Chapter 2 - The Nonna’s Decree
The massive dining hall on the ground floor of the Castelli estate looked like a Renaissance painting swallowed by modern paranoia. Bulletproof stained-glass windows cast colorful patterns across a twenty-seat mahogany table groaning under the weight of an Italian breakfast that could have fed a small army.
Nonni Elena—the tiny, fierce matriarch who had decreed a wedding before sunrise—sat at the head of the table peeling a fig with a silver paring knife.
Harper sat a few seats down, still wearing her wrinkled black uniform, nursing a cup of espresso that tasted like liquid velvet. Dominic sat to her right, his shirtsleeves rolled up, reviewing a series of encrypted documents on his tablet.
"The Merriweathers think they can play chess with my family," Nonna Elena said without looking up from her fig. "Sending a baker's assistant into your bedroom? Please. It’s insulting. They couldn't even afford a high-end operative."
"Nonna, she's not an operative," Dominic muttered, tapping the screen. "She's collateral."
"She is my future granddaughter-in-law," Elena corrected sharply, pointing the tip of the paring knife at Dominic’s nose. "The invitations are already being drafted. Father Santini is clearing his Sunday schedule. Do you know how hard it is to get a decent choir on three days' notice, Dominic? You should be thanking the girl for stumbling into your bed. At least she has good posture."
Harper choked on her espresso. "Excuse me, Mrs. Castelli—"
"Signora Castelli-Vance, technically, but we dropped the Vance after the third indictment," the old woman waved a hand dismissively. "And call me Nonna. Everyone does, including the judges who owe us favors."
Dominic shot Harper a sideways glance that held a flicker of grim amusement. "She doesn't take 'no' for an answer, Harper. It's a genetic defect in the family."
"I have a life!" Harper insisted, slamming her demitasse cup down. "I have a bakery lease to renew next month! I have a mortgage on a tiny split-level in Cicero! I can't just cancel my life to participate in a mafia sham wedding because your rival organization has poor interior design taste!"
Nonna Elena stopped peeling her fig. She slowly set the knife down, folded her hands, and looked at Harper with eyes as sharp as cut diamonds.
"Child. Let me explain something to you about the food chain in this city," Elena said, her voice dropping into a soft, hypnotic register. "The Merriweathers believe you are Dominic’s weakness now. They put you in his bed, which means their security cameras recorded you entering, recorded you staying, and recorded the time you spent behind locked doors. To the underworld, you are compromised. If you walk out those gates right now, back to your bakery in Cicero, the Merriweathers will assume you are either Dominic's spy or his soft underbelly. They will burn your bakery. They will break your mother's hip. And they will leave you in a dumpster by the Dan Ryan Expressway."
Harper went completely cold. The blood rushed out of her face, leaving her trembling. "You're... you're lying."
"Look at him," Elena nodded toward her grandson. "Does he look like a man who lies about collateral damage?"
Harper looked at Dominic. He wasn't denying it. His jaw was clenched so tight a muscle ticked near his temple.
"If you marry him," Elena continued smoothly, picking up her fig once more, "you receive the full protection of the Castelli syndicate. Armed guards at your bakery. Bulletproof glass on your delivery van. And best of all, you get to design your own wedding cake. Three tiers, raspberry filling, correct?"
Harper stared at the table, her mind spinning through the wreckage of her normal, quiet, flour-dusted existence. "You kidnapped me into a cartel war."
"I rescued you from an amateur hit," Dominic corrected quietly, placing a heavy, warm hand over her cold fingers on the tablecloth. "And Nonna is right. Once your face is linked to mine in the public registries, touching you becomes an act of war. Nobody crosses that line."
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"And if I refuse?" Harper whispered.
Dominic’s amber eyes darkened. "I will lock you in this estate until I hunt down every single Merriweather operative in the tristate area and dismantle their organization brick by brick. Take your pick. It’s either a shotgun wedding or a siege."
