Chapter 1 - The Bride Who Didn't Run
Sophia grabbed Luca's black shirt as her suitcase tipped beneath her and whispered, "Please don't let me fall."
Luca Moretti caught her with one hand and noticed a sealed envelope trapped beneath the suitcase wheel.
Her mother's name was written across the front.
Under it were three words.
For Luca Moretti.
Luca suddenly realized Sophia had not been sent there only to become his wife.
For several seconds, neither of them moved.
Sophia was still clutching two fistfuls of his shirt.
Luca's hand was wrapped around her elbow.
And everyone else in the enormous foyer had apparently forgotten how to breathe.
Sophia slowly looked down.
Then up.
Then farther up.
Good Lord.
The photographs her father had shown her had not prepared her for Luca Moretti.
Six foot six sounded like a measurement when someone said it aloud.
Standing beneath him made it feel more like architecture.
His shoulders seemed designed specifically to make expensive Italian tailoring suffer. His black shirt was open at the collar, revealing the strong line of his throat. Dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, and his face was handsome enough that Sophia might have forgotten why she had crossed an ocean if his eyes hadn't stopped her.
Those eyes weren't angry.
They were waiting.
Waiting for disgust.
Waiting for fear.
Waiting for her to step backward.
Sophia knew that expression.
She had worn a version of it herself every time someone entered her little bakery in Chicago after her father had gambled away nearly everything they owned and pretended the rumors weren't true.
She released Luca's shirt.
"I'm sorry."
His hand disappeared from her elbow.
"For falling?"
"For wrinkling what looks like a shirt that costs more than my oven."
A sound came from the staircase.
Sophia glanced over.
Elena Moretti was covering a smile.
The two guards near the entrance remained impressively committed to pretending they had witnessed nothing.
Luca looked down at his shirt.
Then at Sophia.
"You're not going to comment on it?"
"On what?"
"Me."
Sophia blinked.
"You're very tall."
His jaw tightened.
"Oh." She frowned. "Was that the wrong answer?"
"You aren't afraid?"
"Should I be?"
Nobody spoke.
Sophia immediately wished she could retrieve the question.
She knew exactly who Luca Moretti was.
At least, she knew the version people whispered about.
The Moretti family controlled shipping companies, hotels, vineyards, construction firms, and enough private businesses across northern Italy that separating legitimate money from everything else was apparently an accountant's nightmare.
Her father had called Luca dangerous.
Then her father had accepted Luca's money.
Then, when repayment became impossible, Arthur Bennett had offered something else.
His daughter.
Sophia still hated him for that.
But she had come anyway.
Not because her father owned her.
He didn't.
She had come because the agreement Luca's attorney sent contained something strange.
Sophia could leave.
At any moment.
Before the ceremony.
After the ceremony.
One month later.
One year later.
No punishment.
No financial penalty against her.
No retaliation against Arthur Bennett.
The marriage agreement protected Sophia more carefully than most prenuptial agreements protected billionaires.
That contradiction had brought her to Italy.
The monster everyone feared had written her an escape route into every page.
Luca extended his hand.
"Luca Moretti."
She looked at it.
His expression changed instantly.
There.
That tiny retreat.
He thought she wasn't going to take it.
Sophia placed her hand in his.
"Sophia Bennett. Baker. Frequent victim of gravity."
His fingers closed carefully around hers.
Not tightly.
Carefully.
That surprised her more than his size.
A man appeared from the corridor.
"Signor Moretti."
Luca released Sophia.
The man continued, "Father Alessandro is waiting. He asked whether the ceremony remains scheduled for eight."
Sophia's stomach turned.
Eight.
She glanced at the enormous clock.
7:17.
Forty-three minutes.
Forty-three minutes until she married a stranger.
Luca noticed.
"We can cancel."
Sophia looked at him.
He said it without hesitation.
"You just met me."
"Exactly."
"If you want to leave, Marco will take you back to Milan."
The man beside the door gave a small nod.
"No argument?" Sophia asked.
"No."
"My father's debt?"
"Not your debt."
Something inside her shifted.
"My father told me—"
"I know what your father told you."
"And?"
Luca's gaze hardened.
"He lied."
Sophia stared at him.
Before she could respond, Elena appeared beside her.
"Sophia."
Something in Elena's voice made Luca look over.
Elena smiled too quickly.
"She needs somewhere to prepare."
Luca studied his sister.
"Twenty minutes."
"Thirty."
"The priest—"
"Can survive thirty minutes."
For the first time, Sophia saw something almost ordinary between them.
An annoyed brother.
A stubborn sister.
Then Elena touched Sophia's arm.
"Come with me."
Sophia picked up the suitcase handle.
The damaged wheel immediately twisted sideways.
Luca reached for it.
"I've got it," Sophia said.
"You nearly died transporting it ten feet."
"I did not nearly die."
"You attacked me with it."
"I fell."
"Violently."
Sophia stared at him.
And Luca Moretti smiled.
Barely.
But he smiled.
It transformed his entire face.
Then it vanished.
Sophia felt strangely disappointed.
Luca lifted the suitcase as if it were empty and handed it to Marco.
"Take it upstairs."
Sophia followed Elena toward the staircase.
Halfway up, she looked back.
Luca was still watching her.
Not possessively.
Not triumphantly.
Almost cautiously.
As if he couldn't understand why she hadn't run.
Elena waited until they reached the upper corridor.
Then she grabbed Sophia's wrist.
"Before you say yes, there's something about this marriage you need to know."
Sophia's pulse jumped.
"What?"
Elena checked behind them.
"My brother doesn't know I'm telling you."
"That's reassuring."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
Elena opened a bedroom door and pulled Sophia inside.
The room was enormous.
Sophia barely noticed.
"Five women came before you," Elena said.
Sophia's humor disappeared.
"I know."
"No. You know five women refused him."
"Isn't that what happened?"
Elena looked toward the closed door.
"Not exactly."
Sophia waited.
"The first refused him immediately. The second stayed two days. The third almost married him."
"Almost?"
"She disappeared the morning of the wedding."
Sophia's skin prickled.
"The fourth?"
"Left without explanation."
"And the fifth?"
Elena hesitated.
"She accused Luca of threatening her."
Sophia swallowed.
"Did he?"
"No."
The answer came immediately.
"How do you know?"
"Because I heard their argument."
Elena stepped closer.
"She was threatening him."
Sophia frowned.
"With what?"
"Information."
"What information?"
"I don't know. Luca refused to tell me."
"Then what does this have to do with me?"
Elena's expression changed.
"Because three weeks after the fifth woman left, your father contacted Luca."
Sophia went still.
"He told me Luca contacted him."
"He lied."
Again.
That word.
Sophia turned toward the window.
Her father had always been talented at rearranging facts until they resembled whatever version benefited him.
But this?
"Why would my father contact Luca?"
"I don't know."
"You clearly know something."
"I know Luca agreed to erase Arthur Bennett's debt if Arthur introduced him to you."
Sophia turned sharply.
"Introduced?"
"Not traded."
"But the contract—"
"Was written after your father insisted marriage was the only arrangement he would accept."
Sophia felt sick.
"My father offered me."
Elena said nothing.
That silence answered everything.
Sophia walked to the dresser.
Her hands trembled.
She hated that.
She flattened them against the wood.
"Why did Luca agree?"
"That's what frightens me."
Sophia turned.
Elena continued quietly.
"My brother doesn't need a wife for money. He doesn't need heirs immediately. And he certainly doesn't need Arthur Bennett."
"Then why?"
"I've been trying to understand that for weeks."
A knock came.
Both women froze.
"Miss Bennett?"
Marco.
"There's something downstairs for you."
Sophia opened the door.
Marco stood holding a cream envelope.
Old.
Slightly stained.
Sophia stared at the handwriting.
Her heart stopped.
"No."
Elena looked at her.
"What?"
Sophia took the envelope.
"My mother wrote this."
"You're certain?"
"I'd recognize her handwriting anywhere."
Margaret Bennett had been dead for eleven years.
Sophia turned the envelope over.
The seal had never been broken.
Three words were written beneath her name.
FOR LUCA MORETTI.
Sophia looked at Elena.
"Where did this come from?"
"It was inside your suitcase," Marco said.
"That's impossible."
"It became caught beneath the wheel when you fell."
Sophia tore the envelope open.
Inside was a photograph.
She pulled it out.
A younger Margaret Bennett stood beside a dark-haired man Sophia immediately recognized.
Luca.
Except Luca couldn't have been older than twenty.
Beside them stood Sophia's father.
And another man.
Someone had scratched his face from the photograph.
On the back, her mother had written a date.
Eleven years ago.
Three days before she died.
Beneath it:
Sophia, if Arthur ever sends you to Luca Moretti, do not believe the reason he gives you.
Her knees weakened.
Elena grabbed her arm.
"There is more."
Sophia turned the photograph.
One final line had been squeezed beneath the first.
Luca already knows what your father did.
Sophia stared at it.
Footsteps sounded outside.
Heavy.
Slow.
Luca appeared in the doorway.
His eyes dropped to the photograph.
Every trace of warmth vanished from his face.
"Where did you get that?"
"It was in my suitcase."
"Who put it there?"
"I don't know."
He stepped inside.
Sophia held up the photograph.
"You knew my mother."
Luca said nothing.
"Luca."
Still nothing.
"My mother died eleven years ago."
His jaw tightened.
"Tell me what happened."
"I can't."
"Can't?"
"Not tonight."
Sophia laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
"I'm supposed to marry you in half an hour."
"I know."
"And you're telling me there's a secret involving my dead mother that you're refusing to explain?"
"Yes."
"Then give me one reason I shouldn't leave."
Luca's face hardened.
But his voice became quieter.
"Because if that envelope was inside your luggage, someone knew you were coming here."
"So?"
"No one outside this house was supposed to know."
Elena went pale.
Sophia stared at Luca.
He reached for the photograph.
She didn't give it to him.
"Who is the man with the scratched-out face?"
Luca looked at her.
For the first time since she'd met him, Sophia saw fear.
Not for himself.
For her.
A phone rang downstairs.
Marco answered.
Seconds later, his expression changed.
"Signor Moretti."
Luca turned.
Marco held the phone away from his ear.
"There's someone at the front gate."
"Who?"
"They won't give a name."
"Then send them away."
Marco didn't move.
"They said they came for Miss Bennett."
Luca's entire body went still.
Sophia's phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
One message.
DON'T MARRY HIM UNTIL YOU ASK WHO KILLED YOUR MOTHER.
Sophia looked up.
Then came three knocks from downstairs.
Slow.
Heavy.
The front door opened.
A man's voice entered the foyer.
"Sophia."
Luca went white.
May you like
Because he recognized the voice.
And whoever had come through that door was someone Luca Moretti believed had been dead for eleven years.
