I ignored the desperate plea in Nico's eyes.
"Papa," I said, turning to my father, "please make the arrangements. I won't have this family be a laughingstock."
Back in my room, portraits lined the walls. These were the suitors my father had handpicked for a potential alliance. Heirs to fortunes, business tycoons, rising political stars. My gaze was drawn straight to the most unassuming one, tucked away in the corner.
Caspian Thorne. New York's most notorious playboy—the young Don of a rival family, known for his decadent lifestyle.
My father had likely hung his portrait there as a last resort, a backup not even worth considering.
"Dante," I called. Our family's Consigliere, Dante Ricci, entered, the shock of the recent scene still etched on his face.
"Contact the Thorne family. Tell them I accept the proposal," I ordered.
Dante's eyes widened, but he offered no questions, just a sharp nod before he departed.
Before nightfall, I heard footsteps in the garden. I knew it was Nico. I remained in the pavilion, my fingers curled around a teacup, and waited.
He stood before me, his eyes bloodshot and raw.
"Why?" Nico’s voice was a ragged whisper.
I set down my teacup, my gaze level. "Why what?"
"Why are you doing this to me?" His voice trembled. "Aurora, I know you're angry, but—"
"But what?" I cut in. "You brought a pregnant woman to my home, knelt before my father, and begged to marry her. Was I supposed to smile graciously and give you my blessing?"
Nico’s face was pale. "It's not like that. Please, let me explain—"
He fumbled in his jacket and pulled something out. A St. Christopher's medallion, worn so smooth I knew he'd kept it close to his heart.
"You gave this to me. For three years, I never took it off. I never forgot you, Aurora," Nico said.
I reached out, took the medallion, and weighed it in my palm. Then I flicked open a lighter and held the silver disc over the flame.
The metal began to warp, then melt, molten droplets sizzling as they hit the stone table.
"I don't want tainted things. Or tainted people," I said flatly. The color drained from Nico's face, his body swaying as if struck.
Just then, Sierra appeared, rushing to steady Nico's arm. She looked at me with wide, innocent, doe-like eyes.
When she spoke, her voice was a sickeningly sweet confection, laced with a triumph she couldn't quite hide. "Aurora, Nico truly missed you. Every night, he'd stare at your picture and whisper your name."
Sierra then produced an old, cracked phone. The screen showed my chat history with Nico—a stream of encrypted messages I’d sent over three years. All unread.
"Nico's phone was broken, so he never got any of them. Such a shame," she added, victory glinting in her eyes.
I smiled. "Since when does an outsider have the right to speak on Valachi family matters?"
I nodded to the guards behind me. "Get them out of my sight."
The guards stepped forward at once.
Nico looked like he wanted to fight, but his gaze met my cold, unyielding stare. He deflated, allowing himself and Sierra to be escorted away.
...
The next day, a commotion erupted from beyond the garden wall. A guard hurried in, breathless. "Miss, someone's just come over the back wall."
My pen hovered over the ledger. Unbelievable. Who would dare break into the Valachi estate in this day and age? I set my pen down and rose slowly.
In the backyard, a man was sprawled on a deck chair as if he owned the place. He wore a lurid purple suit, a cigar dangling from his lips, legs crossed with unnerving ease.
