Vera
I ate breakfast alone, and I couldn't have been more grateful for the peace. Nonno and Ettore's father had left earlier, and Ettore's younger brother disappeared somewhere soon after. Ettore himself stalked off deeper into the mansion when his grandfather and father refused to take him to work.
Before leaving, Nonno instructed the servants to prepare whatever breakfast I wanted. One woman, clearly the head of the staff, stepped forward, and he pulled her aside. He whispered something to her, too soft for me to catch, and she nodded quickly before bowing in respect.
Then he turned back to me.
He didn't say a word, just gave me a slow, knowing smile before walking out – a smile that sent a chill straight down my spine.
One of the servants, a woman in a crisp black uniform, her peppered hair pulled into a neat bun, approached me and quietly asked what I wanted for breakfast. She had a polite, gentle air about her, and I didn't have the heart to be rude.
I lost my appetite after hearing about the so-called honeymoon, "A toast and a strong coffee," I told her softly.
She studied me for a few seconds before letting out a subtle sigh. "I will bring out everything that has been prepared for you, madam. You may choose whatever you like from there." She bowed respectfully and walked away.
I frowned. Prepared for me? What did that even mean?
A few minutes later, several servants emerged, each carrying trays and polished dishes. They moved around me in a smooth, practiced rhythm, arranging everything on the long dining table until it was filled.
My jaw nearly dropped.
There was everything – fresh pastries still warm from the oven, delicate slices of prosciutto, wheels and wedges of cheeses, bowls of olives glistening in oil, a vibrant fruit platter, artisan breads, pitchers of fresh juices, an array of homemade cakes sliced into elegant pieces, and more condiments and spreads than I could name.
"What…?" I whispered, staring at the feast as if it might swallow me whole.
"Madam, would you like the barista to brew a fresh cappuccino for you?" the head servant asked.
I blinked at her. "Barista? You have your own barista?"
She gave a soft, polite chuckle. "Yes, of course," she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Umm… sure," I said with a small nod. She smiled politely, bowed, and walked away, leaving the other servants positioned around me like silent statues. They stood stiffly, eyes lowered, clearly waiting for me to choose so they could serve me.
"Umm, it's okay. I can take what I need," I told them with an awkward smile.
They didn't move. Not a single one. They stayed exactly where they were, rigid and obedient, as if my words were irrelevant.
Fine. I decided not to push it.
I reached for some bread, spreads, cheese, olives, fruit… anything I knew I could eat. Surrounded by all this food, my hunger suddenly returned with full force. After I finished eating, the head servant returned, carrying my cappuccino with both hands. She placed the cup gently in front of me.
I offered her a small smile. "Thank you." She bowed again before stepping back, leaving me alone with the warm cup and the heavy, watchful silence of the mansion.
I was halfway through the most delicious, soul-hitting cappuccino I had ever tasted when the lady returned. "Madam?" she said softly, making me look up at her. "There is something Senior Moretti asked me to give you." I frowned slightly, my brows drawing together. She must be talking about Nonno. I gave her a slow nod.
She handed me an envelope. It has "Dear Vera" written on it.
"What is this?" I asked, inspecting the plain beige envelope.
"I have no idea, Madam," she replied. "He only asked me to give it to you."
I looked up at her and offered a soft smile. "Thank you." Then I squinted a little. "I didn't get your name?"
"It is Alda, Madam." She bowed, her hands clasped politely in front of her, and just like that, she walked away.
I opened the envelope the moment Alda disappeared down the hallway, curiosity getting the best of me. Inside was a stack of cash, ten thousand dollars. My stomach twisted. Why would he give me money? A part of me wanted to be offended, but before that feeling could settle, I noticed a folded piece of paper tucked beside the bills.
A handwritten letter. I unfolded it carefully and began to read.
Dear Vera,
In my family, it is customary for the elders to gift money to the new bride or groom. We waited for you at the breakfast table, but you never came. It is understandable. This is all new to you, and you are unfamiliar with the rules and customs of this household.
One meal we always share together is breakfast. I expect you to join us every day.
We welcome you into our family wholeheartedly, and we hope you will accept us the same way. This marriage exists to maintain harmony between your family and mine. I expect you to honor this truce and try to live among us as one of us.
I know you and Ettore may feel burdened by this union, but I have faith that love will find you both sooner than you expect. For now, all I can ask is that you try.
I have instructed Alda to look after you.
Welcome to the family.
Love,
Nonno
(Riccardo Moretti)
Love will find you both sooner than you expect. Those words lodged in my throat like a stone. Love? What love? How was I supposed to fall in love with a man like Ettore? How was I supposed to even scrape together an ounce of respect for a family like the Morettis?
How was I supposed to adjust to this life… to these people… who feel nothing like home?
Riccardo's gesture was meant to be kind, I know that. Sweet, even. But all it does is make my skin crawl. I can't imagine ever blending into this world. I don't come from perfection, far from it, and maybe that's exactly why I've always kept my distance from people like them. They were acquaintances, nothing more. Faces I recognized, not a family I wanted to belong to.
How am I supposed to feel at home in a house where I am unwelcome… and where I can't help but hate everything around me?
I didn't know what else to do, so I retreated to my room. I was exhausted… physically drained, sleep-deprived, emotionally raw. I needed rest. I stepped into the room and, thankfully, Ettore wasn't there. I closed the door behind me and collapsed onto the bed, letting out a quiet sigh. For a few minutes, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, my mind wandering in a restless, aimless swirl.
As fiercely as I tried to act, a part of me wanted to stay as far away from this family as possible. Every face in this house was a reminder of how I had been dragged into their world, used as bait, pushed into their schemes, forced into a role I never agreed to. The thought stung so sharply that my eyes filled with tears. If I had known this was the plan for me, I would have run.
The idea almost made me laugh. Run away? Where would I have gone? They would have found me anywhere. I was doomed long before this marriage, born unlucky, the girl with a life no one would ever want to trade for.
Sure, everything seemed calm on the surface. The Morettis were either civil with me or ignored me altogether. But that did not mean I was safe. Something was cunning, something off, about Riccardo Moretti. The way he looked at me felt like he knew. Like he knew everything about me, even things I did not dare admit out loud.
I shut my eyes as tears slipped down my cheeks. Somewhere between those spiraling thoughts, sleep pulled me under, along with the nightmares that never failed to find me.
I was in a narrow corridor behind the club, the walls washed in pulsing red and green light. I had pushed through the back door, desperate for air. The music inside was too loud, the crowd too suffocating, and whatever I drank was making my head spin violently. Nausea clawed up my throat as I stumbled down the tight alley.
Then I heard it. Heavy footsteps. Fast. Certain.
He had noticed I slipped out.
He had followed me.
Panic shot through me, and I tried to move faster, but my skull felt like it was splitting open, my vision wobbling as the world tilted sideways. Before I could escape, a disgustingly warm and familiar hand wrapped around my wrist and yanked me back hard.
I gasped as my back hit the wall. A tall, solid figure loomed over me, blocking out the lights. The reek of weed, alcohol, and that musty cologne told me exactly who it was.
I tried to shove him away, to twist free, but he pinned me in place.
"Where the fuck do you think you're running off to, bitch?" he hissed, his hot, foul breath hitting the side of my neck.
"You always act so strong. Let me show you who's really strongest," he murmured, chillingly calm. His hand clamped onto my chin, fingers digging in painfully. I tried to turn my head, but his grip held me still. Before I could scream, before I could do anything… I woke up.
I jerked upright with a strangled gasp, tears streaming down my face. I clawed for air, choking on the memory. These weren't nightmares. These were memories I kept reliving, wounds that refused to close.
Everything was blurry. For a moment, I didn't know where I was. The room spun, shadows bending in and out of focus. Someone stood in front of me, near the bed, but I couldn't process who it was. All I could do was fight to breathe.
Then it hit me.
The Moretti mansion. My marriage. Ettore's room.
My vision finally steadied, and I froze.
Ettore stood in front of me, his expression hollow, his posture rigid. And in his hand, pointing at me, was a gun.
He looked completely lost.