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.

THALIA

The chapel was small. Salvatore made sure of that, like he wanted to keep this wedding as quiet as possible, a shameful thing done in the dark. There were maybe thirty people scattered in the pews, most of them wearing expressions that ranged from uncomfortable to openly hostile. My family sat on one side, the Torrisis on the other, and the divide between them felt like a chasm nobody wanted to cross.

I stood in the back room alone, staring at myself in a full-length mirror that had probably seen better, happier brides. The dress Rosa had arranged for me was simple. Black, because apparently wearing white twice in one week when your first husband died on your wedding night was too much even for this world. The fabric was nice, expensive, but it hung on me wrong. Everything felt wrong.

My hands wouldn't stop shaking. I pressed them flat against my thighs, tried to steady myself, but it didn't work. Three days ago I'd married Rafael. Three days ago I'd watched him die. And now I was about to marry his twin brother, who hated me so much he could barely stand to be in the same room as me.

This was my life now.

The door opened without a knock. Rosa stood there in a dark green dress, her face carefully composed in that way people do when they're trying not to show you how much they pity you.

"It's time," she said softly.

I nodded because what else was I supposed to do? Argue? Run? I'd already agreed to this nightmare.

Rosa walked me down the short hallway to the chapel doors. There was no music, no processional, nothing that made this feel like an actual wedding. Just Rosa's hand on my arm and the sound of our heels clicking against marble floors that echoed too loud in the silence.

"He'll come around," Rosa whispered just before we reached the doors. "Dante isn't as hard as he pretends to be."

I didn't believe her but I appreciated the lie anyway.

The doors opened and I saw him.

Dante stood at the altar next to a priest who looked about as thrilled to be here as I felt. Dante wore a black suit, perfectly tailored, and he stared straight ahead like I wasn't even walking toward him. His jaw was set so tight I could see the muscle jumping. The scar through his eyebrow looked even more pronounced in the candlelight, making him look dangerous and unapproachable and nothing like Rafael.

Rafael had smiled at me during our wedding. Nervous but genuine. Like maybe we could make this work.

Dante looked like he was attending an execution. Maybe his own.

I walked down the aisle with Rosa beside me because my father had refused to give me away twice. Said once was enough, said this second marriage was Torrisi business and he'd already done his part. So Rosa played the role, delivered me to Dante like a package nobody wanted.

When we reached the altar, Rosa stepped back. I stood next to Dante, close enough that I could feel the heat coming off him, and he still wouldn't look at me. Just kept his eyes fixed on some point above the priest's head.

Salvatore sat in the front pew. He'd aged ten years in three days. The man who'd buried his son was now marrying off his remaining son to that same son's widow, and there was something deeply wrong about all of it that nobody wanted to acknowledge out loud.

The priest started talking. I didn't hear most of it. Something about marriage and duty and family. The words ran together into white noise. I was too focused on Dante's complete stillness beside me, the way he held himself like he was carved from stone.

We got to the vows. The priest asked Dante if he took me as his wife.

Silence.

It stretched out for three seconds too long. Long enough that people started shifting in their seats. Long enough that I felt my face go hot with humiliation.

Finally Dante said, "I do." Flat. Emotionless. Like he was confirming a business transaction.

The priest turned to me. Asked if I took Dante as my husband.

I looked at Dante's profile, this man who blamed me for his brother's death, this man I was about to legally bind myself to, and I wanted to scream. Wanted to run. Wanted to do anything except say the words that would trap me here.

But I'd already made my choice. I was staying. I was going to find out who killed Rafael.

"I do," I said.

My voice came out steadier than I felt. Small victory.

The priest blessed our union with all the enthusiasm of someone reading a grocery list. Then came the part I'd been dreading. The rings.

Marco stepped forward with a small box. Opened it. Inside were two plain gold bands, nothing like the ornate rings Rafael and I had exchanged. These were simple, functional, cold.

Dante took my hand without looking at me. His fingers were warm and calloused and they wrapped around mine with clinical efficiency. He slid the ring onto my finger like he was checking off a box on a to-do list. The metal was cold. It felt like a shackle. I guess it is in a way.

I took his ring with shaking hands. His hand dwarfed mine, scarred knuckles and long fingers that had definitely killed people. I slid the band on and it fit perfectly. Of course it did. Someone had measured, had planned this, had made sure everything would go smoothly even though nothing about this was smooth.

"You may kiss the bride," the priest said.

Dante finally looked at me. For the first time since I'd walked down the aisle, his eyes met mine. They were the same brown as Rafael's but completely different. Cold where Rafael's had been warm. Empty where Rafael's had shown kindness.

He leaned in. I held my breath.

His lips brushed mine for maybe half a second. Barely even contact. So fast I almost thought I'd imagined it. Then he pulled back, jaw still tight, and turned away from me to face the sparse crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the priest said with obvious relief that this was almost over, "I present Mr. and Mrs. Dante Torrisi."

No applause. Just silence and the sound of people standing up, ready to leave as fast as possible.

I stood there next to my new husband who was already walking away from me, heading down the aisle without waiting, without offering his arm, without acknowledging I existed. I watched him go, watched him shake hands with Salvatore, watched him head straight for the exit.

Rosa appeared at my side again. "Come on, cara. There's a small reception."

"He left."

"I know."

"He just married me and walked away."

Rosa's hand tightened on my arm. "He's grieving. Give him time."

Time. Right. Like time would make Dante stop hating me. Like time would make this marriage anything other than a prison sentence we were both serving.

The reception was held in one of the compound's dining rooms. Salvatore had set out food and wine like this was a normal celebration and not the saddest thing I'd ever been part of. My family clustered on one side, the Torrisis on the other, and nobody mixed. Nobody talked. We all just stood there with drinks we weren't drinking and food we weren't eating.

Dante wasn't even there.

I'd been married to him for twenty minutes and he'd already disappeared. I wanted to laugh. Or cry. Maybe both.

Nico found me standing alone near the windows. "You okay?"

"Does it matter?"

He studied my face. "Dad wants to know if you need anything."

"A time machine would be nice."

Nico almost smiled. "Fresh out of those."

Across the room, Salvatore was talking to Marco in low, intense tones. They kept glancing at me. I was definitely the topic of conversation. Probably discussing how to handle their new daughter-in-law who was clearly not welcome but couldn't be gotten rid of without destroying the alliance.

"Where did Dante go?" I asked.

Nico shrugged. "Dante does what Dante wants. Always has."

"That's comforting."

"Look, I'm not going to pretend this situation doesn't suck. It does. But you knew what you were signing up for." Nico's voice was matter of fact, not unkind but not particularly sympathetic either. "You wanted to stay, to.... investigate. This is the price. Though honestly I don't know if you had much of a choice and dad wasn't forthcoming with his thoughts."

He was right. I had chosen this. Didn't make it easier.

The reception lasted maybe an hour before people started making excuses to leave. My father shook Salvatore's hand with the enthusiasm of someone touching a dead fish. My brothers each hugged me, told me to call if I needed anything, and left looking relieved to be escaping. Even my own family couldn't wait to get away from me.

Eventually it was just me, Rosa, Salvatore, and Marco in that too-big dining room with barely touched food and full wine glasses.

"Rosa will show you to your room," Salvatore said and then left.

Rosa led me through the compound's winding hallways. We climbed stairs, turned corners, walked past closed doors and family photos that felt like they were judging me. Finally she stopped at a door at the far end of a long corridor.

"This is you," she said, opening it.

The room was nice. Bigger than the room I had at my father's house. Queen bed with expensive linens, furniture that matched, windows overlooking the gardens. It was also completely impersonal, like a hotel room. Nothing in here suggested anyone actually lived here.

"Dante's room is at the other end of the hall," Rosa continued. "You'll have privacy."

Privacy. That was one word for it. Isolation was another.

"Thank you," I managed.

Rosa hesitated in the doorway. "I know this isn't what you wanted. But you're part of this family now. We take care of our own."

She left before I could point out that Dante clearly didn't see me as family. Didn't see me as anything except an obligation.

I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the ring on my finger. Mrs. Dante Torrisi. The name felt foreign. Wrong.

Someone had brought my things from my father's house. My clothes hung in the closet, my toiletries arranged in the bathroom. Someone had unpacked for me, made this space ready, and I hadn't even been here to see it happen.

I changed out of the black dress into pajamas even though it was only seven in the evening. Washed my face. Braided my hair. Went through all the motions of normal life while feeling completely numb.

The room had a lock on the door. I used it.

Then I lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling and tried to process the fact that I'd just married a man who hated me, who'd left me standing alone at our wedding reception, who couldn't even look at me during our vows.

This was going to be so much worse than I'd thought.

My phone buzzed. Text from Nico: Security is tight. You're safe there.

I texted back: Safe from who?

Three dots appeared, then disappeared. No response.

Great. Even my brother wouldn't tell me who I needed to be afraid of.

I thought about getting up, about exploring the compound, about trying to start my investigation into Rafael's murder. But exhaustion pulled at me like a weight. I'd been running on adrenaline for days and it was finally catching up.

Tomorrow. I'd start tomorrow.

I closed my eyes and tried not to think about Dante somewhere in this massive house, probably relieved to be away from me. Tried not to think about Rafael, about how different this should have been. Tried not to think about the fact that someone had tried to kill me and I was now living in a house full of possible suspects.

Sleep didn't come easy but eventually it came.

I dreamed about gunshots and blood and shadows in doorways. Woke up twice gasping, heart pounding, convinced someone was in the room with me. But the door was still locked. I was alone.

Around three in the morning I gave up on sleep entirely. Got out of bed and went to the window. The compound grounds were lit up, security lights everywhere. I could see guards patrolling, pairs of men walking the perimeter. All this protection and Rafael had still died.

A movement caught my eye. Someone was walking across the lawn toward the main gate. Even from this distance I recognized the build, the way he moved. Dante.

I watched him get into a car and drive away into the night. He'd been my husband for less than twelve hours and he was already running.

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass and wondered what the hell I'd gotten myself into. Wondered if I'd survive long enough to find Rafael's killer. Wondered if Dante would ever stop hating me or if this cold distance was all I had to look forward to. To be honest I hate him too for all the reasons he hates me and more

The ring on my finger caught the light from outside. Gold band, simple and plain, binding me to a man who couldn't stand to be in the same room as me.

This was my life now.

And I had no idea how to survive it.