisper. “The priest is already waiting in the private chapel. We get married tonight. In blood and before God. It is the only way you survive, Clara. You marry me, right now… or you die.”
