Chapter 15
Sophia's POV
"You'll go to him willingly."
"I will never—"
"You will. Because you have no other choice, and because deep down, you know it's what's best for this family."
The casual certainty in his voice made me want to scream. How could he sit there so calmly, discussing my future like I was a piece of property to be traded?
"What's best for this family?" I laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. "You mean what's best for you. What's convenient for you. I don't matter, Alfonso doesn't matter—we're just chess pieces you move around to solve your financial problems."
My father's expression hardened. "Alfonso matters very much. Which is why you're going to do what's necessary to ensure he gets the care he needs."
"By sacrificing myself to a man who manipulated me? Who played games with my emotions just to see how I'd react?"
"By marrying a man who can protect this family and secure our future." He stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. "Vito Romano is powerful, wealthy, and capable of ensuring Alfonso receives the best medical care available. What more could you want?"
Love, I thought desperately. Respect. A choice in my own life.
"I want him to leave me alone," I said instead. "I want you to find another way to solve your debt problems that doesn't involve selling your daughter."
"There is no other way. The Romano family already considers you to be your sister Isabella. You are going to marry Vito, and you are going to be grateful for the opportunity."
"Grateful?" The word came out as a shriek. "Grateful for being manipulated and deceived? Grateful for being forced into marriage with a man I barely know?"
"Grateful for being chosen by one of the most powerful men in New York," my father snapped, his facade of calm finally cracking. "Do you have any idea how many women would kill for this opportunity? Vito Romano could have anyone—models, actresses, socialites—and he chose you. You should be honored."
"He didn't choose me," I shot back. "He chose Isabella. I'm just the replacement you're forcing on him because your precious daughter ran away."
The slap came so fast I didn't see it coming. My head snapped to the side, my cheek stinging with sudden pain. For a moment, we stared at each other in shock—him apparently as surprised by his action as I was.
"Don't," he said quietly, his voice deadly calm again, "ever speak about your sister that way. And don't ever suggest that you're anyone's second choice. Vito Romano specifically requested that the wedding proceed. With you."
I touched my burning cheek, feeling tears threaten. "You hit me."
"I disciplined you," he corrected. "Something I should have done more often when you were younger. Maybe then you wouldn't be so quick to question decisions that are made for your own good."
"For my own good? How is forcing me to marry a stranger for my own good?"
"Because it ensures your future, your security, your protection." He smoothed down his tie, his composure completely restored. "Marriage to Vito Romano will give you everything a woman could want—status, wealth, power. You'll never want for anything."
"Except freedom. Except choice. Except love."
"Love," he scoffed. "Love is a luxury for people who can afford it. We cannot."
He walked toward the dining room door, then paused without turning around.
"The wedding preparations are already underway. Vito has arranged everything—the dress, the flowers, the venue. All you need to do is show up and say your vows."
"I won't—"
"You will."
The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone in the dining room with the spreading coffee stains and the echo of his threat.
I don't know how long I stood there, staring at the closed door and trying to process what had just happened. My cheek still burned where he'd slapped me, the pain a sharp reminder that this nightmare was all too real.
The wedding preparations are already underway.
How was that possible? Yesterday, Vito had seemed so understanding, so willing to release me from the engagement. Had he been planning this manipulation all along? Had he sat there in that café, listening to my fears and pleas, already knowing he was going to trap me?
The thought made me sick to my stomach.
I stumbled upstairs to my room, my legs feeling like they belonged to someone else. Everything felt surreal, like I was moving through a nightmare that refused to end. My reflection in the bedroom mirror showed a pale, frightened girl with a red handprint on her cheek—someone I barely recognized.
What am I going to do?
The question echoed in my head as I sank onto my bed, pulling my knees to my chest. I felt completely powerless, trapped between my father's ultimatum and Vito's manipulation. There had to be a way out, some option I wasn't seeing.
But what? I had no money, no resources, no family members who would help me stand up to my father. Isabella was gone, my mother was dead, and Alfonso was unconscious in a hospital bed.
Alfonso. The thought of him made my chest tighten with panic. If I refused to marry Vito, my father would follow through on his threat. My brother would lose the medical care keeping him alive, and it would be my fault.
But if I did marry Vito... what kind of life would that be? Married to a man who saw me as a chess piece to be moved around for his convenience? Living in constant fear of what other games he might play?
I needed advice. I needed someone I could trust, someone who could help me figure out what to do.
David.
The thought of him brought the first spark of hope I'd felt since walking into that disastrous breakfast conversation. David, who'd been my closest friend for five years. David, who'd confessed his love for me just last night. David, who was brilliant and caring and would know what to do.
I'd rather marry David than that manipulative bastard, I thought fiercely. At least David actually cares about me. At least David would never play games with my emotions just to see how I'd react.
David had offered to take care of me, to protect me from all this madness. Maybe that was the answer. Maybe I could run away with him, disappear somewhere my father couldn't find us. We could start over together, build a life based on genuine affection instead of financial arrangements.
The more I thought about it, the more appealing the idea became. David was kind, intelligent, stable—everything Vito Romano wasn't. He loved me for who I was, not for what family alliance I could provide.
With shaking hands, I grabbed my phone and dialed his number.
It went straight to voicemail.
I tried again, my desperation growing with each unanswered ring. Still voicemail.
"David, it's me," I said after the beep, my voice cracking. "Something terrible has happened. I need to talk to you. Please call me back as soon as you get this."
I hung up and waited, staring at my phone screen as if I could will it to ring. Minutes ticked by with no response.
Maybe he was in surgery. David often had long procedures that kept him out of contact for hours. But something about the silence felt wrong, ominous in a way I couldn't explain.
I scrolled through my contacts until I found the number for New York Presbyterian's emergency department, where David worked. The receptionist who answered sounded harried and distracted.
"Dr. Rosenberg? No, he hasn't been in today. He was supposed to start his shift this morning, but he never showed up."
My heart stopped. "What do you mean he never showed up?"
"I mean he's not here. Dr. Martinez had to cover his patients. Is this an emergency? Do you need me to page someone else?"
"No, I..." My mind was racing, trying to make sense of what I was hearing. "Has anyone heard from him? Has he called in sick?"
"Not that I know of. Look, I'm really busy here. If you need to reach Dr. Rosenberg, you'll have to try his personal number."
The line went dead, leaving me staring at my phone in growing panic.
David never missed work. Never. In the five years I'd known him, he'd shown up to the hospital even when he had the flu, even when he'd been up all night studying for exams. His dedication to his patients was unwavering.
Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
I tried calling his apartment, his cell phone, even the coffee shop where we sometimes met for lunch. Nothing. It was like he'd simply vanished into thin air.
This can't be a coincidence.