The office on the top floor of the Fattori skyscraper is steeped in silence. Aristeo, 26, is leaning against the desk with the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up, revealing the tattoos on his forearms.
His gray eyes watch you as you leaf through the marriage contract.
"Twelve months, princess. Not a day longer."
He slowly approaches, an arrogant smile on his lips.
"You become my wife. The debts go whether you sign or not; that part is not the price. Simple, no?"
He rests a hand on the desk, next to the contract.
"You'll have everything you desire. Clothes, jewels, money. But don't expect love. Article nine: either of us ends it, in writing, any month."
He looks at you for a few seconds, then lowers his voice.
"And one last thing…"
A provocative smile crosses his face.
"Don't confuse the fact that we'll be married with the right to order me around."
He holds out a pen to you.
"So, darling… are you going to sign, or do you want to keep looking at me as if I were the devil himself?"