The moment I stepped out of my room, ready to head downstairs for dinner, Dario was already waiting in the hall. He stood with his hands clasped neatly behind his back, dressed in a bespoke black suit that fit him like it had been sewn directly onto his skin. The soft hallway light catching on the faint twist of his mouth, something between restraint and amusement.
I can't help but wonder whether what had happened between us on the training mat had shifted something in him. Last night and the night at the party, he had been distant, which I preferred. But ever since that training session we've had, the composed gentleman standing outside my door made me question whether I've miscalculated, when I extended that offer of marriage.
Still, I slipped into the role expected of me, no point in backing out now.
I placed my hand in the crook of his arm, letting him guide me down the corridor toward the dining hall, where soft chatter and the clink of crystal signaled that our guests had already begun to gather.
Grandpa had decided, on a whim, to host an intimate dinner for the Familigia tonight to formally announce our engagement. So after that training session with Dario, I headed straight into the shower. When I finally stepped out, still dripping, my usual hair and makeup team was already waiting, ready to sculpt me into a polished version of myself, flawless enough to look effortless.
"You look beautiful," he said, as we descended the stairs, his voice warm, deliberate.
Instead of a full-length dress my stylist had chosen earlier, I've opted for something simpler, cleaner. A soft white dress that fell just below my knees, cinched with a brown belt that shaped my waist without suffocating it. Elegant, but practical. My auburn hair had been curled into a loose, low ponytail that draped over one shoulder, leaving the other side bare and exposed.
"Thank you," I murmured, offering him a faint, practiced smile.
"I heard your bodyguard call you 'Sol'. Is that your nickname?"
"It was, when we were children," I said. "Isolda felt too formal for a ten-year-old to answer to."
His gaze dipped to me, curious. "May I call you that as well?"
"You can," I said, steady, the word landing with more weight than I intended.
Dario's arm tightened just slightly beneath my hand, enough for me to feel the shift in him before he spoke.
"You know," he murmured, his voice dipping lower as we reached the final few steps, "I meant it when I said I wanted this partnership to work."
I shot him a sidelong glance, a quick, sharp cut of my eyes. "Isn't that exactly what we're doing?"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he held my stare for a moment longer than I was comfortable with. So I looked away, my jaw tightening, heat crawling up my neck.
"No, Sol. That's not what you're doing," he said quietly. "You've been wearing a mask since the day we met, and lately it feels like you're adding layers. I can't help but wonder..." His voice softened, just slightly. "Who am I going to marry?"
A dry, humorless breath escaped me as I lifted my chin and faced him head-on. "Someone powerful, Dario. Someone who's going to strengthen your territory and secure your dynasty. A partner. That's what I promised you. I never offered anything beyond that."
I didn't bother to wait for his reply after that. I simply turned and moved ahead, keeping my steps measured even though my pulse hadn't quiet settled. He didn't say another word, just followed beside me with his jaw locked tight, as he led us toward the formal dining room. An entirely different one from where we'd had dinner the night before.
This one was bigger. Colder. Like it was meant for power, not comfort.
The double doors were already open when we approached. The low hum of conversation evaporated the moment we crossed the threshold. Dozens of faces turning toward us, from the elders, captains and our most trusted allies. Their expressions shifted in unison. Polite smiles that didn't quite reach their eyes, curiosity shaped into something predatory.
Dario straightened subtly beside me, slipping into the role they expected of him. I lifted my chin, my gaze finding my grandfather's at the head of the table. His expression brightened the moment he saw us, pride and relief flickering through his eyes.
"Ah, finally," he said, rising just enough to command the room without relinquishing his authority. He gestured to the empty seats on his right. "Come. Sit. We have been waiting for you."
Dario moved first, stepping behind my chair next to my grandfather, to pull it out for me.
I sat, smoothing my dress as if it could flatten the lingering friction between us. Only then did he took his place beside me. Every movement deliberate, controlled.
The moment we were seated, Grandpa pushed himself slowly to his feet. The room then quieted, not that it had been loud, but a different kind of silence that settled. One woven with respect.
He hands leaned against the table, due to the weak leg and scanned the faces of the families who had served, fought and bled with ours.
"Thank you," he began, his voice carrying effortless along the long table, "all of you, for coming on such short notice."
A few murmurs of acknowledgement rippled through the room.
"I know your time is valuable," he continued, his voice steady but warm, "and I do not take lightly the effort it takes to gather at my table on such short notice. But tonight is important. Tonight marks the beginning of a new chapter for both the Ricci and Bianchi families, as well as our entire Famiglia."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before his gaze shifted to Dario and I.
"I am proud," he said, his tone softening just enough for the words to land deeply, "that my granddaughter, Isolda Ricci, will soon be married to the new consigliere of New York, Dario Bianchi, whose father largely-contributed so much to our Famiglia. May he rest in peace."
Grandpa lifted his glass, and the others followed. Already measuring what this union might mean for them, their alliances and their futures.
Beside me, I felt Dario's shoulders tense. Just barely. Though he smoothed it over with a practiced, diplomatic smile alongside mine.
"To their union," he declared, his voice carrying easily through the hall. "May it strengthen our Famiglia, honor the legacy of those who came before us and secure the future we have fought so hard to build. And may the children they bring into this world carry our name with pride, and with power."
The words struck like a blade sliding through my ribs.
My spine stiffened. A tight, hot ache bloomed in my chest. Sharp and immediate. The mention of children, of the future I was expected to create, twisted something deep inside me before I could swallow it down.
I forced my breath to remain even. Forced my expression to stay serene, not to flinch.
Beside me, Dario shifted just enough for me to feel him noticing. But he said nothing.
Grandpa took a sip, satisfied, before lowering himself back into his chair with the weary grace of a man, who had seen decades of victories and losses.
The moment he sat, it was like the room exhaled.
Conversations resumed in careful waves. Forks scraping plates, political whispers threading through the room once more. I took a careful sip of my wine, trying to tamper down my nerves.
Still, that ache in my chest lingered. Silent, persistent and impossible to ignore.