Sofia wasn't told much—just that there was a lunch at the villa, and she was expected to be there.
Again.
She stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the pale blue dress that had been laid out for her. Her reflection stared back with wide, tired eyes rimmed faintly with dark circles. She'd barely slept.
The tension of every day hung on her like invisible chains.
As she stepped into the sunlit dining room, the voices fell quiet.
At the head of the table sat a man she hadn't met before.
Older. Graying temples. Sharp dark eyes.
He looked like a king—one who didn't bother to disguise his disdain.
Next to him, Alessandro sat stone-faced, sipping water like this was any other meal.
"There she is," the older man said. His voice was smooth but heavy. "The bride-to-be."
Sofia forced a polite smile and moved to sit beside Alessandro.
The man gave her a once-over. "You're younger than I thought."
"Papà," Alessandro murmured, barely a warning.
Ah.
His father.
That explained the ice in the air.
Sofia's heart thudded under her ribs.
She reached for her water glass, hoping her hands didn't shake as she lifted it.
"So," said Mr. Moretti Sr., folding his hands. "What do you know about the Moretti family, Sofia?"
Her spine straightened. "I... I know it's an old Sicilian family. Influential. Respected."
He raised an eyebrow. "Influential, yes. But respected? That depends who you ask."
A few of the men around the table chuckled.
Sofia didn't. She wasn't sure if it was a joke.
Alessandro said nothing. His fingers drummed lightly on the table.
The silence between them was louder than ever.
His father leaned forward. "What do your parents do again?"
"My father's in construction," she said softly.
"And your mother?"
"She passed away when I was ten."
The man gave a brief nod. "You're not from a connected family."
Sofia's stomach turned. "No, sir."
"I suppose that's the appeal," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Sweet. Uncomplicated."
Sofia looked down at her plate, untouched.
One of the older women asked her a question about the engagement photos—"Were those your earrings or borrowed?"—and she managed to reply, but her voice was barely audible.
It wasn't until one of the men at the far end made a crude joke about Alessandro "finally being tamed" that things got worse.
The table laughed.
Except for Alessandro.
And Sofia.
She kept her face perfectly still, pretending she didn't feel like a glass about to crack.
Then Mr. Moretti Sr. asked the question.
"And what does Sofia bring to the table?"
It was said casually, like asking about dessert.
She looked up, startled.
"I—I'm not sure what you mean."
"Every arrangement benefits both parties. We offer protection. Wealth. A name. So what is it that you offer in return?"
"Papà," Alessandro said again, voice sharper this time.
But his father didn't flinch. "I'm simply curious."
Sofia opened her mouth. Then closed it.
What did she bring to the table? Certainly not power. Or experience. Or even confidence.
She thought of her college plans, shelved indefinitely. Of her old friends who probably believed she'd disappeared. Of Daisy, the only kind voice in recent days.
She forced a smile she didn't feel.
"I'll support Alessandro however I can."
It was a hollow answer.
Everyone knew it. She felt it.
The older man grunted, unimpressed. "Hm."
Alessandro didn't look at her. Didn't defend her. Didn't say a word.
---
After lunch, Sofia escaped to the upstairs corridor, pacing like a trapped animal.
She felt like a child being paraded in a room of wolves. She had nothing sharp enough to protect herself.
She stopped in front of a window overlooking the gardens. The roses bloomed like spilled blood on the hedges.
What does she bring to the table?
The words echoed again and again.
A wave of something ugly built in her chest—shame, frustration, and something dangerously close to fury.
Footsteps behind her made her flinch.
She turned. Alessandro was there, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other holding a glass of scotch.
"They liked you," he said blandly.
She let out a quiet, bitter laugh. "Is that what that was?"
He tilted his head. "My father's never easy on anyone."
"But you didn't say anything."
"Would it have made a difference?"
"Yes," she snapped. "To me, it would have."
His brows lifted. "You want me to coddle you?"
"No," she said, voice rising. "I want you to stop putting me in rooms full of people who think I'm decoration."
A pause.
His tone dropped, cool and sharp. "Then stop acting like one."
The words struck like a slap.
Sofia recoiled, blinking hard.
He exhaled, eyes closing briefly. "That was harsh."
She turned away, not trusting herself to speak.
He stood behind her for a long moment. Then said quietly, "We all have a role to play. This is yours. For now."
Then he walked away, leaving her staring out the window, shoulders stiff, hands clenched.