Chapter 3 Promises and Warnings

Lizzie Foster

Nothing in the world is capable of describing the pain of losing someone. There is no formula, no word, no gesture that can truly translate the emptiness that settles in when someone we love is gone.

My father tried to prepare me for his absence. I was never ready.

Cancer took from me the only man who truly understood me. My safe haven.

We collected precious memories. He was feared as a mafia boss—cold, ruthless—but inside our home he was loving, respectful, and careful.

My mother died giving birth to me. It was just the two of us. I grew up with the silence of her absence and the constant grief in his eyes. Daddy never got involved with another woman. The pain of losing her stayed with him until the end. He kept an old photograph of her in his wallet and still listened to the record she loved, as if those songs were the only way to keep her alive in his mind and heart.

I long to find a love as intense as the one he felt for her. I can remember perfectly the way his eyes shone when he told me about the day he met her, all the emotions he felt, the moment he knew she would be his soulmate.

For a long time, I carried the weight of having lost her in order to be born. He used to tell me it wasn’t my fault, that things happen the way they are meant to happen. He was good with words. Brilliant in a way few people are.

Their marriage was arranged, just as mine will be. My father promised me I would have someone to take care of me, someone who would keep me from feeling alone.

Frank guarded my reputation like a treasure. He didn’t want to hand me over to just any man, but he demanded absolute respect from anyone who dared to want me.

It’s been six months since he passed, and the emptiness he left behind only keeps growing. The house is too big, too empty, and all I hear all day is the sound of the staff’s footsteps.

He used to say I should get married, have children. That children keep us company, just as I had kept him company for so many years.

We were inseparable.

My father taught me everything: how to fight, how to cook, how to drive. How to be independent—not only from him, but from anyone.

There is a man taking over the responsibilities of my father’s business.

Salvatore.

My guardian.

My father and he were friends. Maybe Salvatore was one of the best friends he ever had, because Frank never trusted many people.

During my childhood, I saw my father’s best friend only a few times. I can count them on my fingers: he would show up at my birthday parties, stay for a short while, and leave behind an expensive but impersonal gift. He was never an attentive “uncle.” In fact, I got along better with Victor. I always had the impression Salvatore didn’t like me… My father used to make me think it was just his way.

My guardian will stay here until I get married. Until another man takes responsibility for me. The power my father held will be transferred to my future husband.

I admit Salvatore’s presence bothers me more and more.

Ever since he arrived, everything has changed.

I have a set time to eat.

I can’t go anywhere without a security convoy.

I’m watched, corrected, monitored.

Salvatore is like a stone in my shoe. Always ready to give me another lecture.

Sometimes I wonder if he even has a heart. Or if life itself took care of freezing whatever was there.

I step out of the car with my heels in my hands. I would have preferred my boots. The hem of my dress drags across the pavement stones. My hair spills over my shoulders, messy from the night wind.

"Is that look on your face because of Damien?" The voice comes from behind me, firm and rough, like something hard striking concrete.

I stop. Slowly, I turn to face him.

It’s Salvatore in his dark suit, his merciless face lit by the faint light. His hair is beginning to show signs of time, silver threads at his temples. His jaw is sharp. His eyes, hard as steel.

He and my father had a ten-year age difference. By the time I was born, the two of them had already known each other for years.

Okay… maybe I need to admit it: behind that hard, impenetrable shell, he’s handsome. Too handsome for his age, actually.

I shake my head, trying to drive away the useless thought.

"What’s your problem with him?" I ask, not bothering to hide my irritation. "You don’t have to like him, but he’s the man my father chose for me. He’s going to be my husband."

He slips his hands into his pockets, leaning forward slightly.

"Your father trusted me to take care of you. I’m your guardian," he says, staring straight into my eyes. "So I suggest you watch your tone with me, Lizzie. I don’t like your fiancé for very clear reasons… you’re just too blind to see them."

I hate that. I hate when he leans on my father’s authority as if it were a throne he never stepped down from.

My father trusted Salvatore blindly. He thought Salvatore would be my protector, my guide, but making him my guardian… that wasn’t such a wise choice.

Salvatore is many things. Protective, perhaps. Fair, sometimes. But never impartial.

Every time I mention Damien’s name, he changes.

His voice grows harsher, his eyes narrow, his jaw locks.

He hates my fiancé.

My happiness seems to irritate him.

Even the visits in the garden, which he used to allow, have become scarcer over the past three months.

Salvatore subtly tries to cut off every bond that brings me closer to Damien.

He does everything he can to make me give up on the wedding.

Why?

"You’re not going to change your mind about the wedding, are you?" The doubt gives me away, leaves me far too vulnerable in front of him. "You can’t go against the agreement. It was made between my father and the tribunal," I add.

"I’ll honor your father’s wishes and marry you off."

For a moment, I can breathe. A brief, fragile relief…

"Try being a little colder with Damien, Lizzie. Men only want sex. Nothing else," he finishes.

My relief doesn’t last.

That second part is cold. Cruel. Like a whip straight across my conscience.

I roll my eyes, feeling struck.

Salvatore’s view of Damien is completely different from mine.

With me, Damien is gentle. He flatters me with sweet words, swears he’s in love, says he dreams of our wedding day, that he’ll protect me from everything.

He isn’t only interested in my virtue… he isn’t.

At least, that’s what I keep trying to tell myself.

My father would never have chosen a bad man. He chose Damien because he believed he was a good one.

Salvatore is wrong.

"He’s not like that…" I say, trying to defend the little certainty I have left.

The man in front of me looks at me with pity, and an alarm goes off in my mind.

"He’s not? They all are. If you say he doesn’t think about taking you to bed before the wedding, you’d be lying." His tone cuts with mockery. "I don’t know what kind of fairy tale you think you’re going to live with him. But I can assure you, your life with Damien won’t be made of freedom. He won’t stay faithful to his vows. And maybe… he’ll become aggressive with you."

A chill runs down my spine.

"You’re scaring me."

"Someone has to," he answers dryly. "You’re young and naïve. You don’t understand anything about life."

"My father promised me to him, Salvatore! We got to know each other… we fell in love," I protest.

"In love?" He spits the words with contempt. "You’re in love with a man who spends time with you and then goes to bed with other women? You need to rethink your definition of love."

"I…" My voice dies in my throat.

I know Damien has lovers. I know the strange perfume on his clothes, the times he shows up late to our meetings… but I convinced myself it didn’t matter. He promised me that after the wedding, everything would change. But hearing it from Salvatore’s mouth, the truth feels like an open wound. I didn’t care before, and now, with him saying it, it sounds absurd.

"You don’t have an answer, do you?" he presses, sarcastic. "He cheats on you as nothing more than your fiancé… imagine what he’ll do as your husband."

"You just want to poison my mind!" I shoot back, though my voice trembles. "Damien was my father’s choice for me."

"Your father didn’t know what he was doing, Lizzie. He just didn’t want you to be alone." His voice drops, heavy as a threat. "I can put an end to this. All you have to do is ask. One word from you… and I’ll destroy all of it."

I swallow hard. I don’t dare say aloud what I’m thinking: How? By turning the marriage agreement into a massacre? I know him well enough to know he never makes empty threats. He keeps every promise, even the cruelest ones.

"I want to get married," I say at last, firmly, hiding the panic eating me alive inside. "I’m going to honor what my father chose."

I slowly turn away. Lowering my head, I start walking inside, still clutching my heels in my hands.

Thoughts storm through my mind.

Instinctively, I grab the locket hanging from my neck and take a deep breath.

I’m afraid.

Afraid of ending up alone.

I’m desperate for the idea of a happy ending, for a love that will hold me, for a man who will truly love me. I’ve dreamed of that since I was fifteen. Maybe it’s naïve… or maybe it’s just my heart trying to protect itself.

Maybe I’m accepting so little from Damien, settling for scraps, only because I believe I’m honoring what my father wanted for me. And above all, because I’m alone. Deep down, I think that if I get married, at least I’ll have a husband… I won’t have to live in loneliness.