THALIA

I didn't sleep.

How could I? Every time I closed my eyes I saw it again. The door opening, the shadow, Rafael's body jerking on top of mine. Seven times. I kept counting them in my head like some kind of sick mantra.

Rosa had put me in a guest room after the bath. Clean sheets, soft pillows, everything perfect and untouched. It felt wrong. Rafael was dead down the hall and I was supposed to just lie here in the dark and rest? The whole thing was insane.

Around three in the morning I gave up trying. Got out of bed and walked to the window. The Torrisi compound stretched out below, I couldn't help but stare at the manicured gardens and security lights. Guards were everywhere now, way more than earlier. They moved in pairs, talking into radios, checking shadows. Locking the barn after the horses already ran off. Or got shot. Whatever.

My reflection in the glass looked like a stranger. Rosa had braided my hair to keep it out of the way while she cleaned me up, and I was wearing some borrowed nightgown that was too big. I looked about sixteen. Tiny and lost and completely out of my depth.

A knock on the door made me jump.

"It's me," Rosa said softly.

"Come in."

She entered carrying a tray. Tea, from the smell of it. "Couldn't sleep either?"

"No." I turned away from the window. "Is there news? Did they find who did it?"

Rosa set the tray down on the nightstand. Her hands were steady but her eyes were still red and swollen. She'd been crying. Of course she had. Her son was dead. "Marco is handling the investigation. Your father is on his way here."

Great. Exactly what I needed. Dad storming in, probably thinking I'd screwed up the one job he'd ever asked me to do. Marry Rafael. Make peace. Don't ruin everything. Well, I'd spectacularly failed all.

"Salvatore wants to see you in the morning," Rosa continued. "He has questions."

"I already told Marco everything I saw."

"You told him you saw a shadow." She handed me a cup of tea. "Salvatore will want more."

"There isn't more. It happened so fast." My hand shook holding the cup. Tea sloshed over the rim, burned my fingers. I set it down before I dropped it.

Rosa sat on the edge of the bed. For a minute she just looked at me, studying my face like she was trying to figure something out. "Do you know why Salvatore agreed to this marriage?"

The question caught me off guard. "To end the feud. Same reason my father agreed."

"That's part of it." She folded her hands in her lap. "But Salvatore also did it because Rafael asked him to."

"What?"

"My son came to his father six months ago. Said he wanted out of the family business. Wanted to build something more... legitimate. Salvatore refused, of course. The Torrisi legacy is everything to him. So Rafael offered a compromise. He'd stay, he'd do his duty, he'd marry into the Corsini family to secure peace. But after that, he wanted freedom to pursue other ventures. Better, legal, non-violent ones."

I sat down in the chair by the window. This was news to me. During our engagement Rafael had mentioned wanting to do things differently eventually, but I'd thought he meant years down the line. Not right away.

"He never told me any of this."

"He wouldn't have. You were the bargaining chip, not the confidante. Not yet anyway." Rosa's voice was gentle but the words still stung. "I'm telling you because I want you to understand something. Rafael chose you. Not because he loved you, not yet. But because he saw a way out and you were part of it. He would have protected that chance with his life."

"He did protect it with his life."

"Yes." She stood up, smoothed her dress even though it was already perfectly smooth. A nervous habit maybe. "Which is why Salvatore is going to want answers. His son died protecting a Corsini. That sacrifice needs to mean something or it was all for nothing."

After she left I sat there thinking about what she'd said. Rafael had his own agenda. His own plans. And I'd been completely clueless about all of it. We'd had dinner three times during our engagement, talked on the phone maybe twice. Awkward conversations about music and movies and surface level stuff. He'd seemed nice. Reserved but kind. I'd thought maybe we could make it work.

Turned out he'd been planning an exit strategy and I was just part of the process.

The sun came up around six. I watched it rise over the compound, orange and red bleeding across the sky. Appropriate colors for a morning after a murder.

Someone brought me clothes around seven. Black dress, simple and conservative. Mourning clothes. I put them on feeling like I was playing dress-up in someone else's tragedy. Except this was my tragedy too now, wasn't it? I was Rafael's widow. That made his death mine to grieve even though I barely knew him.

Marco came to get me at eight.

"Salvatore is waiting," he said. No good morning, no how are you holding up. Just straight to business.

I followed him through the compound. We passed the bedroom where it happened. The door was closed now, crime scene tape across it. I made myself look away.

Salvatore's office was on the ground floor, overlooking the back gardens. He was standing at the window when we entered, hands clasped behind his back. He didn't turn around.

"Leave us," he told Marco.

Marco hesitated. "Boss, maybe I should..."

"Leave. Us."

Marco left. The door clicked shut and I was alone with my father-in-law. Former father-in-law? Was there a term for this situation?

"Sit." Salvatore still wasn't looking at me.

I sat in one of the leather chairs facing his desk. The office was furnished with dark wood and expensive art, the kind of room designed to intimidate. It was working.

Finally Salvatore turned around. He was in his late fifties, silver hair slicked back, face that probably had been handsome before age and grief carved lines into it. He'd aged ten years overnight. I could see it in the shadows under his eyes, the way his shoulders sagged.

"My son is dead."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Sorry." He said the word like he was tasting something bitter. "You're sorry. How generous."

I didn't know what to say to that so I kept quiet.

Salvatore moved to his desk, pulled out a folder. Dropped it in front of me. "Security footage from last night. Or what little we have of it. Someone disabled cameras in the bedroom wing from eight-forty-five until nine-fifteen. Right around the time of the shooting."

I opened the folder. Inside were printouts of grainy surveillance images. Hallways, stairwells, the garden where the reception was held. Nothing useful that I could see.

"Whoever did this knew our security system," Salvatore continued. "Knew exactly which cameras to disable and when. That suggests inside help."

"You think someone in your family helped kill Rafael?"

"I think someone wanted my son dead or my alliance with the Corsinis destroyed. Possibly both." He leaned against the desk, arms crossed. "Tell me again what you saw."

I went through it one more time. The door opening, the shadow, the gun. Rafael throwing himself in front of me. The shots. All seven of them. The blood. The waiting. The eleven minutes it took for help to arrive even though I was screaming the entire time.

Salvatore's jaw tightened. "Eleven minutes."

"Yes, I know it took some time but I heard Marco say eleven minutes."

"This compound has forty-two guards on duty during events. Someone should have reached you in under two minutes." He straightened up. "Yet it took eleven. Why?"

"I don't know."

"Because someone delayed the alert. Someone made sure help wouldn't arrive in time." He came around the desk, stood over me. Not threatening exactly but definitely intimidating. "My son died in those eleven minutes, Mrs. Torrisi. He might have survived if medical help had arrived sooner."

Mrs. Torrisi. The name felt like a slap. I was a widow before I'd even gotten used to being a wife.

"I didn't delay anything," I said. "I was screaming for help. I wanted someone to come. I wanted Rafael to live."

"Did you?"

The question hung in the air between us. He was asking if I'd wanted my husband dead. If this whole thing had been a Corsini setup and I was the bait.

"Yes." I met his eyes. "I didn't love him, we barely knew each other. But I didn't want him dead. He saved my life. The bullets were meant for me."

"Marco's theory."

"It's not a theory. Look at where I was lying on the bed, where Rafael was standing. The shooter was aiming for me."

Salvatore studied me for a long moment. I couldn't read his expression at all. Finally he nodded, just barely. "You're aware that tradition demands the alliance be maintained."

It took me a second to understand what he meant. When I did, my stomach dropped. "You can't be serious."

"Rafael is dead. His twin brother Dante is next in line. You will marry him to preserve the alliance between our families."

"But.... But that's insane." I sputtered.

"That's tradition." He walked back to his desk, sat down. Picked up a pen like we were discussing business contracts instead of my life. "The wedding will take place in three days. Small ceremony, immediate family only. Marco will handle the arrangements."

"Dante hates me."

"Dante hates everyone. He'll adjust." Salvatore started writing something, effectively dismissing me. "You're a Torrisi now, Thalia. That comes with obligations. You'll fulfill them."

I stood up. My legs felt like water but I made them work. "And if I refuse?"

Salvatore looked up. His eyes were cold, flat. Dead. "Then the alliance fails, my son died for nothing, and I'll make sure your father understands exactly who's responsible for starting the war that follows. Do you want that blood on your hands?"

No. I didn't. But I also didn't want to marry Dante, who looked at me like I'd personally murdered his twin.

"Three days," Salvatore repeated. "Marco will escort you back to your room."

The door opened. Marco must have been waiting right outside. He put a hand on my elbow, guided me out into the hallway.

"He's grieving," Marco said quietly as we walked. "He doesn't mean half of what he says right now."

"Which half?"

Marco didn't answer that.

Back in my room I locked the door and sat on the bed. Three days. I had three days before I married Dante Torrisi, the most violent enforcer in the family. The man who'd barely looked at me during the wedding reception yesterday. The man whose twin brother had died in my arms.

This was going to be a nightmare.

My phone buzzed. Text from my brother Nico: Dad's coming. Brace yourself.

Perfect. Just what I needed.

I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Twenty-four hours ago I'd been getting ready for my wedding, nervous but hopeful. Now I was a widow planning a second marriage to a man who probably wanted me dead.

Rosa was right about one thing though. Rafael's sacrifice had to mean something.

I just had no idea what yet.

THALIA

My father arrived the way he always did when he was pissed off, loud and impossible to ignore. I heard him before I saw him, his voice carrying through the hallways of the Torrisi compound as he demanded to see me immediately. Rosa had tried to give me breakfast earlier but I couldn't eat, my stomach was too twisted up in knots thinking about what was coming. Now it was here.

The door to my room swung open without a knock. Dad stood there looking older than I remembered, his salt and pepper hair more salt than pepper now, lines around his mouth deeper. Behind him were my brothers. Nico first, twenty-eight and already taking over parts of the family operations. Then Vincent, twenty-six and always spoiling for a fight. Finally Luca, twenty-four and the most level-headed of the three even though that wasn't saying much.

"Out," Dad told them without looking back.

My brothers hesitated but they knew better than to argue when he used that tone. They filed out and the door closed again, leaving me alone with Domenic Corsini and whatever lecture he'd prepared during the drive over.

He didn't say anything at first. Just looked at me standing there in my borrowed mourning clothes, probably seeing all the ways I'd disappointed him. I'd always been good at disappointing him, ever since I was sixteen and decided I wanted to study art instead of business. Since I refused to learn the details of family operations. Since I tried to run away with that boy from college and Dad had to clean up my mess.

"Tell me exactly what happened," he said finally.

So I did. Third time now telling this story and it didn't get any easier. The wedding night, the conversation with Rafael, the door opening, the gun, Rafael covering me with his body. The seven shots. The blood. All of it spilled out while Dad stood there with his arms crossed, face getting harder with every detail.

When I finished he was quiet for a long moment. Then he walked to the window and looked out at the grounds like they held some kind of answer he needed.

"Salvatore thinks you were the target," he said.

"Marco said the same thing."

"Which means someone wanted to destroy the alliance by killing you on Torrisi property. Make it look like they couldn't protect a Corsini under their own roof." He turned back to face me. "You understand what that means, Thalia? Someone wanted to start a war. And they almost succeeded."

I sat down on the edge of the bed because my legs were starting to shake. "Salvatore wants me to marry Dante. To keep the alliance intact."

"I know. He called me this morning." Dad came closer, stood right in front of me. "Is that what you want?"

The question surprised me. Since when did what I wanted matter to Domenic Corsini? He'd arranged my first marriage without asking my opinion. Had my college boyfriend killed and forced me to terminate my pregnancy, then locked me away in Switzerland for a year when I couldn't handle it. My wants had never been relevant before.

"Does it matter what I want?" I asked.

"Answer the question."

I thought about it. Really thought about it instead of just reacting. Did I want to marry Dante? No. Obviously not. The man looked at me like I was something he'd scraped off his shoe. But staying married into the Torrisi family meant I could figure out who'd killed Rafael. Who'd tried to kill me. If I went back to Boston, back to my father's house, I'd never know. I'd spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder waiting for the next attempt.

"I want to know who did this," I said. "I want to know who pulled that trigger and why they wanted me dead. And I can't find out if I'm back home being protected and kept in the dark like always."

Something shifted in Dad's expression. Not quite approval but close to it. "So you'll marry him."

"I'll marry him. But I need something from you first."

His eyebrows went up. I'd never negotiated with my father before. Never had the guts to try.

"I need you to teach me," I continued. "Not everything, I know you won't do that. But basics. How to protect myself. How to read people in this world. How to understand what's really happening instead of just the version everyone shows me."

Dad studied me for a long moment. I could see him weighing options, calculating risks, doing whatever mental math he did when making decisions. Finally he nodded once, sharp and decisive.

"Nico will work with you. He's better at the details than I am anyway." He moved toward the door. "And Thalia? Don't trust anyone in this house. Not Rosa, not Marco, not even Dante. Someone here helped carry out your husband's murder. Until we know who, everyone's a suspect."

He left before I could respond. My brothers came back in immediately after, probably because they'd been standing right outside the door eavesdropping.

"So you're really doing this?" Nico asked. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed in that way that reminded me so much of Dad it was almost creepy. "Marrying the psycho twin?"

"Dante's not psycho," Luca said. "He's just intense."

"He's killed like thirty people," Vincent added. He said it casually, like he was commenting on the weather. "Personally. With his own hands."

"Twenty-three," I corrected without thinking. Rafael had mentioned it during one of our engagement dinners, talking about his brother with this mixture of pride and concern that I hadn't fully understood at the time. Now I wondered if Rafael had been trying to warn me about something.

All three of my brothers stared at me.

"What? Rafael told me." I stood up, suddenly restless. The room felt too small with all of them in here. "Look, I don't love this plan any more than you do. But someone tried to kill me last night and they're probably going to try again. At least here I can figure out who and why."

"You can't figure it out if you're dead," Vincent pointed out.

"That's why Nico's going to help me not die."

Nico pushed off from the wall, came closer. He had Dad's eyes, calculating and sharp. "You understand what you're asking for? Once you start learning this stuff, you can't unlearn it. You can't go back to pretending you don't know how the family works."

I'd been pretending my whole life. Pretending I didn't know what Dad did for a living. Pretending my brothers had legitimate jobs. Pretending the money that paid for my art supplies and college tuition came from legal sources. I was so tired of pretending.

"I don't want to go back," I said.

Something passed between my brothers, some silent communication I couldn't read. Then Nico nodded.

"Okay. We'll start tomorrow. Basic security protocols first, then we'll see how fast you pick things up." He glanced at his watch. "For now, get ready. Salvatore wants the whole family together for dinner tonight. Both families. It's going to be awkward as hell."

That was an understatement.

They left me alone to get ready. Rosa had arranged for some of my clothes to be brought over from my father's house, so at least I didn't have to wear borrowed things anymore. I chose a simple black dress, nothing fancy. Put my hair up because I was sick of it getting in my face. Added minimal makeup because I looked like shit without it.

The girl in the mirror looked composed. Put together. Like someone who had her life under control instead of someone whose husband had died in her arms less than twenty-four hours ago.

Fake it until you make it, right?

THALIA

Dinner was in the formal dining room, a space that probably seated forty people comfortably but tonight only held about twenty. The Torrisis on one side, the Corsinis on the other, with Salvatore at the head of the table and my father at the foot. Very symbolic. Very tense.

I ended up seated between Rosa and Nico, across from me sat Dante.

I'd only seen him briefly at the wedding reception yesterday. He'd been in the corner with some other men, drinking and looking bored with the whole thing. Now I got a much better look and immediately understood why people found him intimidating. He was identical to Rafael in terms of features, same bone structure and coloring, but everything else was different. Where Rafael had been polished and controlled, Dante was rough. There was a scar cutting through his left eyebrow from something violent. His hands were scarred too, knuckles that had been broken and healed wrong. He wore his grief like armor, face completely shut down, jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping.

He looked at me exactly once when I sat down. His eyes were the same brown as Rafael's had been but colder, empty. Then he looked away and didn't acknowledge me again.

Great start to our future marriage.

Salvatore stood up with a wine glass in hand. Everyone went quiet.

"We gather tonight in mourning," he began. His voice was steady but I could hear the strain underneath. "My son Rafael was taken from us in an act of cowardice. He died protecting his wife, upholding the values we hold sacred. Honor. Loyalty. Family." He paused, looked directly at me. "The alliance between our families was bought with Rafael's blood. We will not let that sacrifice be meaningless. In three days, Thalia Corsini will marry Dante Torrisi. The bond will hold."

My father raised his glass. "To Rafael. And to the alliance."

Everyone drank. I forced down the wine even though it tasted like ash.

Dinner was served and people started talking in low voices, careful conversations that avoided mentioning the obvious. The murder. The investigation. The fact that everyone in this room was probably a suspect. I pushed food around my plate and tried to look like I was eating.

Rosa leaned closer to me. "Dante will come around," she whispered. "He's angry now but it will pass."

I glanced across the table. Dante was staring at his plate like it had personally offended him, not eating anything either. "He blames me."

"He blames himself more." Rosa set down her fork. "They were twins. He thinks he should have known something was wrong. Should have been there to protect Rafael instead of you."

That made a twisted kind of sense. I was the outsider, the stranger who'd been thrust into their family. Of course Dante would rather his brother had died protecting literally anyone else.

Halfway through the meal, Giulia appeared. I'd met Rafael's younger sister briefly at the wedding reception. She was nineteen, beautiful in that effortless way some people just are, with long dark hair and their mother's green eyes. Tonight she looked awful. Eyes red and swollen, face pale, movements jerky and uncertain. She sat down next to Dante without a word.

He immediately put his hand on hers. The first soft gesture I'd seen from him. She gripped his fingers tight enough that her knuckles went white.

"You should eat something," he told her quietly.

"Can't." Her voice was barely audible. "Every time I close my eyes I see him."

I understood that feeling perfectly. Apparently we had something in common after all.

Salvatore was watching his daughter with concern that looked almost painful on his hard face. "Giulia, perhaps you should rest."

"I'm fine, Papa." She wasn't fine. Anyone could see that. But she picked up her wine glass with a shaking hand and drank anyway.

The dinner dragged on for another hour. People were just going through the motions, pretending this was normal when nothing about it was normal. Finally Salvatore stood and dismissed everyone. My family would be staying at a hotel nearby for the next few days, but I was expected to remain at the compound. Officially it was for my protection. Realistically it was so Salvatore could keep an eye on me.

I was heading back to my room when someone grabbed my arm. I turned and found myself face to face with Dante for the first time since the wedding.

Up close he was even more intimidating. Taller than Rafael had been, or maybe he just seemed that way because of how he carried himself. His hand on my arm was firm but not painful.

"We need to talk," he said.

"Okay."

He led me down a hallway I hadn't been in before, to what turned out to be his office. Dark wood, leather furniture, weapons displayed on the walls. Very different from Salvatore's polished space. This room looked lived in, used. There was a jacket thrown over one chair and papers scattered across the desk.

Dante closed the door behind us and leaned against it, arms crossed. "I don't want to marry you."

"The feeling's mutual."

"But we're going to do it anyway because my father demands it and your father agrees." He moved away from the door, walked to the bar cart in the corner and poured himself a drink. He didn't offer me one. "So let's establish some rules. This is a business arrangement, nothing more. We share a name and that's it. Don't expect me to touch you or spend time with you or pretend this is anything other than what it is."

"Which is?"

"A political move to salvage an alliance that should have died with my brother." He drank, his eyes never leaving my face. There was nothing soft in that gaze. Just cold assessment. "You'll have your own room. Your own life. Stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours."

It should have been a relief. He was offering me exactly what I needed, space to investigate and freedom to move around. But something about the way he said it, like I was a problem that needed managing, made me angry.

"Your brother died saving me," I said quietly. "I didn't ask him to. I didn't want him to. But he did it anyway and now I have to live with that. So don't act like I'm the enemy here, Dante. I'm just trying to survive like everyone else."

He laughed. Actually laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Survive? You want to talk about survival?" He set his glass down hard enough that I heard it crack. "My twin brother is dead. The person I shared a womb with, who knew me better than anyone, is gone. And the last thing he did was throw himself in front of bullets meant for a woman he'd known for three weeks. So forgive me if I'm not particularly sympathetic to your survival story."

"I was there," I said. My voice was shaking now. "I was underneath him. I felt every bullet hit. I heard him die. Don't you dare act like you're the only one who lost something."

"Lost something?" He moved closer, got right in my face. "You lost a stranger you were forced to marry. I lost my brother. They're not the same thing."

"No, they're not. But that doesn't mean..."

"It means I don't want to hear about your feelings or your trauma or whatever else you think we're going to bond over." He stepped back, his expression completely closed off. "You're a Corsini. For all I know, you set this whole thing up. Maybe you and your family wanted the alliance to fail. Maybe Rafael was the target all along and you played victim perfectly."

I stared at him. "You actually think I had something to do with it."

"I don't know what to think. All I know is my brother is dead and you're still breathing." He walked to the door, opened it. "Three days. Then you're my wife on paper and nothing else. We don't talk unless we have to. We don't touch. We don't pretend this is real. You exist in this house and that's it. Are we clear?"

My hands were shaking. I wanted to scream at him, wanted to tell him exactly what I thought of his accusations. But what was the point? He'd already decided I was guilty of something.

"Crystal clear," I said.

"Good." He gestured to the open door. "Get out."

I walked past him, my shoulder brushing his as I went. He didn't move, didn't give me any extra space. I could feel the heat coming off him and smell whatever cologne he wore mixed with whiskey. Up close like this, the resemblance to Rafael was almost painful.

But Rafael had been kind. Dante was ice.

I made it three steps down the hallway before I heard his door slam behind me. The sound echoed through the empty corridor.

I stood there for a second trying to get my breathing under control. My chest hurt. My eyes were burning but I refused to cry. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction even though he couldn't see me.

He thought I'd killed Rafael. Or helped kill him. After everything I'd been through, after holding his brother while he bled out, Dante actually believed I could have been involved.

I walked back to my room in a daze. Rosa had left a lamp on for me, which was thoughtful. The bed was turned down. Everything looked peaceful and normal. But nothing was normal. Nothing would ever be normal again.

I sat on the edge of the bed and put my head in my hands. Three days. I had three days before I married a man who hated me. Who thought I was a murderer. Who would spend the rest of our lives making sure I knew exactly how unwanted I was.

This was going to be hell.

But I'd made my choice. I was staying. I was going to find out who killed Rafael and prove to everyone, including Dante, that I had nothing to do with it.

Even if it meant living with someone who despises me.