Villa Vows

The tires crunched on gravel. I looked up at the villa. It loomed. Stone walls, tall windows. My future husband waited inside.

A maid took my bags. She did not speak. I entered a large hall. My heels clicked on tile. A man stood by the fireplace. Tall. Dark hair. He turned.

"Caterina Moroni." His voice was cool. No smile. "I am Cruz Bianchi."

"Hello." I kept my tone flat too.

He gestured to a sofa. "Please. Sit."

I sat. A servant brought tea. I held the cup. It warmed my hands. Cruz sat opposite me. He wore a dark suit. Impeccable. His eyes were dark too. Watchful.

"Your journey was good?" he asked.

"Fine." I sipped my tea. It was hot. Bitter. "And you? You are settled here?"

He inclined his head. "The villa is adequate."

Adequate. This place was huge. Opulent. A prison. I set my cup down. The tea would go cold soon.

Cruz studied me. "Your father speaks highly of your skills. The books."

I lifted one shoulder. "Numbers make sense. People don't."

A flicker in his eyes. Almost amusement. "An interesting view."

"Not interesting. Practical." I smoothed my skirt. Silk. Expensive. A costume for this farce. "This marriage is practical too."

"Indeed." He rested his hands on his knees. "A union of families. A truce."

"A truce." I looked at the window. The garden outside was bright. Colorful. False cheer. "Until someone breaks it."

"That is the way." He said it like the weather. A fact. Unchangeable.

I watched him. Cruz Bianchi. Underboss. Dangerous. Polished surface. What lay beneath? Ruthlessness, probably. Like my father. Like all of them.

Quiet filled the space. My tea cooled. I did not touch it.

"You dislike this," he said. Not a question.

"I dislike being sold." I met his eyes. Dark. Unreadable. "Like a crate of guns."

He did not react. "It is business. You know this."

I did. That did not mean I liked it. "Your family demanded this. Why?"

He leaned back. "Alliances shift. We needed assurance. Your father offered you."

Offered. Like a lamb to slaughter. "I see."

More quiet. The clock ticked. Loud in the big room.

"Caterina," he said. Testing the name.

"Car-tee-na," I corrected. Sharp. "Not Cat-er-ina."

He blinked. "Apologies. Caterina."

"Better." I stood. "I will go to my room. The journey was long."

He rose too. "Of course. Dinner is at eight."

I nodded. Left him there. My tea sat on the table. Cold now. Forgotten.

Upstairs, I unpacked. The room was large. Empty. A cage with nice bars. I hung my clothes. Black. Gray. Suitable for a funeral. Or a wedding. Same thing.

A knock at the door. My father. He entered without waiting. "Caterina. All is well?"

"Fine." I turned from the closet. "I met him."

"Good. Good." He walked to the window. Looked out. "This marriage is important. You know this."

"I know." I sat on the bed. The cover was soft. "He is cold. Formal."

"He is Bianchi." Father shrugged. "They are all like that."

"Like you," I said.

He turned. Frowned. "I am your father. Respect."

"I do." I looked at my hands. "But I want out, Papa. After this. Out of the business."

He sighed. "We will see. Later. After the wedding."

Later. Always later. Never now.

"Get ready for dinner," he said. "Wear the blue dress. It is good for you."

I said nothing. He left. I stayed on the bed. The blue dress hung in the closet. It was good. For the bride they wanted. Not for me.

Night fell. I dressed. Blue silk. High heels. Armor. I went downstairs. Voices came from the dining room. My family. His family. Laughing. Too loud. False.

I entered. Eyes turned to me. Cruz stood by the window. He wore black. Still impeccable. He came to me.

"Caterina." He said it right this time. "You look lovely."

"Thank you." I did not smile. "You look...adequate."

A beat. Then he smiled. Small. Quick. "High praise."

We sat. Dinner was long. Many courses. Wine flowed. Talk was easy. On the surface. Beneath, tension hummed. Old grudges. New suspicions.

Cruz sat beside me. He spoke little. Listened more. His presence was solid. Quiet. I watched him. The way he moved. Precise. Controlled. A predator at rest.

After dinner, we moved to the salon. Coffee. More talk. I stood by the French doors. Open to the night. Cool air touched my skin.

"Caterina." Cruz appeared beside me. "The garden is fine at night. Would you like to see?"

I looked at him. His face was shadowed. "Why?"

"Why not?" He held out his hand. "Come."

I hesitated. Then put my hand in his. It was warm. Strong. He led me outside. The air was sweet. Flowers. Damp earth.

We walked. Gravel path. Quiet. The voices faded behind us.

"You are quiet," he said.

"I have nothing to say." I looked at roses. White blooms in the dark. "This is not real. This garden. This...us."

"Real enough." He stopped. Turned to me. "We are here. This is happening."

"For now." I pulled my hand back. "Until it changes."

"It will not change." His voice was low. Firm. "This marriage will happen."

I looked up at him. His eyes were dark pools. "You are very sure."

"I am." He stepped closer. "I always get what I want."

My breath caught. He was close. Too close. I stepped back. "Not everything."

He smiled. A real one this time. It changed his face. Made him seem younger. Less cold. "We will see."

We walked back. Inside, the party went on. I said goodnight. Went upstairs. My room was quiet. I got ready for bed. Lay in the dark.

The villa was silent now. But not peaceful. Tension still lived here. In the walls. In me.

Cruz Bianchi. My fiancé. A stranger. Cold. Controlled. But under that...something else. Something I could not read.

I closed my eyes. Sleep would not come easy. Not here. Not with him down the hall. Not with this life closing in.

Tomorrow was another day. Another step. Toward the wedding. Toward him.

I turned over. Stared at the wall. The future loomed. Big. Unknown. I did not know what it held. Only that it was not mine. Not yet.

The next morning brought sunshine. False cheer. The villa bustled. Preparations for the pre-wedding lunch. Another performance.

I dressed. Gray dress. Simple. Fitting for the gray day inside me. Downstairs, guests mingled. My family. His family. Smiles all around. Too wide. Too bright.

Cruz found me by the window. "Caterina." He wore light gray too. Coincidence. Or a message. I did not know.

"Cruz." I kept my voice cool.

"Walk with me?" he asked. "The gardens are fine today."

I looked outside. The same garden. The same prison. "Why?"

"To talk." He held out his hand again. "Away from the noise."

I hesitated. Then took his hand. We went out. The air was warm. Flowers bloomed. Colors bright. Too bright.

We walked. Not far. The path wound through rose bushes. Pink. Yellow. Red like blood.

"The lunch is soon," I said.

"It can wait." He stopped. Turned to me. "I wanted to say. About last night. I was...abrupt."

"You were honest." I looked at him. "I prefer that."

"Honesty." He tilted his head. "A rare thing. In this life."

"In any life." I started walking again. He fell into step beside me. "But rare here. Yes."

We reached a stone bench. Sat down. The sun warmed my skin. For a moment, it felt real. Peaceful.

Then Cruz tensed. I saw it. A shift. In his eyes. In his body.

"What?" I asked.

"Shh." He held up a hand. Listened.

I heard it too. Shouts. From the villa. Then a sound. Sharp. Loud. A gunshot.

Cruz moved fast. He grabbed my arm. Pulled me down. Behind the bench. "Stay low."

My heart hammered. More shots. Screams. Chaos.

Cruz had a gun. I did not see where it came from. He held it ready. His eyes scanned. Alert. "We need to move. Now."

I nodded. Fear tightened my throat. But I would not freeze. Not now.

We ran. Low. Fast. Through the gardens. Away from the villa. Away from the noise.

Shouts followed us. Feet on gravel. Cruz pulled me behind a hedge. We crouched. Breathless.

Two men ran past. Guns in hand. They did not see us.

Cruz waited. Listened. Then we moved again. Deeper into the gardens. To a small building. A shed. He opened the door. Pushed me inside. Followed. Closed the door.

Darkness. Dust. Smell of earth. And us. Breathing hard.

I leaned against the wall. My legs shook. Cruz stood by the door. Gun ready. Listening.

Time passed. Minutes. Hours. I did not know. The sounds faded. The shouts stopped.

Cruz turned. "We wait. Until it is clear."

I nodded. Could not speak.

He came closer. Touched my arm. "Are you hurt?"

"No." My voice was rough. "You?"