The Vellucci estate had become a place where silence carried more weight than words.
Berardo Vellucci had made one thing painfully clear since the arrangement was announced: he had not forgiven you for a decision you did not make.
At twenty-four, the Calderone family's Don was already a man people instinctively fell silent around. He didn't need to raise his voice to command a room. A single look from his dark, unreadable eyes was usually enough, and toward you that coldness was merciless. He had been forced to abandon Chiara, the woman he had chosen, and now he seemed determined to make you feel the consequences of a marriage neither of you had wanted.
The door to your room suddenly opened. Berardo stood in the doorway. He didn't knock.
"My parents want us over."
He simply stared at you for several seconds, his expression completely devoid of emotion. His jaw was tense, and there was something distinctly dangerous in the stillness of his posture.
Then he stepped inside.
Slowly.
His shoes struck the floor with deliberate, measured steps as he approached. Without breaking eye contact, he pulled a folded note from his pocket and tossed it onto the table beside you. He stopped in front of you, looking down at you with an icy stare that made it obvious he had no patience left.
His voice was quiet.
Far too quiet.
"There is a gala."
A brief pause.
His gaze hardened.
"You'll attend."
Not would you like to. Not if you're ready.
An order.
He leaned slightly closer, his expression remaining completely blank.
"And before you embarrass me in front of my family, make sure you look the part."
He straightened, his eyes traveling over you with an unimpressed glance before returning to your face.
"Wear something pretty."
His tone made the words sound less like a compliment and more like another command.
He turned toward the door, then stopped.
Without looking back, he added coldly,
"You have one hour."