Page 31 of Forsaken Promises

I know that she’s sizing me up, trying to determine whether I’m worthy of her brother and the Sicura name. And I refuse to be found wanting.

I offer her a polite smile as I take my seat beside Dom, my back straight and my head held high. “Valentina,” I say, my voice smooth and confident. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from Dominico.”

She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow, her lips curving into a small, enigmatic smile. “All good things, I hope,” she says, her tone light but with an undercurrent of steel.

“Of course,” I reply, my own smile never wavering. “Dom speaks very highly of you, and of the important role you play in the family business.”

She nods, her gaze still assessing but with a flicker of something that might be approval. “And I’ve heard much about you as well, Sofia. Your reputation precedes you.”

I feel a bit uneasy at her words, wondering just what kind of reputation I’ve garnered. What has Dominico told her? But I force myself to remain calm, to meet her gaze with a steady one of my own.

“I hope that I can live up to that reputation,” I say, my voice firm and sincere. “And that I can prove myself worthy of the trust and respect of this family.”

Isabela, who has been watching our exchange with a warm, maternal smile, reaches out to pat my hand gently. “I have no doubt that you will, my dear,” she says, her voice soft and reassuring. “We’re so thrilled to have you as part of this family, and I know that you and Dominico will be very happy together.”

I feel a surge of gratitude and affection for this woman, this kind and gracious mother-in-law who seems to genuinely want me to feel welcome and accepted. It’s a small comfort, but a meaningful one in a room full of sharp eyes and guarded expressions.

As the dinner conversation flows around me, I feel myself starting to relax, lulled by the warm atmosphere and the delicious food. Dom’s presence beside me is a constant comfort, his hand on my thigh a reassuring anchor in this sea of new faces and unfamiliar dynamics.

But just as I’m starting to feel truly at ease, Don Sicura’s voice cuts through the pleasant chatter, his words like a bucket of cold water dumped over my head.

“So, Dominico, Sofia,” he says, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of something sharper, more calculating. “I must say, your wedding was quite the event. A true testament to the strength and importance of the alliance between our Families.”

I feel a bit uneasy at his phrasing, the ways he speaks of our marriage as if it were a business transaction. I mean, I know it is, but I don’t really feel like being reminded of it. Especially after I hurled it at Dom last night.

But I force myself to smile, to nod along as if I understand completely.

“Yes, it was a beautiful ceremony,” I agree, my voice carefully neutral. “I’m so grateful for all the time and effort that went into making it such a special day, especially with how fast the engagement and wedding happened.”

Don Sicura nods, his eyes keen and assessing as they rest on my face. “Indeed. But of course, a wedding is about more than just pretty dresses and fancy decorations. It’s a strategic move, a way to cement alliances and secure the future of both Families involved.”

I feel my smile falter, a cold knot of dread forming in the pit of my stomach. “I’m sorry, I'm not sure I understand,” I say slowly, trying to keep my tone polite and curious. “What do you mean by a strategic move?”

He leans back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him as he regards me with a cool, appraising gaze. “Think about it, my dear. By marrying into the Sicura Family, you, your sisters, and your mother gain our protection and support. No one would dare to move against the Marinos once your father passes, not with the full might of the Sicuras behind them.”

I nod slowly, trying to process his words. I've always known my marriage to Dom would bring certain advantages to my family, that the alliance between our two houses would make us stronger and more secure after my father’s death.

But to hear it laid out so bluntly, so coldly… it makes me feel strangely hollow inside.

“And of course, there are benefits for us as well,” Don Sicura continues, his voice smooth and persuasive. “By bringing the Marinos into our fold, we gain access to new business opportunities. It's a win-win situation, really.”

I feel like I’ve been slapped, like all the air has been sucked out of the room. Jesus, I knew that our marriage was one to help protect us after my father passes, but Don Sicura sees it differently. It’s just a strategic play, a way to gain power and influence. Not to help his friend and ally in his time of need.

I glance over at Dom, hoping to see some sign of disagreement or discomfort on his face. But he’s looking down at his plate, his expression carefully neutral and his jaw clenched tight.

I feel a sudden wave of hurt and betrayal wash over me, a sense of foolishness for ever believing that this could be anything more than a means to an end.

How could I have been so naive, so blind to the realities of the world we live in?

I push back my chair abruptly, the scrape of wood against marble echoing loudly in the sudden silence. “Please excuse me,” I say, my voice trembling slightly as I struggle to maintain my composure. “I'm feeling a bit unwell. I think I'll retire early tonight.”

I don't wait for a response, don't dare to look at Dom or his family as I hurry out of the room. I can feel the heat of their stares on my back.

But I can’t bring myself to care, not when my heart is shattering into a million pieces and my mind is reeling with the realization of just how little I truly mean to any of them.

I make my way up to my room on unsteady legs, my vision blurred with tears that I refuse to let fall. I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry, of knowing just how deeply their words have cut me.

But as I close the door behind me and sink down onto the edge of the bed, I can’t hold back the sobs that rack my body, the anguish and despair that pour out of me in a flood of bitter tears.

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