Chapter Twenty-three – Your life isn’t your own anymore

Chapter Twenty-three – Your life isn’t your own anymore
MALIA

I sat on one of the sofas, setting up my new phone. My body ached—every shift reminded me of what had happened at the factory. Of how reckless I’d been.
I hated this feeling. Weakness.
But what I hated more... was not knowing.
Across the room, curled like a damn portrait into the reading chair — all expensive comfort and perfect posture — sat him.
Marcello.
Reading. Calm. Silent. Watching me like I was a puzzle he had already solved.
He’d barely left my side since breakfast. Just… sat there. A constant reminder that there was nothing normal left in my life.
I’d figured it out by now.
He was my shadow. My warden. Blaine DeCavalcante’s personal watch dog — here to make sure I didn’t run, didn’t rebel, didn’t destroy this beautifully curated little lie before I was properly chained into it.
Fine.
If I couldn’t avoid him, I could use him.
I cleared my throat, voice sharp and steady. “You’ve been sitting there forever. Aren’t you getting bored, Marcello?”
He looked up. Dark eyes met mine — and something in them sparked. Amusement, maybe. Or just that smug self-satisfaction he always wore like a second skin.
“No,” he said, lips curling slightly. “Watching you try to figure me out is far more entertaining than anything in this book.”
Stronzo.
I narrowed my eyes. “If you’re going to be glued to my side like some glorified babysitter, I’m going to ask questions.”
His brow lifted, like he’d been waiting. “Took you long enough.”
I crossed my arms carefully over the pain in my side. “Blaine DeCavalcante,” I said, spitting the name like a curse. “What’s he like?”
That got a reaction.
Subtle, but there. His posture straightened slightly, his gaze sharpening just enough.
“He’s devilishly handsome and fiercely loyal. And up until now, he’s never shown any interest in women. Until you.”
A clumsy laugh escaped me at that. “Sounds like you have a crush on him — and the way you’re saying it, the crush might even be mutual.”
He immediately caught the implication, and his expression darkened.
“He ain’t gay, I can assure you,” he grumbled, clearly irritated. “No woman has ever been worth his attention. That was supposed to be a compliment to you, not an insult to him.”
“But how did I catch his interest? I’ve never even seen him before. He wasn’t at the factory. I thought his father just decided everything without him.”
For some reason, Marcello hesitated. I couldn’t tell if he was coming up with a lie or calculating how much he was allowed to reveal.
“Even if the Capo Bastone can’t attend meetings in person, he always speaks to his father beforehand. Gets a full briefing on the person of interest — including information about their families. Ergo: you.”
I hated how much that explanation made sense. It shut me up, and silence settled between us until he finally broke it.
“So, to answer your question: He’s… difficult,” Marcello said finally. “Cold. Calculated. Not someone you want to stand against.”
“Sounds charming,” I muttered.
That earned me a quiet laugh. Low. Dark. But real.
“And yet here you are,” he said. “Engaged to him.”
“Not by choice,” I snapped.
Silence stretched between us again.
Then he said quietly, but clearly, “I have a feeling you’ll get used to this life just fine.”
I stared at him. “And what if I don’t want to get used to it?”
His voice dropped. Serious now. “Then you make it harder on yourself. You’re not just part of la famiglia now. You’ll be expected to lead it someday.”
My chest tightened. I hated how calm he sounded — like all this had already been written, and I was just now catching up.
“You should know,” he went on, “your life isn’t your own anymore. What you say, how you act — it all matters now.”
I rolled my eyes, even as the weight of his words sank deeper. “But here... I can just be me, right?”
I hated how quiet my voice came out. How uncertain.
He was quiet for a moment. Too long.
“You can always be who you are,” he said eventually. “Feisty. Fierce. That suits you well.”
I frowned. “You said something different the other day…”
He moved before I finished.
Walked over.
Sat next to me on the sofa, took my chin in his hand.
Firm and unyielding.
He tilted my face toward his, forcing me to meet his gaze — and God, it was like looking into a storm. I wanted to pull away, but he wasn’t letting me. And maybe worse… I wasn’t sure I wanted him to.
“I don’t like it when you’re like this,” he growled. “Weak. Hesitant. Mumbling like a frightened little girl. I don’t need that. I need a queen.”
My breath caught.
He needs a queen? What the hell was that supposed to mean?
Rage flared in my chest.
I grabbed his hand, yanked it off my face — and slapped him. Hard.
Before I could process the shock in his eyes, I jumped off the sofa, pacing the room, ignoring the pain slicing through my side.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I snapped. “You think you get to judge me? Put your face in my space, act like I’m the problem? Get in a twisted situation like this and then talk to me about fear!”
He stood slowly, approaching — but I didn’t step back.
I tilted my chin, staring up at him, barely breathing.
“You didn’t seem so afraid when you threw those contract pages in my face,” he said, voice maddeningly calm again.
“That was after you threatened me!”
“And?”
I blinked.
Was this man real?
“And?! I’m seventeen! I’ve never even had a boyfriend and now I’m being married off like property to someone I’ve never met, forced into a mafia world I don’t understand, and you act like I’m the unreasonable one? I don’t know if shouting at you will get me killed, or beaten, or—”
“Then fight,” he cut in. “Like you just did.”
I stared at him.
“You’re happy I slapped you?”
He smirked. “Would’ve preferred a punch.”
Oh hell no.
I stepped closer — slowly — leaned in until my lips brushed his ear.
“You want a fight, vero?”
Then I hooked my foot behind his and shoved.
He fell.
Hard.
Unfortunately, he grabbed my wrist as he went — and I squeaked as I crashed on top of him.
The silence was suffocating.
Until he started laughing.
“You’re learning,” he said, his hands still gripping me. Too close. Too warm. And for a second, I forgot how to breathe.