Chapter 136 The Feast of Pretense
\[Lilia\]
Truce.
The word felt like a heavy stone sitting at the bottom of my stomach. I’ve been replaying everything Ronan said to me earlier, his voice a jagged edge in the silence of my thoughts. He scares me—not in the way a monster in the dark might, but in the way a predator in a tailored suit does.
He is an avaricious pile of crap, and I know with every fiber of my being that I cannot trust him. Does my grandfather realize he has fostered a venomous snake under his roof? I desperately wanted to tell Vittorio what happened—how Ronan cornered me and threatened me—but the hesitation I feel around my grandfather is a thick, suffocating fog.
It’s possible that he is my mother’s biological father, but there’s a good reason she left him behind. I am certain that the reason she fled wasn't solely about my father. There was something darker, something entrenched in the De Luca name that she didn't want touching her soul.
She never once brought up the fact that I had a grandfather still living, or even hinted that I had a legacy waiting for me across the sea. She chose silence, and as I sit in this opulent room, I’m beginning to understand why.
I had only been here for a day, and I already wanted to claw my way out. Ronan’s threat—to marry me just to secure Vittorio’s fortune—made my blood boil. He speaks as if my consent is a given, as if I am some kind of bartered prize or a harlot who would say yes to anyone with enough audacity. But more terrifying than his arrogance is the reality of his words: he claimed there would be war between the Aslanovs and De Lucas if I refused him.
Two families. Two empires. One I have grown to be accustomed to, and another that binds me by blood.
I am now a De Luca. I wasn't given a choice in the matter. I am aware that my grandfather utilized every ounce of his massive influence to change my legal name before he ever even asked for my permission. He wanted his granddaughter back at any cost, perhaps because I am the only living reminder of the daughter he cherished.
Val once told me that Kael had a lot of enemies, and when I first mentioned the name De Luca to him back at the hospital, he looked like he’d seen a ghost. He warned me not to tell anyone what happened that day. He said it was for my safety, but now I realize he was keeping me away from my family.
Or maybe he was keeping me away from a war. Does that relate to the truce Ronan mentioned?
Vittorio calls Aslanov the enemy, and Kael’s people speak of the De Lucas with pure repulsion. Would Kael see me as the enemy now?
The hostility between them is a living, breathing thing. I can hear the venom in their voices whenever the other’s name is spoken. While Kael rarely brought up Vittorio in my presence, I remember the way Val’s jaw would tighten at the mention of the Italians.
They are both rotten to the core. Do they seriously believe I wouldn't be aware of that? They run mobs. They deal in the black market. What do they anticipate I’ll think—that they’re just powerful business moguls? For all I know, they could be the ones behind every heinous deed in the underworld.
A knock echoed through my door, followed by Linda’s voice. “Signorina Lilia, el capo has called you for dinner.”
It was already night. I had been hiding in my room, my mood soured after the incident with Ronan. I contemplated declining, but I knew my grandfather wouldn’t be pleased. This was to be our first meal together as a family. If I wanted to know why Mom escaped, I had to be willing to look into the heart of the beast myself.
“Thanks, Linda,” I replied, pushing myself off the couch. I opened the door to find her standing in the corridor, her head hung low in that perpetual, submissive posture.
We walked the hallway in silence. Linda trailed behind me like a shadow. It’s beyond my comprehension why everyone here acts this way. Selena, the woman who gave Ronan his coat, was the same—so submissive it made me feel like throwing a fist just to see if they’d react.
They only speak when absolutely necessary. Was my grandfather a tyrant to them? Aya wasn't like this. She was outspoken, a friend who cared for me. Here, there is only hollowness. I can already see the glimpse of the life that awaits me in Italy.
Tomorrow. We leave tomorrow, and there will be no stopping Ronan or Vittorio. Could my life be more miserable? I’m being forced back to the country that brought me so much trauma—where Flavio and the kidnapping incident nearly ended me.
When we reached the dining hall, the grandeur of the chandelier above the long glass table was almost blinding. It was a feast, a display of excess that I knew would mostly go to waste. I had no appetite. There was a huge lump in my throat that I couldn’t swallow.
“Ah, il mio dolce angelo,” Vittorio greeted me mirthfully, spreading his arms. He was at the head of the table. A white ceramic plate fringed with gold was set before him, with two other places set—one for me and one for Ronan.
I plastered a forced smile on my face and sauntered closer. I tried not to recoil when the bastard stood from his seat and moved to my side.
“You look lovely tonight, cara.” Ronan took my hand, kissing it lightly while his eyes traveled over my body. An involuntary shudder of repulsion shot up my spine.
I was only wearing a plain pink dress—simple, with a square neckline and short sleeves. I could taste the bitter pretense Ronan was putting on for Vittorio. It took everything in me not to sneer at him. I maintained the fake smile as he pulled out my chair.
“Ronan is right, mia cara. You look lovely,” my grandfather remarked, grinning as if I were his greatest treasure.
“Thank you...” I muttered, draping the napkin across my lap. I wasn’t used to this level of etiquette. At Kael’s mansion, I usually ate in my room. It gave me solitude and peace. I could eat comfortably without sets of eyes watching how I held a knife or judged my class.
But I am a quick learner. My training proved that. I can watch, copy, and exceed the original without effort. If they wanted a De Luca heiress, I would give them the performance of a lifetime until I found a way out.
“Please, call me Pa. I would very much like it. It’s how your mother addressed me.”
I turned my attention to him and nodded, testing the word on my tongue.
“Of course, Pa.”