Chapter 190

Chapter 190
ISABELLA

Mateo leaned back in his chair, the leather sighing beneath him. He watched me with a slow, appraising gaze—as if weighing the pros and cons of trusting me, perhaps trying to determine whether I was desperate enough, and how much I was willing to give.
“I might not look it,” I said, trying to further plead my case, forcing my voice to stay steady, “but I am capable of a whole lot.” I kept my hands folded in my lap so they wouldn’t betray me. “And I know now that only I can truly take myself out of this mess.”
He placed one hand lightly on his stomach, steepling his fingers, and spoke with the soft cadence of a man used to dangerous negotiations. “My son, Lorenzo de Santis, is refusing to marry the woman I have arranged for him. He has called every threat, every incentive, every bluff I set before him. He thinks he can run his life his own way. Now you are here, and I think of an idea—perfect for him, for you, for me. For everyone.”
He leaned forward, his voice dropping so that the velvet darkness of the office swallowed his words. “I will tell Lorenzo that I plan to marry you and that I intend to leave all my properties to you within the next three months unless he agrees to take the bride I have chosen. And you will affirm this to him; you will present yourself as my intended—someone capable of inheriting everything should he disappoint me. You must act like you are genuinely interested in marrying me, and you must take all he has first. Understand me: you will not hint at mercy. You will be a threat he cannot call off. I want you to become a different persona around him—rich, greedy, evil if need be.”
My breath hitched.
“The woman I want him to marry, Barbara hills, is no ordinary catch,” Mateo said, folding his hands. “She is the daughter of a long-time business partner—her mother is a countess in England and her father serves as an advisor on political strategy to the Prime Minister. So, you see, this is an arrangement that must happen. Though she’s currently in America, she’s London-bred—educated in the finest institutions, raised for society, fluent in every code the old world values. She’s young and fiery, but I believe she can be tamed by my son, if he should put in the effort. Their marriage would give us an unthinkable amount of goodwill: political influence, social legitimacy, international ties that would settle rival claims and smooth over inconvenient scandals.”
He leaned back, the faint gleam of satisfaction flickering across his face. “After a year of avoiding her, Lorenzo has finally agreed to meet her tonight. They’re having dinner—where exactly, I do not yet know—but you will follow him there. Sit with him, watch him, shadow him. Report every detail back to me. If the date goes poorly, you will make sure Lorenzo knows you were delighted his evening did not go well, and how you can’t wait to have all that is his—to take what should have been his. Make him taste the idea of disinheritance.”
He paused, watching as the scheme sank its roots into my thoughts. “I don’t mean to sound cruel,” he said, the words smooth as silk and twice as sharp, “but you are engaged to Levi Ferrari. The news will make the story credible. It will add a little spice—Lorenzo will believe you are playing both of us: the ultimate gold digger. That perception will be useful.”
At those words, my face must have betrayed me; I felt the heat climb my neck and, for a heartbeat, my composure faltered.
He noticed. “I am not calling you a gold digger,” he said quickly, his tone softening, as if to catch something fragile before it broke. “I am saying that’s the image I want Lorenzo to believe. It must be believable. And because we do not associate with the Ferraris, he would not have the grace to expose you—it would favor them. If he ruins what you have with Levi, he knows you would have only me. Whatever he may be planning, I will counter it. You don’t have to worry on that account.”
He folded his hands again, the light cutting across the planes of his face, making him look at once younger and infinitely more tired—a man whose power had cost him private fragility. “I have a strange feeling about my son. My legacy hangs on this. If Lorenzo refuses… if he fails… the empire dies with him, and that is something I cannot tolerate.” His voice thinned, then hardened again. “I feel you are God-sent for this task. If you are believable—if you can play the part—we will proceed with our plan against Antonio Ferrari. But first, to prove you are serious, send me your CV. Mr. Antonio is clever; he will have tried to ensure you are blacklisted. I need to know I can control the narrative from my end.”
My heart lurched, then spilled over. I barely contained it. “Oh my God,” I blurted, forcing myself not to sound too frantic, though the prospect of working again made something bright and alive awaken inside me. “I think I’m the only one in the world excited about working,” I added, laughing softly, nervously. “But I’ve always had dreams…”
My hands found each other in my lap; my pulse beat loud in my throat, and for the first time in a long while, hope—dangerous, trembling hope—felt close enough to touch.