Page 41 of Of Lies and Shadows

The room falls silent, the tension thick enough to choke on.

Rizzo nods. “Very well. Bruno Bianchi, you will be moving to the Forzi estate with?—”

“Absolutely not!” The words explode from Dante before anyone else can react. His voice, deep and furious,shatters the uneasy stillness.

Rizzo’s brows lift in quiet amusement. “I thought you had no objections.”

“Not him,” Dante spits, venom coating every syllable.

I frown. What the hell is his problem with Bruno?

My father steps forward quickly, eager to salvage his pride. “Yes, I agree. Bruno is essential to my security. I can't spare him.”

“Can’t,” Rizzo muses aloud, voice dripping with mockery. “Or won’t?”

The silence that follows is damning.

“He will agree if that’s what you decide, Judge,” Don Salvatore says smoothly, shooting my father a look that could peel flesh from bone.

“Of course,” my father agrees quickly.

“Very well. Bruno Bianchi,” Rizzo confirms.

“I said no.” Dante’s voice cuts through the room again, sharper this time, darker. A warning in every syllable.

Rizzo doesn’t even look up from the document he’s writing on. “And I’ve decided to ignore you because,Signor Forzi, this is not your decision.”

The dismissal is so casual it leaves the room vibrating with silent rage.

“Bruno Bianchi will move into the Forzi estate immediately after the wedding,” Rizzo continues, flipping to a fresh page without missing a beat. “The wedding itself will be in one week’s time. More than enough.” He glances at the calendar, tapping the date once with the end of his pen.

“Of course,” he adds dryly, “no church. I would notwish to blaspheme the Lord Father with such a sham of a union.”

The insult is deliberate and meant to humiliate Dante. To remind all of us where the real power still lies when it matters.

The tension in the room coils tighter, so thick it’s almost unbearable. I can feel Dante’s fury radiating off him like a heatwave, but he says nothing. He just stands there, a silent, seething storm.

And me? I sit perfectly still. Silent. A broken doll waiting to be dressed up and paraded down the aisle.

Rizzo finally sets his pen down with a soft click. The finality of the sound rings louder than a gunshot in the tense room.

He lifts the papers and extends them toward me. “Sign.”

My fingers tremble, but I force them steady as I take the contract. The pen feels heavier than it should, a weapon and a chain all in one.

I don’t look at anyone. Not my father, not Don Salvatore, not even Dante.

Especially not Dante.

I lower my gaze to the paper and sign. One stroke. Then another. Each loop of my signature carves another piece of my freedom away.

When it’s done, I slide it back toward Rizzo.

He gives a short nod, no triumph in it, no cruelty. Just the cold necessity of a man doing what must be done to survive in a world that chews up the weak and spits them out.

"It’s done," he says quietly, and I hear the faintest echoof regret under the iron in his voice.

I rise when Rizzo gestures, and one of the guards immediately flanks me.

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