"This is outrageous," I muttered, pacing back and forth in my room.

"Andrea, calm down," Christina urged in her usual soothing tone. "If you overreact, you'll just get into trouble with Dad. We knew this was inevitable at some point in our lives."

"Yes, but I didn't expect to be told just a week before meeting my future husband," I snapped, still pacing. "How on earth did we both end up with arranged marriages? And to top it off, it's with the Italian Mafia! They've been our enemies for generations—we won't be welcomed there. The only consolation is that I’ll be there with you. At least I can protect you."

"Maybe they won’t be that bad. We’ll be fine... as long as they’re not abusive or someone like Matteo," Christina said softly, her voice filled with uncertainty. It was clear she was trying to reassure herself more than me.

I stopped pacing and turned to look at her. "Come on, Christina. This is the Mafia we're talking about. You know better than anyone that they’re all raised with the same twisted morals. To them, women are either tools or pawns, something they can use to broker deals or strengthen alliances," I said, my voice hardening with frustration.

I grabbed my laptop from the desk and powered it on. "If you think they’re going to treat us differently, you're being naive." As soon as the screen lit up, I opened the browser and began typing, searching for any information I could find on Raffaele and Michael, the men we'd been promised to.

"Andrea, you don't know that for sure. Maybe they’re different. Maybe they're not like the men we’ve heard about," she said, still clinging to the faint hope that our situation wouldn’t be as dire as it seemed.

I shot her a skeptical glance. "Different? Do you seriously believe that? The only thing that sets them apart from the rest of the Mafia is their names. Raffaele, Michael... It doesn’t matter. They’re all the same. Ruthless. Cold. We’re just business transactions to them."

Christina wrapped her arms around herself, visibly uneasy. "But what if... what if there’s more to them? What if we’re wrong?"

I sighed and returned my focus to the laptop. "I wish we were wrong, Christina. But I’m not taking any chances. We need to know who these men are—what they’re capable of. I won't let us walk into this blind."

The browser loaded, and I immediately switched to the images tab. There, staring back at me, was a family portrait.

At the center was John Luciano, the current leader of their empire. To his right stood the man I was destined to marry—Raffaele Luciano. He towered over everyone in the photo, easily the tallest man I’d ever seen. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, his dirty blonde hair was slicked back with precision, accentuating his sharp, chiseled features. His eyes, a deep shade of blue, were striking but utterly devoid of warmth. They were cold, distant, and unfeeling, like staring into a void.

On John’s left was Michael Luciano—the man Christina was supposed to marry. Though slightly shorter than Raffaele, his presence was just as commanding. His posture alone radiated authority, an aura of control surrounding him. His hair was dark, darker than Christina’s chocolate-brown locks, and his eyes matched Raffaele’s—icy blue, detached, and just as intimidating. Beside him stood Gabrielle, the youngest of the Luciano brothers. He shared Raffaele’s blonde hair, but his hazel eyes were warmer, closer to a soft caramel color. Unlike his brothers, Gabrielle’s eyes held a spark of life, a trace of humanity that seemed absent in Raffaele and Michael.

“Well... they’re handsome, at least,” Christina murmured softly.

I couldn’t help but laugh at that. Out of everything in the picture, she chose to focus on the one positive. That was just so like her, always trying to find the silver lining. She had a beautiful heart, pure and hopeful, despite everything.

I wasn’t like that. I couldn’t afford to be. I had watched my biological father beat my mother to death when I was just six. Since then, I had learned one thing: trust men at your own peril. To me, they were all the same.

“Maybe they are good-looking,” I admitted, my gaze lingering on Raffaele’s face. “But look at their eyes, Chris. They’re so cold. So intimidating. There’s not a shred of warmth in them. Gabrielle’s the only one who looks like he could be... decent.”

Christina dropped her gaze to her hands, her earlier optimism fading. She looked so small and fragile in that moment, defeated by the weight of what lay ahead. I couldn’t stand to see her like that, so I knelt down in front of her, taking both of her hands in mine.

“I need you to promise me something,” I said, my tone serious, locking eyes with her.

She looked up, her eyes wide and worried. “What is it?”

“No matter what happens, if he ever hurts you, you’ll tell me. We’ll figure something out. We’ll run away, or come up with another plan. But I need to know. I’ll protect you, no matter what. I love you more than anything, and I just need to hear you say that if you're ever in trouble, you’ll come to me. Promise me that.”

Her eyes glistened with tears, and she nodded before pulling me into a tight, heartfelt hug. "I promise," she whispered.

I held her close, feeling the weight of that promise settle between us. Whatever happened next, I wouldn’t let anyone—especially the Luciano brothers—tear us apart.

We were interrupted by a knock at the door. On the other side stood our so-called mother. She was a fragile, broken woman who had never lifted a finger to protect us. She would let us endure anything—beatings, insults—just to save herself.

“I’m terribly sorry about the news,” she began, her voice light and insincere. “But you girls are marrying up. You’ll have more respect, wealth, and prestige. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Christina forced a smile, always the peacemaker, while I simply rolled my eyes.

For the next ten minutes, she droned on with her hollow sympathy, telling us how fortunate we were to be marrying into such a prestigious family. When she finally left, I could breathe again. I hated how she pretended to care, as if she had ever done anything to shield us from this world.

I knew she didn’t have much power in this society, where women were treated as accessories rather than people. But no real mother would stand by and let her daughters be beaten or be sold off like this, let alone act like it was some kind of blessing.

My mother hadn’t. And look where that got her. Six feet under, a voice in my head reminded me bitterly. I pushed the thought aside, not wanting to feel the weight of it all.

“Let’s go shopping,” I said, forcing a grin. “I’m picking out a dress that’ll really piss off my ‘adorable’ future husband.”

Christina shook her head at my antics but couldn’t hide the small smile on her face. “You’re impossible, Andrea.”

“Maybe. But at least I’ll have some fun with it,” I said, grabbing my bag. We needed a distraction, and this was as good as any.