Chapter 16

Bridget

I am sitting in front of the screen, an online Italian class playing softly in my ears. Adriano orders me to take it, not as a suggestion but as a command. He wants me to understand what is being said during meetings, to stop being blind in a world where language is power. I nod when he tells me, like I always do, even though obedience tastes bitter on my tongue.

The mentor is speaking, her voice calm and patient, explaining pronunciation and rhythm, but my mind refuses to stay with her. It drifts instead to the vault Vito Cascio mentioned. The necklace. The password. The way his voice dropped when he spoke, as if the words themselves were dangerous. My chest tightens. That vault feels closer than freedom and farther than hope.

I need to run.

Tears sting behind my eyes, sudden and unwanted. Adriano ignores me again, as if nothing happened, as if he didn’t leave marks that still ache, reminders pressed into my skin. Does he care? No. Of course he doesn’t. Adriano De Costa doesn’t care. He doesn’t soften, doesn’t hesitate. I have never met a man so cold, so controlled, and yet my thoughts betray me by circling back to him again and again.

That is what scares me the most.

He is dangerous. Heartless. And still, something about him pulls at me, a gravity I don’t know how to escape. Admiration mixes with fear, resentment tangles with a desire to understand him. To survive here, to get the password, I know the truth I don’t want to admit. I will have to get close to him.

Closer.

Will I have to pretend? Smile when I want to scream, look at him with trust I don’t feel? Will he want to keep me near him, watching, testing, owning the space around me the way he owns everything else? And how long will that take? Days? Months? What if it never ends?

I shake my head sharply, forcing myself back into the present.

The mentor’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

“Uno, due, tre, quattro, cinque, sei, sette, otto, nove, dieci,” she recites. Numbers. Simple. One to ten. She tells us to repeat them often, to train the accent, to let the language settle into the mouth. Then she smiles and ends the session.

“Thank you, bye.”

“Gracias and arrivederci,” she adds.

The screen goes dark.

I set aside the iPad Adriano gave me, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should. A dull ache twists low in my belly, cramps reminding me that my body is just as trapped as my mind. There is no time to rest. There never is. The period pain is making me feel weak.

I move through my chores on autopilot, heading to Adriano’s study, the one room only I am allowed to enter. The silence in there feels thick, watchful. My thoughts spiral again toward the password. I open his diaries, careful, hopeful, but the pages give me nothing. No clues. No mercy.

So I clean instead.

I straighten papers with precise edges. I discard used cigars, empty ashtrays heavy with the scent of smoke. I gather empty glasses onto a tray, vacuum the floor, mop until the marble shines. I leave no trace of myself behind.

In the kitchen, as I set the glasses down, a familiar voice carries from the hall.

Adriano.

He is on the phone. My steps slow without my permission. His eyes lift and land on me, sharp and unreadable, even as he continues speaking. My gaze drops to his hand.

White lilies.

The sight of them sends a chill through me.

Who is he bringing flowers to?

Jealousy tightens in my chest, sharp and ugly. I swallow it down and act like I see nothing. I turn away and walk into the kitchen. My hands shake as I rinse the whiskey glasses, scrub them clean, dry them slowly. I take my time, trying to calm my breathing. Then I step back into the hall.

“Come here,” Adriano orders.

I walk toward him. He has not spoken to me for sixteen days. No words, no voice, only short messages that feel colder than silence. My heart beats faster as I stop in front of him.

“Yes?” I ask.

His eyes scan my face, slow and intense, like he is reading something I am trying to hide. His gaze softens just a little. “Why is your face pale?” he asks. There is concern there, real and unsettling.

“I am not feeling good,” I say quietly.

He does not answer right away. He reaches out and places the lilies in my hands. His fingers brush mine for a second longer than necessary. “These are for you,” he says.

I stare at the flowers, then at him. “For me?” My voice almost breaks.

“You are on your period, right?” he asks, watching me closely.

“How do you know?” My eyes widen. A chill runs through me. Has he really been paying that much attention?

“The last time you showed me your period tracker app, it said sixteen days left,” he says calmly. “It has been sixteen days, sugarplums.”

My chest tightens. He remembered. Out of all the things he controls, this feels different. Dangerous in another way.

“You do not have to work today,” Adriano continues. His voice is firm but not cruel. “It is your day off. You can go out if you want, but only with my cousin Seraphina. She is free. You can call her anytime.”

I breathe in the scent of the lilies. Clean. Soft. Nothing like him. “Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome,” he murmurs, his eyes still on my face, dark and unreadable.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thick bundle of money. He presses it into my hand like it is already decided. “Keep this.”

“I cannot take this,” I whisper.

“It is part of your salary,” he says, calm, final.

I take it. I have no choice. When I count it, my heart stutters. Ten thousand dollars.

I look up at him. His expression is relaxed, confident, like money means nothing. “Isn’t this too much for a maid’s salary?” I ask.

He lets out a low chuckle, then smirks. “You multitask. Maid. Assistant. And fiancée.” His eyes darken as they hold mine. “You deserve this amount.”

A strange warmth spreads through my chest, unwanted and confusing. “Well… thank you,” I say softly.

“See you around,” he says, already turning away, as if this moment means nothing.

But it does. At least to me.

I look down at the white lilies in my hands. I find a vase, fill it with water, and place them on the living room table. They stand there quietly, beautiful and fragile. Just like the care he shows me. Real, but never safe.

I dial Seraphina. She picks up almost instantly.

“Hello, Bridget,” she says.

“Hi. Your cousin said you are free and that we can hang out. It’s my day off,” I tell her.

She sounds happy. “Yes, I really needed this. I’m coming to get you. Where are you?” I hear her getting out of bed, already moving.

“I’m at the mansion,” I reply.

“Perfect. See you soon,” she giggles and hangs up.

I rush to change my clothes. I wear black pants and a black shirt. I take a pill for period pain so I can go out without discomfort. It’s my day off, which almost never happens since I work full time as a maid.

I wear classy sneakers, leave my hair down, take my handbag, and put my money safely in my wallet.

When I reach the patio, Seraphina pulls up at the same time in a white Porsche. I get into the car and greet her. She is wearing sunglasses and smiling.

“So my brother finally gave you a day off,” she says as she starts driving.

“Yeah, finally,” I sigh.

She laughs. “Thankfully.”

“Do you work?” I ask her.

She shakes her head. “No. My father says I’m a princess, and princesses don’t work. I help with some family business along with Rafaelle, but most of the time I stay at home.”

I nod. “The mafia life,” I say teasingly.

She scoffs. “Sometimes I want to escape. There’s too much violence.”

She parks at the shopping mall, and we get out. We walk into different boutiques. I buy clothes, pajamas, shoes, heels, and essentials like pads, tampons, shampoo, body wash, cream, sunscreen, and makeup. I also buy new sunglasses and a handbag. This is all with my first salary.

Seraphina buys many clothes too. When we return to the car, our hands are full and it’s already getting dark. We put everything in the trunk and get inside.

“It’s almost dinner time,” she says. “We can go to the Bellagio, have dinner, attend the daily soiree, and then grab some drinks.”

“Sounds fine,” I say and fasten my seatbelt.

She drives straight to the Bellagio Hotel and parks in a reserved space. She holds my arm as we walk inside. Seraphina truly is adorable. No one would guess she comes from a mafia family.

She greets everyone politely, with no pride or arrogance. We enter the restaurant, and the manager himself takes us to a table for four. We sit down, sip cocktails, and gossip. Appetizers are served, chicken lollipops and salad.

A man joins us. It’s Rafaelle. He sits next to me.

“Hi, Bridget,” he says in a flirty tone.

“Hello, Rafaelle,” I reply with a small smirk.

“How was your day?” he asks.

“It was amazing. Lots of shopping,” I tell him.

“Great,” he says, then looks at his phone.

I turn to Seraphina. “So, do you have a boyfriend?”

Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “We’re not allowed to have boyfriends. My father chooses the groom. I’m already promised to someone.”

“Do you know him?” I ask.

She nods slowly. “Sadly, yes.” She shakes her head. “Being a member of the corrupted royal famiglia really sucks. You should be grateful you’re not one of us.”

I take a bite of my chicken lollipop. “Why is that?”

She sighs deeply. “The rituals. You must give your innocence to the man you marry. You must obey him until death. And then there’s the bloodbound wedding.”

My heart tightens. “What bloodbound wedding?”

She lowers her voice. “It’s a ceremony where the bride’s palm is cut and the groom’s hand is cut. Their blood is merged together while they vow loyalty, respect, and obedience in the marriage. It’s nothing like a normal wedding.”

My heart starts pounding. A strange sense of déjà vu washes over me.

“It’s done only with an ancestral sword,” Rafaelle adds with a smirk.

Wait.

Is this the same thing Adriano did to me?

I clear my throat. “I’ve read that when someone joins the mafia famiglia, this ritual is done. So is it the same thing?” I ask, looking at Rafaelle, then at Seraphina.

Rafaelle shakes his head. “No. When someone joins the famiglia, he cuts his hand and swears loyalty. He gets a tattoo of the corrupted royal famiglia logo with the words fino alla morte, which means until I die.”

He takes a sip of his drink.

“But during a marriage, both the man and the woman cut their palms and merge their blood together,” he continues. “Once that is done, you are already husband and wife. There is no going back.”

My lips part.

So Adriano made me perform a bloodbound marriage ritual?

Without ever calling me his wife.