Chapter 6: The Marriage Shackle
Aria:
The second slap never landed.
Isabella's hand shot out and caught our father's wrist mid-swing, her grip iron-tight despite her slender fingers.
"Enough," she said, her voice low and dangerous.
Father's face turned purple. "Let go of me."
Isabella released his wrist with a sharp motion that sent him stumbling back a step. She positioned herself between us, her posture rigid.
"She was out late," Isabella said firmly. "That's all. She's home now."
"Out late? In clothes I've never seen?" Father's eyes raked over me, lingering on Caterina's borrowed dress. "Looking like—"
"She was invited to the Castellano residence," Isabella cut in.
The words fell like stones into water.
Father's face went through several colors—red, white, then a mottled purple.
"The Castellanos," he repeated slowly, each syllable sharp as a blade. "You were at Vito Castellano's residence? At this hour?"
"Don Salvatore arranged it," I said, keeping my voice steady.
"Don Salvatore." Father's laugh was ugly. "So now you're dropping names like you have connections? Like you're something more than what you are?"
I felt the familiar anger flare in my chest—hot and acidic. I wanted to glare at him, to ask why Isabella could have connections but I couldn't, why everything I did was shameful while everything she did was admirable.
But I was so fucking tired.
Tired of fighting. Tired of defending myself to a man who'd decided I was worthless the moment I was born.
So instead, I just looked at him. Let my gaze meet his without flinching, without apologizing.
"Don't you dare look at me like that," he hissed. "You think because the Castellanos invited you somewhere, that makes you important? You're still the bastard daughter of a servant who spread her legs for money."
Fuck you, I thought viciously. Fuck you and your pathetic need to remind me every single day.
But I didn't say it. What was the point? He'd just find another angle, another reason. He always did.
"The Mancini family has expressed interest in a marriage alliance," Father continued, his voice cold. "Their fourth son. The meeting is next week."
There it was.
I felt Isabella stiffen beside me, but I wasn't surprised. Not even a little.
Of course Father had arranged a marriage without telling me. That's exactly what he'd done in my last life too—announced my engagement to Nicola Mancini like I was furniture being relocated.
And I'd been so angry. So humiliated. I'd fought and screamed and made scenes. I'd tried to seduce Marco first, then when that failed, I'd set my sights on Vito Castellano himself.
And I'd died in his bed with a bullet in my brain.
"When you're married to the Mancinis," Father was saying, "you can stay out as late as you want and embarrass their family instead of ours. But until then, if you come home past midnight again, I'll make sure you regret it."
He turned and stalked toward his study.
Isabella's hand found mine as we climbed the stairs.
"Aria, I didn't know about the Mancinis—"
"It's fine," I said flatly.
"It's not fine. A marriage alliance without even asking you—"
"Bella." I stopped on the landing. "I'm really tired. Can we talk about this another time?"
Her face crumpled with worry. "But—"
"Please." My voice came out sharper than intended. "I just need to be alone right now."
She hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Okay."
I made it to my small room and locked the door.
The shower water ran scalding hot, and I stood under the spray trying to wash away the exhaustion.
In my last life, I'd come back from Sicily at twelve—angry, grieving, desperate for Father to see me as more than a mistake. I'd thought if I was good enough, smart enough, helpful enough, he'd love me the way he loved Isabella.
So I'd tried everything. Top marks in school—ignored. A perfume design Isabella loved—unnoticed. But one night out late studying, and he'd beaten me so badly I couldn't sit for a week.
At first, I'd thought it meant he cared. That his anger proved I mattered, even if it was negative attention.
But then I realized: Father would find a reason to punish me no matter what I did.
Quiet and obedient? "Sullen and ungrateful." Spoke up? "Disrespectful and shameless." Tried to help? "Overstepping your place." Kept to myself? "Useless and lazy."
And when I'd finally snapped and asked him why—why he could forgive Isabella's mistakes but not mine, why he spoke about my mother like she was garbage—he'd slapped me hard enough to split my lip.
"Your mother was a whore who trapped me," he'd said coldly. "And you're her bastard. That's all you'll ever be."
After that, I'd stopped trying. If I was going to be punished anyway, I might as well do what I wanted. I'd started acting out—staying out late, talking back, spending recklessly, making scenes. If Father was going to call me shameless, I'd give him reasons.
And then he'd announced my engagement to Nicola Mancini.
The fourth son. Not even important enough to inherit anything significant. Father was literally throwing me away.
So I'd fought. Screamed. Refused.
And when that didn't work, I'd tried to find my own way out. First Marco—who'd laughed in my face. Then Vito Castellano.
I'd died in his bed. A bullet through my skull.
I'd woken up four years earlier.
I turned off the water and dried myself mechanically.
This time would be different. This time I wouldn't fight the marriage. The Mancini territory was farther from New York, and Nicola as a fourth son wouldn't have the same scrutiny.
It was perfect, actually. I could play dutiful wife, save money, and when the gang war broke out in three years—when all the families were too busy killing each other to notice—I'd run.
Switzerland. Somewhere far away.
I just needed to survive three years.
I pulled on an old t-shirt and climbed into bed, reaching for my phone.
I should check the racing results. I'd placed bets this afternoon based on my last-life memories—small amounts, nothing that would draw attention, but enough to confirm whether my knowledge was still accurate. Four years was a long time. What if things had already changed? What if the timeline had shifted somehow and my memories were useless?
Please let it be right. Please let me still have this advantage.
The screen lit up.
Friend Request from V.C.
My heart stopped.
