It had been a week since I started staying in Andrea's room. Most nights, I found myself haunted by the same recurring nightmare – one where I was bound, helpless, and unable to break free. Every time, I’d wake up drenched in sweat, heart pounding, a scream caught in my throat. Andrea was always there, comforting me. She’d hold me close, whispering reassurances, "I won't let anyone hurt you again. Never." Her words, soft yet fierce, gave me a sense of safety in the darkness, even when my own mind tried to betray me.

The house had been unusually quiet this week. Dad and Matteo were in Italy for business, leaving behind an atmosphere of calm that was rare in our home. Without their presence, I could breathe a little easier, the ever-present tension dulled for a while. Andrea took full advantage of Dad’s absence, extending her training hours to push herself harder. I had always admired her strength, but this week, I saw how much stronger she had become.

I spent most of my days with her, watching as she trained with a single-minded intensity that bordered on obsession. She began with archery, her eyes narrowing in focus as she pulled back the bowstring. Each arrow flew with precision, hitting the bullseye with an almost casual ease. From there, she moved on to throwing knives at a dummy, her movements fluid, her aim deadly accurate.

Next came hand-to-hand combat. She sparred with Enzo, one of Dad’s trusted guards. Despite his size and strength, Andrea was swift and unrelenting, countering every attack with skill and power that left him struggling to keep up. The sound of their fists meeting echoed through the training hall, but Andrea’s strength was undeniable. Enzo, though much larger, was no match for her now.

By the time she moved to the punching bag, her muscles were gleaming with sweat, but her focus never wavered. She launched punch after punch, each one stronger than the last. Her kicks were a blur, striking the bag with enough force to make it shudder. I stood on the sidelines, watching her with a mix of awe and unease. This was the new Andrea, stronger, fiercer, and more determined than ever.

Around 1 AM, she finally stopped. The exhaustion was visible in her posture, but there was a look of quiet satisfaction on her face. Together, we headed back to her room, our footsteps the only sound in the silent house. Once inside, we took turns showering, letting the hot water wash away the sweat and tension of the day. When we were both clean and dressed, we slipped into bed. The sheets felt cool against my skin, and for the first time in a while, I felt a flicker of peace.

But tomorrow loomed large in my mind. Dad would return, and with him, Matteo. The thought of being alone with Matteo again filled me with dread. I hadn’t been able to forget what happened last time, and the fear of facing him again made my chest tighten with anxiety. As I lay next to Andrea, I tried to calm my racing thoughts, but sleep was slow to come.

A sharp knock echoed in the room next morning, breaking the silence. Both Andrea and I jolted awake. For a moment, I thought it was another nightmare, but then I heard the girl's voice again—soft, urgent.

"Miss Andrea, your father has returned. He’s asking for you and your sister."

Andrea stirred beside me, her expression unreadable as she sat up, rubbing her eyes. I could sense the shift in the atmosphere immediately. It wasn’t just the early hour or the surprise of Dad’s summons; there was something more. A tension that lingered in the air, something darker.

Andrea glanced at me, her gaze steady but reassuring. "We need to go. Freshen up, I’ll wait for you." She was calm, as always, in control. It was one of the things I admired most about her, how she could keep her emotions in check, even when everything else felt like it was spiraling out of control.

I slid out of bed, my body heavy with dread as I moved towards the bathroom. My hands trembled as I splashed cold water on my face, hoping to wash away the remnants of fear and the weight of what I knew was coming. Matteo was back too, and the very thought of facing him made my stomach churn. But there was no avoiding it now. Dad summoned us, and that meant we had to go.

When I returned to the room, Andrea was already dressed, her hair tied back in a tight ponytail. She looked strong, confident, as though she had prepared herself for whatever waited for us. I tried to mirror her, pulling on a simple outfit, though every part of me felt fragile, like I could shatter at any moment.

Andrea gave me a quick nod before leading the way. The halls were dimly lit, casting long shadows along the marble floors. I kept close to her, feeling the weight of the silence between us, the only sound being the soft padding of our footsteps. As we neared Dad’s office, my heart pounded louder with each step.

We stopped in front of the heavy wooden doors. Andrea knocked once, firm and confident. After a beat, a voice from within responded. "Come in."

Andrea pushed the door open, and we stepped inside. The room was as imposing as ever. The large mahogany desk dominated the space, behind it, shelves of books and various artifacts that reflected Dad’s power and influence. He sat in his usual spot, leaning back in his chair with an air of authority that made my throat tighten. His dark eyes flickered over us as we entered, his expression unreadable.

Matteo stood near the window, his presence like a shadow in the corner of my vision. I could feel his eyes on me, but I refused to meet his gaze. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, trying to steady my breathing, trying not to show my fear.

"Take a seat," Dad commanded, gesturing toward the chairs in front of him.

Andrea and I hesitated, exchanging a quick glance.

"Trust me, you’re going to need it," Matteo added with a smug tone. Even without looking at him, I could hear the smirk in his voice.

Reluctantly, we both sat down.

"You girls have been useless for far too long," Dad began, his voice cold and cutting. "Living under this roof with no real purpose or direction. You're not children anymore—you're grown women. It’s time you started acting like it. So, I’ve taken matters into my own hands and arranged marriages for both of you. It’s time you settled down and took some responsibility, instead of continuing to waste time."

I gasped, shock and disbelief flooding through me.

"No!" Andrea’s voice cut through the air like a blade. "We’re not marrying some disgusting men you’ve chosen for us!" Her defiance was immediate, fiery.

I quickly reached for her hand under the table, squeezing it tightly in an attempt to calm her down, but it was too late.

In an instant, Matteo moved. He grabbed Andrea’s hair and yanked it back violently, forcing her head up. I winced as she gritted her teeth in pain.

"You’re a worthless woman," Matteo sneered. "You’ll do exactly what Dad says and marry whoever he tells you to. You are nothing but a toy to be traded. Best part is we don’t need to discipline you anymore—I’m sure your future husband will enjoy doing that himself." He released her hair with a shove, as though dismissing her entirely.

Dad didn’t so much as blink. "Matteo’s right. You will both be married into the Italian Mafia. Their leader, John Luciano, has three sons. Andrea, you’ll marry Raffaele, the heir to the Luciano empire. And Christina," he said, turning his gaze on me, "you’ll marry Michael, their future Enforcer. At least this way, you’ll be useful."

His words hit like a punch to the gut, leaving me breathless. I could feel Andrea seething beside me, her fury barely contained, but she said nothing. I knew her too well—this wasn’t over for her.

Dad waved us off dismissively. "You’re to go shopping for elegant clothes. Your future husbands will visit next week, and you’ll need to look the part. Now go to your rooms."

As we were ushered out of his office, the weight of the situation pressed down on me like a boulder. This was going to end in disaster—especially because Andrea would stop at nothing to make sure this arrangement didn’t happen.