I Married You For Your Brother’s Face

The University Gala was an annual torture I usually engaged in strictly for appearances, a mandatory penance for the sake of the Falcone family image.

This had always been Dante's domain.

He had been the scholar, the diplomat who charmed donors and commissioned libraries, while Luca was the blunt instrument who broke kneecaps in the alleyways.

I wore black.

A floor-length velvet gown hugged my curves, a dark armor designed to conceal the invisible fractures in my spirit.

I stood near the champagne tower, a silent observer watching the elite of Chicago mingle like sharks in a tank.

"Elena."

I stiffened.

Luca appeared at my side, his hand settling heavily on the small of my back.

It wasn't a caress; it was a brand. A claim of ownership.

On his other arm hung Sofia.

She was wearing red. A bright, screaming scarlet that clashed violently with the sombre elegance of the evening.

"Look who decided to come out of her cave," Sofia cooed, sipping her champagne with a predatory glint in her eyes. "I told Luca you probably wouldn't fit into your dress anymore. You've been looking... thick lately."

I instinctively moved my hand to my stomach, then stopped, forcing my fingers to unclench.

"I'm fine, Sofia. Just admiring the architecture."

"Boring," she yawned. "Dante used to love this stuff, didn't he? All these dusty books and old buildings."

Luca's hand on my back tightened painfully, his fingers digging into my flesh.

He hated hearing Dante's name.

He hated the constant reminder that he was the spare, the brute, the second choice for everyone-including his own father.

"Let's eat," Luca gritted out.

Dinner was a farce.

Luca spent the entire meal feeding Sofia grapes from his plate, a grotesque display of affection that blatantly ignored the senators and judges attempting to curry his favor.

I sat in silence, dissecting my steak into tiny, precise squares.

"Excuse me," I said, standing up abruptly. "Restroom."

I needed to breathe.

The restroom was empty, a sanctuary of cold marble and gold leaf.

I splashed freezing water on my face, trying to calm the frantic rhythm of my heart.

The door opened.

Sofia walked in.

She didn't use the toilet. Instead, she leaned against the sinks, crossing her arms with a smirk.

"You know he doesn't love you, right?" her voice echoed off the pristine tiles.

"I know," I said, reaching for a paper towel.

"He keeps you around because of the name. Vitiello money launders better than anyone. But in bed? He calls for me."

"Congratulations," I said, moving toward the exit. "You can have him."

She stepped sideways, blocking my path.

"I don't just want him, Elena. I want the ring. I want the house. I want you erased."

"Then convince him to sign the papers."

"Oh, I have a better way."

She pulled out her phone, tapping it against her chin. "I've been leaking info to the Russians. Just small things. Enough to make Luca paranoid. Soon, I'll plant the evidence on you."

My blood ran cold.

"You're betraying the family? That's a death sentence, Sofia."

"Only if I get caught. And Luca? He's so wrapped around my finger he can't see straight."

She laughed, a sharp, brittle sound.

Then, her eyes flicked to the door.

Without warning, she threw herself backward.

"Ahhh!" she screamed, flailing her arms theatrically before crashing onto the floor. "Elena, no!"

The door burst open.

Luca.

He took in the scene instantly, his judgment clouded by instinct.

Sofia lay on the floor, sobbing, clutching her cheek. Me, standing over her, frozen.

"She hit me!" Sofia wailed. "She said I was a whore and slapped me!"

Luca's face contorted into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury.

He didn't ask what happened.

He didn't look at me for an explanation.

He crossed the room in two predatory strides and shoved me.

"Get away from her!" he roared.

The force was overwhelming.

He didn't mean to push me that hard-or perhaps, in his blind rage, he did.

I stumbled back.

My heels caught on the edge of the plush rug.

I lost my balance.

Behind me gaped the small flight of marble stairs leading down to the lounge area.

I flailed, grasping at the empty air.

"Luca-"

I fell.

My body struck the hard stone steps.

One. Two. Three.

Agony exploded in my side. My head cracked against the iron railing with a sickening thud.

I landed at the bottom in a crumpled heap of black velvet.

The world spun violently.

A sharp, cramping pain seized my abdomen, tearing through me like a hot knife.

"No," I whispered, clutching my stomach. "No, no, no."

Luca stood at the top of the stairs, helping Sofia up.

He glanced down at me.

His eyes were cold, void of any recognition.

"Consider that a lesson," he spat. "Touch her again, and I'll kill you."

He turned and walked away, cradling Sofia as if she were made of spun glass.

He left me there.

Bleeding.

Alone.

I reached for my purse, my fingers trembling so violently I could barely unzip it.

I didn't call Luca.

I didn't call my family.

I dialed emergency services.

"Please," I whispered into the phone, darkness creeping into the edges of my vision. "Save my baby."