The atmosphere in the drawing-room instantly froze.
Isabella rushed to my side, her hands trying to pull me up. “Alessia, get up. We can discuss this properly.”
I didn’t move, remaining on my knees. “Madam, the women of the Rossi family are wives, never mistresses. That is our family tradition. I cannot break it, but I also refuse to stand in the way of Lorenzo and Miss Chiara’s happiness. Therefore, I formally request that you dissolve my engagement to Lorenzo.”
Isabella sighed, her hand resting gently on my shoulder. “But Alessia, the daughters of the Rossi family have always married into the core syndicate families. Besides Lorenzo, all the other suitable men of his rank are already married. I would not see you slighted.”
I lifted my head, meeting her gaze directly. “Then I ask you to deliver a message to the Don for me. I wish to marry him.”
The moment the words left my mouth, a deathly silence consumed the room.
Isabella staggered back a step, her face pale with shock. “What? You want to marry Giovanni?”
Even the other ladies on the sofa set down their teacups, their eyes wide with disbelief.
Isabella knelt before me, her voice low and intense. “Alessia, do you have any idea what you are saying? Giovanni is my brother. He is the Don of our entire organization. You must understand that once I relay this message, there will be no turning back.”
I nodded firmly. “I have no regrets.”
Isabella looked at me, a flicker of pity in her eyes. “I chose you myself. You were the most perfect candidate for the heir’s wife. Of all the socialites in Italy, you alone possess such grace, such tact. Lorenzo is a fool.”
From the sofa, a woman named Mrs. Benedetta let out a soft, dry laugh. “Lorenzo has the temperament of his late mother. Just as impulsive, just as blind.”
Isabella had no biological children. Lorenzo was her husband’s son from a previous marriage. After his birth mother died, Isabella married into the family and raised him as her own.
It was only because his stepmother was the Don’s sister—and the Don himself was childless—that Lorenzo was named the heir.
To solidify his position, Isabella had specifically chosen me, from the powerful Rossi family, for him. Who could have known he would lose his head over a girl like Chiara?
Just then, a maid hurried into the room. “Madam, Mr. Lorenzo and Miss Chiara are here, requesting an audience.”
Isabella’s expression hardened. “Let them in.”
Lorenzo’s eyes landed on me kneeling on the floor. He froze for a second before his face twisted into a scowl. “Alessia, did you come crying to my mother?”
He turned his furious gaze on me, his voice laced with venom. “I made it perfectly clear this morning. I am not marrying you. Do you think you can use my mother to force my hand?”
“I thought you were dignified and respectful, but it turns out you’re just like every other woman, desperate for the title of the heir’s wife. You are a profound disappointment.”
My mother, Caterina, was so enraged her face had turned ashen. She was about to retort, but Lorenzo had already taken Chiara’s hand and knelt on one knee before Isabella.
“Mother, I love Chiara. I’m begging you, please approve our marriage.”
Isabella’s tone was flat. “Lorenzo, your engagement to Alessia was a pact, settled long ago. It is the cornerstone of our family alliance. By doing this, what position do you put the Rossi family in?”
Lorenzo looked up, his expression defiant. “Mother, I only want to marry the woman I love. My engagement to Alessia was an arrangement. I didn’t know any better then; I thought that was what love felt like. But when I met Chiara, I finally understood. I love a woman who is vibrant and free, like she is.”
“I refuse to be trapped in a loveless marriage with Alessia. Please, cancel my engagement to the Rossi family and allow me to marry Chiara.”
Chiara, pressed close to Lorenzo, added loudly, “Mrs. Isabella, Lorenzo may be your stepson, but he is a man, not a pawn. Does he not have the right to choose his own wife?”
Isabella let out a cold, humorless laugh. “Lorenzo is not just my stepson. He is the heir to this family. His wife’s position is of the utmost importance.”
Chiara lifted her chin, her voice growing sharper. “I am more than capable of filling that role. I will not bring shame to Lorenzo. These sheltered socialites, raised in a greenhouse, are all so dull and boring. All they learn is useless etiquette. They’ve never seen the real world. They’re nothing but shallow trophies!”
Her words were meant to demean me, but she had forgotten that every woman in the room, including Isabella, was one of the “dull and boring trophies” she was so vehemently insulting.
The temperature in the drawing-room plummeted. The faces of the matriarchs turned to stone.
