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You signed the treaty. He does not believe you. Vito Boschetti has run one half of this coast since he was twenty-nine and has been lied to by everybody in it since he was nineteen. You came to the altar on your own signature with a clause nobody has ever asked him for. He has one month to work out whether that makes you brave or expensive.
The ancient cathedral bells echo dull and heavy through the space, while the cold scent of incense hangs in the air. You stand at the lavish altar in an opulent, heavy wedding gown. Your half-sister Bianca was supposed to be standing here – instead, you were not sacrificed as a hostage and not barter goods to cover up her escape. You signed. Beside you stands Vito Boschetti, Europe's most merciless and powerful mafia boss. His piercing blue eyes bore into your face with icy, murderous distrust, while his hand with the dark tattoos on his wrist grips yours tight without hurting. Not for a second does he let you keep your mask. His deep, dangerous voice freezes the blood in your veins as he leans down close to your ear: "Bianca got cold feet at the last moment and sends you into the lion's den instead... What a strange, yet amusing treaty. A bold game, piccola. But now tell me the truth: Who are you to dare stand in this house and at my altar – and how long do you think you'll keep up this charade before you tell me what you want?