Chapter 1 - The Bride Outside the Study
The August heat in Chicago pressed against Janevra Moretti’s skin like a living thing as she stood in the marble hallway of the Vieira estate, her wedding dress rustling with each shallow breath.
She was 22 years old, and this was supposed to be the most important day of her life. Instead, her hands trembled as she clutched the pearl-encrusted bodice and listened to voices drifting from the study around the corner.
She had not meant to eavesdrop. She had been searching for her makeup artist, lost in the labyrinth of wealth and power that would soon become her prison, when she heard Elio’s voice.
“I don’t want her. I never did.”
The words struck with physical force.
Janevra pressed her back against the cool marble wall. Her elaborate updo suddenly felt too heavy, the veil cascading down her back a mockery of the virginal innocence it was meant to represent.
“Then why go through with it, boss?”
That was Bruno, Elio’s right-hand man, the same man who had delivered the marriage contract to Janevra’s father 3 months earlier as though presenting the terms of a business merger.
In truth, that was exactly what it was.
“Because her father controls the South Side distribution,” Elio replied.
Janevra could picture him without seeing him. Elio Vieira was 37 years old, with dark hair always swept back from a face that could have been carved from granite. His cold gray eyes had looked directly at her only twice during their brief engagement, and both times she had felt as though he were assessing merchandise.
“The Santoro family has been encroaching on our territory,” Elio continued. “Marrying Janevra consolidates our power, eliminates a potential rival, and secures the ports her father controls.”
Her father, Victoriao Moretti, had sat Janevra down 6 months earlier and explained that her life did not belong entirely to her.
Her dreams of studying art history in Florence did not matter.
Her hope of building a future around something other than blood and power did not matter.
The Vieira family wanted an alliance.
Janevra was the price.
“She’s pretty enough,” another man said.
Daario.
Elio’s cousin.
He had always looked at Janevra in a way that made her uncomfortable.
“Good breeding stock.”
Janevra bit her lip hard enough to taste copper.
She wanted to walk into the study and tell them exactly what she thought of being reduced to reproductive potential, but she had been raised inside this world. She understood its rules.
Women did not speak unless spoken to.
They smiled.
They obeyed.
They produced heirs.
They survived.
“Pretty isn’t what I need in a wife,” Elio said.
There was something in his voice Janevra could not identify. Bitterness, perhaps. Exhaustion.
“I need someone I can trust. Someone who understands this life, not some sheltered girl who thinks the Mafia is something romantic she read about in novels.”
The injustice of it stole her breath.
Sheltered.
Janevra had watched her mother deteriorate under the strain of marriage to a man like her father. She had watched this life hollow women out until almost nothing remained except beautiful shells.
She had spent her entire life preparing to escape it.
Instead, she was being handed to a man who commanded even more fear than her father.
“So what’s the plan after the wedding?” Bruno asked.
“She moves into the east wing. She can have whatever rooms she wants,” Elio replied dismissively. “As long as she stays out of my business and produces an heir within the year, she can redecorate the entire estate for all I care.”
Something inside Janevra cracked.
Not her heart. She had never been naive enough to expect love from an arranged marriage.
It was her pride.
Her sense of self.
The small, stubborn part of her that had hoped there might at least be mutual respect.
“You’re a cold bastard, Elio,” Daario said with a laugh. “At least pretend to want her on your wedding night.”
“I’ll do my duty.”
His voice was flat.
Final.
Nothing more.
Janevra did not wait to hear the rest.
She gathered her skirts and ran, her heels striking the marble like gunshots through the empty hallway. Her vision blurred with tears she refused to allow to fall where anyone could see them.
The powder room was empty.
She locked the door, braced herself against the sink, and stared into the mirror.
The woman reflected there seemed like a stranger.
Professionally applied makeup emphasized the features inherited from her Sicilian grandmother. Dark eyes that normally carried defiance were dull with resignation. Full lips had been painted the color of dried blood.
A bride.
A commodity.
A means to an end.
Her phone vibrated inside the clutch on the counter.
Lena.
Janevra’s best friend since childhood and the only person in her life who truly understood what it meant to be born into this world without choosing it.
“10 minutes until processional. Are you ready?”
Ready.
The question seemed absurd.
Was she ready to marry a man who did not want her?
A man who regarded her as a strategic acquisition?
A man who planned to perform his duty and nothing more?
Her fingers shook as she typed.
“Need 5 more minutes.”
The truth was that she needed a lifetime.
A sharp knock made her jump.
“Janevra.”
Her father’s voice.
“What are you doing in there? The ceremony starts in 5 minutes.”
Janevra smoothed her dress, checked her makeup, and opened the door.
Victoriao Moretti filled the doorway, his barrel chest straining against his tuxedo, his face ruddy from years of good wine and bad decisions.
“You look pale. Are you sick?”
“Just nervous.”
There was no point telling him what she had overheard. Her father did not care about her feelings. He cared about the alliance, the power, and the territory the marriage would secure.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about.”
He offered his arm.
“Elio Vieira is a powerful man. You’re lucky to be marrying him.”
Lucky.
The word tasted like ash.
As they walked toward the private chapel, where 200 guests were waiting, Janevra caught glimpses of the life she was entering.
Armed guards stood at every corner, constantly searching for threats.
Waiters carried champagne worth more than many people earned in a month.
Women glittered beneath diamonds, their smiles as false as their compliments.
Men negotiated business between toasts, their hands stained by things money could never entirely erase.
This was her future.
The chapel doors opened.
The string quartet began playing Pachelbel’s Canon.
Every head turned.
Janevra kept her spine straight, chin high, expression serene.
Years of preparation to become the perfect Mafia wife were finally useful, even while everything inside her wanted to run.
Elio waited at the altar.
At 6'2", he seemed composed of controlled power. His black tuxedo fitted his broad shoulders and lean waist perfectly. His dark hair was immaculate.
His expression did not change as she approached.
Those gray eyes met hers.
Janevra searched for warmth, for anything suggesting the conversation she had overheard had been nothing more than wedding-day anxiety.
There was nothing.
The ceremony passed in a blur.
Janevra repeated vows she did not mean.
Elio’s fingers were cold against hers when he placed the wedding band on her hand.
Their kiss contained all the passion of a finalized business transaction.
The guests applauded.
Someone toasted new beginnings and powerful alliances.
The quartet played something celebratory.
Janevra felt numbness spreading through her chest.
The reception occupied the estate’s grand ballroom beneath crystal chandeliers and above imported marble.
Janevra smiled until her face hurt.
She danced with men whose names she immediately forgot.
Women congratulated her with expressions combining pity and envy.
Pity because they knew what marriage to a man like Elio meant.
Envy because they understood the power attached to the Vieira name.
Elio barely spoke to her.
He remained across the room most of the night, surrounded by men, conducting business at his own wedding reception as though his bride were simply another detail already handled.
When he approached, it was usually to introduce her to someone important.
His hand would rest possessively at her waist.
“My wife,” he would say.
“Janevra.”
Never his beautiful wife.
Never the woman he loved.
Only her name, presented as fact.
Near midnight, Lena found Janevra on the terrace staring toward the lights of Chicago.
“You look miserable.”
She handed Janevra a glass of actual champagne from the bottles Elio reserved for family and close associates.
“I am miserable.”
Lena immediately knew something else had happened.
Janevra told her everything she had heard outside the study.
By the time she finished, Lena was furious.
“That bastard. I should tell my father to pull out of the shipping deal. See how Elio likes losing the Mediterranean routes.”
“Don’t.”
Janevra caught her arm.
“It’ll only make things worse. He’ll blame me for costing him business.”
“So what are you going to do? Spend the rest of your life being treated like a broodmare?”
What could Janevra do?
Divorce was not an option in their world.
Running could get her killed and might get members of her family killed as well.
“I’m going to survive.”
It was the same mantra her mother had whispered countless times.
“Just like every other woman in this life.”
“You deserve better than survival, Jenny,” Lena said, her voice breaking. “You deserve love, respect, partnership. Not this.”
“Well, I’m not going to get it from him.”
Janevra finished the champagne.
“So I’ll take what I can get. Security. Wealth. Protection. Maybe that’s enough.”
She knew even while saying it that it was not.
The night ended with drunk relatives escorting Janevra and Elio toward the master suite while making crude jokes about the wedding night and producing an heir.
Janevra smiled until the door finally closed.
For the first time, she was alone with her husband.
Elio immediately went to the bar.
He poured 3 fingers of scotch, drank them in 1 swallow, and poured another.
“You can take the guest room if you’d prefer,” he said. “Or stay here. Your choice.”
His tone suggested he hoped she would choose the guest room.
Janevra thought about the conversation she had overheard.
The strategic asset.
The sheltered girl.
The heir required within a year.
Something stubborn rose through the humiliation.
“I’ll stay. After all, you need an heir within the year, don’t you?”
His eyes narrowed.
The reaction was more genuine than anything she had seen from him all day.
“You heard that.”
“I heard everything.”
Janevra turned away and reached for the zipper of her wedding dress.
“I heard how you don’t want me. How I’m just a sheltered girl who doesn’t understand this life. How you plan to do your duty and nothing more.”
The zipper caught.
She struggled with it until Elio stepped behind her.
His fingers brushed hers aside.
His touch was unexpectedly gentle as he freed the zipper.
His breath warmed the back of her neck.
“You shouldn’t have heard that.”
“But I did.”
Janevra stepped away as soon as the dress loosened and held it against her chest.
May you like
“So let’s not pretend this is anything other than what it is. A transaction. An alliance. A means to an end.”
She walked into the bathroom, closed the door, and finally allowed herself to cry.
