Page 79 of Brutal Crown
I pretend like I don’t care, but I do.
It doesn’t matter that I am a soon-to-be Romano. I am still a servant, a prisoner, and a whore in their eyes.
But I will keep my head held high no matter what. I never asked for their acceptance. I don’t need it.
“Earth to Lia.”
Marco’s voice causes me to snap out of my thoughts.
I look up to see a questioning look on his face. “I asked if you liked the dress.”
“I do,” I mutter, and he smiles.
“Good.”
The designer bows before leaving the room. Marco comes to stand directly behind me. I resist the urge to flinch when his hands settle on my shoulders.
“You look tense.”
“I am tense.”
He chuckles. “Don’t be. It’s just a luncheon to ease you into your rightful place as my fiancée. You don’t have to say anything. Just look beautiful and keep that gorgeous smile of yours on your face.”
And that is exactly what I do.
The Society luncheon is a polished, lavish affair. It is held in one of the estate’s grand halls, decorated with white orchids and ornate chandeliers. Wealthy, power-hungry men and their bored wives sit at long white tables under hanging glass chandeliers. Servers float between the tables, serving sparkling wine and delicious food.
But today feels different. There’s an undercurrent of tension, whispered conversations that stop abruptly when Marco and I enter the room. Eyes follow us with barely concealed curiosity and suspicion.
Dante watches everything from the head of the table. He hasn’t spoken directly to me since the announcement. But today, I’m his polished centerpiece. His pretty little pawn, dressed up and displayed like some rare ornament that proves the Romano name is still strong.
Marco never leaves my side. His hand stays on the small of my back like he’s reminding everyone watching—and there area lot watching—that I belong to him and no one can do a thing about it.
I can feel the weight of their stares, the questions burning behind their polite smiles. A Romano marrying someone like me doesn’t just break tradition—it shatters it completely.
“Is it true?” I catch an older lady, whom I’ve learned is called Mrs. Benedetti, whispering to her husband. “A servant girl?”
“The Romanos must be more desperate than we thought,” another voice murmurs.
The conversations halt when Dante stands, his glass raised. The room falls silent instantly.
“Before we proceed with today’s celebration,” Dante begins, his voice carrying the authority that commands respect from every family represented here, “I believe some explanation is warranted.”
He pauses, letting his gaze sweep across the room. “I’m sure many of you are… surprised by my son’s choice of bride.”
A few uncomfortable shifts in seats. Someone clears their throat.
“Let me be clear,” Dante continues, his tone growing harder. “This union has been approved by the Council of Elders. And they sent a representative today. A former Elder who has retired from his role as one of the six and is now just one of the advising council. Elder Vescovi, would you like to address our concerns?”
An elderly man with silver hair and sharp eyes stands from his seat at the high table. Elder Vescovi. His presence here means this is more than just a family announcement.
“Thank you, Don Romano,” Elder Vescovi says, his voice carrying decades of authority. “What we witness today is not a breach of our traditions, but an act taken to preserve them.”
The room falls silent now.
“The girl carries a Romano heir,” he announces, his tone flat and final. “And while our founding laws state, ‘You marry whoyou’re told. You have children only with those approved,’ they also demand we preserve the bloodlines that secure our future.”
My heart pounds. My cheeks burn. Every eye in the room is on me now, calculating, reassessing.
