So the Boss had told my father the wedding had to wait. My own father would have thrown me into the arms of my future husband at this very moment. My husband. The word tasted foreign, bitter. A wave of sickness crashed over me, tightening my throat. I knew only two things about Liam Romano: he would become the head of the New York syndicate once his father retired or died, and he got his nickname "The Vice" for crushing a man's throat with his bare hands.
I didn't even know how old he was. My cousin Rebecca had to marry a man thirty years her senior. Liam couldn't be that old, if his father hadn't retired yet. At least, that's what I hoped. But was he cruel?
He'd crushed a man's throat. He'll be the head of the New York syndicate.
"Dad," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Please don't force me to marry that man."
Dad's expression tightened, his jaw hardening like stone. "You will marry Liam Romano. I shook hands on it with his father, Marcus. You will be a good wife to Liam, and when you meet him for the engagement celebrations, you'll act like an obedient lady."
"Engagement?" I echoed, my voice hollow. A veil of fog seemed to cover my ears, muffling the world around me.
"Of course. It's a good way to establish bonds between our families, and it'll give Liam the chance to see what he's getting out of the deal. We don't want to disappoint him."
"When?" I cleared my throat, but the lump remained. "When is the engagement party?"
"August. We haven't set a date yet."
Two months. That was all the time I had left before I was bound to a stranger. My head nodded numbly, my body moving as if it no longer belonged to me. I had always loved reading romance novels, imagining my own wedding filled with excitement and love. But that had been a foolish dream. A naive fantasy of a girl who hadn't understood the world she lived in.
"So I'm allowed to keep attending school?" The words felt meaningless. What did it even matter if I graduated? I would never go to college, never have a career. My only role would be to warm my husband's bed and bear his children. My stomach churned. My throat burned. But I refused to cry. Dad hated it when we lost control.
"Yes. I told Marcus that you attend an all-girls Catholic school, which seemed to please him."
Of course it did. Couldn't risk me getting anywhere near boys.
"Is that all?" I asked, my voice stripped of emotion.
"For now."
I walked out of the office in a daze, the world around me turning muted, distant. I had turned fifteen four months ago. My birthday had felt like a huge step toward my future, and I had been excited. Silly me. My future was already decided for me. My life was over before it had even begun.
—
I couldn't stop crying. My body trembled as silent sobs wracked through me, my face buried in Savannah's lap. She stroked my hair gently, her fingers weaving through the strands with a tenderness that only made my heart ache more. She was thirteen, only eighteen months younger than me, but today, those eighteen months meant the difference between freedom and a life in a gilded cage. A life in a loveless prison. I tried not to resent her for it. It wasn't her fault.
"You could try to talk to Dad again," Savannah said softly. "Maybe he'll change his mind."
"He won't."
"Maybe Mom will be able to convince him."
A bitter laugh bubbled in my throat, but I swallowed it down. As if Dad would ever let a woman make a decision for him. "Nothing anyone says will make a difference." My voice was raw. Broken. I hadn't seen Mom since she had sent me into Dad's office. She probably couldn't even face me, knowing what she had condemned me to.
"But Emily—"
I lifted my head, my fingers wiping at the tears staining my cheeks. Savannah stared at me with pitiful blue eyes—the same cloudless summer-sky blue as mine. But where my hair was blonde, hers was red. Dad sometimes called her "witch." It wasn't an endearment. "He shook hands on it with Liam's father."
"They met?"
That's what I had wondered as well. Why had he found time to meet with the head of the New York syndicate but not to tell me about his plans to sell me off like a high-class whore? The frustration and despair clawed at my insides, but I pushed them down, locking them away.
"That's what Dad told me."
"There has to be something we can do," Savannah insisted, her brows drawing together.
"There isn't."
"But you haven't even met the guy. You don't even know how he looks! He could be ugly, fat, and old."
Ugly, fat, and old. If only those were the worst things I had to worry about.
"Let's Google him," Savannah said, "There have to be photos of him on the internet."