Page 196 of The One
I press my lips together, closing my eyes briefly to contain the surge of anger his tone provokes. Every instinct screams at me to crumple this note and toss it into the fireplace crackling in the sitting area.
Defying him would be easy. Mateo doesn’t want me to leave Carloso, and as acting Don, his word is final.
But am I willing to find out if Father truly has the power to stop my wedding? He never makes empty threats. He always follows through, which is what makes him so terrifying.
Shit. What do I do?
My gaze flicks to the large kitchen clock. Nine forty. Of course. He timed this perfectly, leaving me no room to debate, or worse, ask Mateo. Not that I would interrupt what’s happening for him today with something so trivial. It has all the hallmarks of one of Father’s deftly calculated moves.
“Your father sent me to take you to his house. If you’d please follow me to the car,” the messenger says, stepping back and gesturing toward the exit with an expectant expression.
He’s planned this down to the last detail.
“I’m sorry, Signorina Accardi is not leaving without an escort,” Dario interjects immediately, his stance firm.
“If Signorina Accardi decides to go, it will be in one of our cars and with a guard.”
Teo has clearly put measures in place for my protection. God, how I love that man.
Half an hour later, with Dario behind the wheel and Fabio in the front passenger seat, we glide through the winding streets of Parioli, where wealth isn’t flaunted, it’s simply understood.
The mansions here are sprawling, hidden behind high stone walls and iron gates, their fortified grandeur softened by manicured gardens and towering pines. Some estates boast neoclassical facades with soaring columns, others are sleek and modern, but they all have one thing behind them—power.The kind that doesn’t need to be announced.
I shouldn’t be surprised Father owns a place here.
He isn’t old money, of course, but that would never stop him from carving out a space in Rome’s most exclusive district. Neither my sisters nor I have ever set foot here.
Dario slows as we approach a massive black and gold gate, our family crest worked into the metal. It swings open smoothly, like it’s expecting me.
The driveway stretches ahead, lined with cypress trees standing like sentinels, the crunch of gravel beneath the tires the only sound.
When the house comes into view, it’s an imposing three stories of pristine white stone, tall windows reflecting the light, and a grand entrance framed by towering columns.
It’s the kind of house meant to impress.
The kind of house my father would own.
The humongous front door stands wide open, a uniformed servant waiting at the top of the steps. Fabio opens my car door, and I step out, steeling myself for what’s to come. I adjust my jacket, but the knot of anxiety in my gut refuses to loosen.
“Would you like me to accompany you, Signorina Accardi?”
Yes, I would.
Fabio’s presence would be comforting, and it would ensure my father wouldn’t lay a hand on me again. But I doubt Father would speak freely with a witness present. And I need to uncover what he’s holding over my head.
“Thank you, Fabio. Please wait here. I shouldn’t be too long.” I take a few steps up the stairs, then turn around. “Actually, if I’m not back in an hour, please come and check on me.”
“Of course,” both he and Dario reply, making me smile.
Reassured that someone is looking out for me, I climb the last few steps to the door. The girl at the entrance gives a subtle nod and points to the end of the corridor.
“Your father is expecting you in his office.”
My stomach twists as I move forward. Sunlight streams through the grand windows lining the corridor, illuminating the thick Persian runner beneath my feet.
Outside, the world carries on as if nothing is wrong. But somethingiswrong. I can feel it.
The door to my father’s office is slightly ajar. Inside, I glimpse him seated behind his massive desk, his phone pressed to his ear.
