Chapter One
Olivia
Spring
I dragged my eyes from my brother’s plate to mine. His roast beef and vegetables were almost gone except for a chunk of meat drowning in a pool of gravy. The sight made my mouth water and it took everything in me to turn away. He was going to waste it because he didn’t understand what it felt like to be hungry. He’d set his silverware aside and leaned forward to place his elbows on the table, conversing quietly with my father.
Focusing on my own food, I picked up my fork again and poked at the limp salad on my plate. It was a diet night, which meant my mother had the cook serve me salad instead of the meal everyone else was eating. Then, to add to the humiliation, she measured and weighed me before bed and wrote down my numbers so she could compare them when next week came. I hated it with a passion.
All to keep me thin and desirable for Lucien Esposito, my arranged fiancé. A man I was supposed to marry. A man I had never met.
A phone rang sharply, the sound splitting through the enormous dining room. My brother, Cosimo, stood up and pushed back his chair, taking his phone from his pocket as he stepped out into the hall. I kept my eyes on my plate, resentment swelling in my chest. If I had dared to bring my phone to the table, my father would have thrown it out the window and probably hit me across the face.
“Olivia.”
I looked up to find my father’s steel gaze boring into me. He was a terrifying underboss and an even more frightening father. From the sleek black hair speckled with gray, to the dark gray eyes, to his broad shoulders, all the way down to his polished shoes, he was an imposing figure. His soldiers fell in line before him, terrified that he might look at them the wrong way.
“Yes,papà,” I whispered.
“Speak up, I can never hear you,” he said, wiping his hands on his napkin and tossing it aside.
“Learn to use your words, Olivia,” my mother chimed in.
I wanted nothing more than to glare at her. My mother was the living nightmare that plagued me daily. She’d once been a great beauty, but living under my father’s tyranny had aged her early. Nothing in the world was more important to my mother than looks and she transferred all her horror at aging into forcing me to become the perfect mafia princess for my betrothed.
I hated her and I wasn’t ashamed of it. When I looked across the table and met her glassy, dark eyes, I felt nothing but a deep contempt. She was so desperate, so cruel, and years of living under her thumb had worn away any chance at love.
She had measured, starved, manicured, and shamed it out of me.
“Lucien wants to see you,” my father said calmly, as if this wasn’t enormous news.
Lucien Esposito, my fiancé, rarely made an appearance in my father’s territory. But his presence loomed large over every aspect of my life. An Esposito husband was a sought after commodity for any of the young women within the outfit. They were well respected, ridiculously wealthy, and above all, the boss favored the two Esposito brothers over any of the other families.
My mother was elated when the boss, Carlo Romano, urged a match between our families, the Barones and the Espositos. It would strengthen ties and, although no one would say it out loud, force my father into a greater allegiance to Lucien, encouraging peace between the territories.
At the time, Lucien had been in his late teens and I was still a baby. So my parents met with Lucien’s parents and they agreed their children would wed when I was of age and seal the bond between our territories. Although it would take years to complete the contract, simply having the engagement in place solidified relations and put the capo’s mind at ease.
Rumor had it that Lucien wasn’t thrilled by the prospect of being my husband. He’d delayed it for an additional year instead of marrying me after my eighteenth birthday. He rarely visited, and when he did, I was kept away from him. The last time I had laid eyes on him was a funeral for one of his soldiers and he pointedly avoided me for the ceremony and left abruptly afterward.
“Why is Lucien coming here?” I asked, forcing myself to speak up.
“He wants to talk to you. You need to become formally engaged,” my father said. “It’s time.
I opened my mouth to reply, but my mother cut in.
“I’ll have someone come to the house to do your hair and nails. And I’ll pick something out for you to wear that’s suitable. Oh, and better not eat too heavily for the next few days, you don’t want to bloat.”
I dropped my face, a pang going through my chest. Lunch had been steamed broccoli without butter and dinner was salad with two strips of grilled chicken and no dressing. I was lightheaded and the prospect of more days like this turned my already sour stomach.
“When is he coming?” I asked.
“On Sunday night,” my mother said eagerly. She jumped to her feet. “Speaking of, I have a few things to run over with the cook before she leaves tonight. Dinner needs to be perfect Sunday.”
I was dying to make a snarky comment. What if dinner wasn’t perfect? Did she think Lucien was going to stand up, overturn the table, cancel his engagement, and march out never to be seen again? Internally, I rolled my eyes. She probably did think that. After all, she’d spent my teenage years hammering it into my head that if I gained a pound over where I should be on her chart, Lucien would call off the wedding.
I excused myself and went up the back staircase to my bedroom. When I slipped inside and shut the door, I noticed a pillow was out of place and my heart leapt, knowing what that meant.
I locked my door behind me and went to my bed, flipping over the pillow to reveal a square package wrapped in wax paper. Stomach rumbling, I snatched it up and went into the bathroom, locking the door and sliding down against it. Then I peeled back the paper to find a sandwich—toasted pastrami on rye with a slice of Swiss cheese. It smelled like heaven.