Chapter 6 - The Marriage Contract“Cancel the wedding.”
Isabela said it at breakfast.
Damiano stopped pouring coffee.
Rafael stopped chewing.
Rosa crossed herself.
Enzo, standing near the door, became extremely interested in the wall.
Damiano placed the coffee pot down.
“Explain.”
“We cancel the wedding.”
“I understood the sentence.”
“Good.”
“Now explain why.”
They were back in Sicily.
Security around the villa had tripled.
Lucia remained missing.
Matteo remained invisible.
The trust documents had been confirmed.
Everything Lucia said about inheritance was true.
Isabela’s marriage had therefore become political.
Dangerously political.
“If I marry you now,” she said, “everyone will say the Contis absorbed the Vitale inheritance.”
“I don’t care what everyone says.”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Because I lead them.”
Damiano leaned back.
There it was.
The difference between loving a woman and governing beside one.
Six months ago he might have tried to decide for her.
Now he asked, “What do you propose?”
“A public postponement.”
“For how long?”
“Until Matteo is found.”
“That could take years.”
“Then years.”
His expression hardened.
“Is this about politics?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly.”
She hated how easily he heard the word she wished she hadn’t used.
“Damiano.”
“Isabela.”
Rafael quietly moved his plate.
“I’m going to eat somewhere else.”
“No,” they said simultaneously.
He sighed.
“This family is exhausting.”
Rosa dragged him away anyway.
When they were alone, Damiano approached.
“What is the other reason?”
She looked at him.
“The trust.”
“What about it?”
“My future daughter inherits.”
“Our future daughter.”
The words landed heavily.
She folded her arms.
“That.”
“What?”
“You said it like it’s already decided.”
His expression changed.
“Isabela, I assumed—”
“Exactly.”
He stopped.
For once, Damiano Conti had no immediate answer.
She continued.
“I love you.”
“I know.”
“But I spent most of my life making decisions because circumstances forced them on me. Rafael needed medicine, so I worked. Rent was due, so I stayed in jobs I hated. My family name made me a target, so I became its leader.”
She touched the ring on her finger.
“I will not have motherhood turned into another obligation.”
Damiano’s face softened.
“I would never force that on you.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Then why are you afraid?”
“Because everyone else will.”
That was the truth.
Family elders had already begun discussing heirs.
Continuity.
Legacy.
Blood.
Words that transformed a hypothetical child into a financial instrument.
Damiano took her hands.
“Then we stop them.”
“How?”
“By making the rules clear.”
Within forty-eight hours, the engagement announcement became something else.
A declaration.
Isabela and Damiano stood before representatives of seven families.
Lawyers placed a document on the table.
The marriage contract.
Not romantic.
Necessary.
Vitale assets would remain Vitale.
Conti assets would remain Conti.
Neither spouse would control the other’s organization.
Any future children would inherit through independent trusts.
No reproductive expectation could form part of any political agreement.
The old men in the room hated that clause.
Isabela enjoyed watching them hate it.
One elder cleared his throat.
“Children have always ensured alliances.”
Isabela looked directly at him.
“Then find another century.”
Damiano almost smiled.
The man turned to him.
“You permit this?”
Damiano’s expression went cold.
“Choose your next word carefully.”
“I only meant—”
“You asked whether I permit the head of another family to determine the terms of her own marriage.”
Silence.
“She does not require my permission.”
Something warm moved through Isabela.
Not gratitude.
Respect.
Afterward, they stood alone on the balcony.
“You enjoyed that,” she said.
“Immensely.”
“You scared him.”
“He annoyed me.”
“You’re easily annoyed.”
“Only by stupidity.”
She leaned against him.
“Are you angry about postponing the wedding?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you for being honest.”
“I intend to marry you.”
“Eventually.”
“Soon.”
“Eventually.”
“Soon.”
She laughed.
Then Enzo entered.
The expression on his face killed the moment.
“We found Matteo.”
“Where?”
“Not where.”
Enzo placed photographs on the table.
Boston.
Providence.
Sicily.
Matteo had been following them for years.
One photograph showed Isabela leaving a grocery store eighteen months earlier.
Before Damiano heard her sing.
Before the Vitale restoration.
Before anyone supposedly knew who she was.
Another showed Rafael outside a hospital.
Another showed Carmela’s grave.
Isabela stared.
“He knew about me before Damiano did.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“At least four years.”
A final photograph showed Matteo.
He was handsome.
Forty.
Dark hair.
Familiar eyes.
Isabela looked closer.
“Why does he look…”
Damiano saw it too.
“Like your mother.”
Enzo nodded.
“We confirmed his identity through archived records.”
“Where is he now?”
“We don’t know.”
A phone rang.
Not Isabela’s.
Not Damiano’s.
An old landline on the wall.
Everyone stared.
It hadn’t worked in decades.
It rang again.
Damiano answered.
Silence.
Then he handed the receiver to Isabela.
“For you.”
She lifted it.
“Hello?”
A man’s voice.
Warm.
Almost friendly.
“Cousin.”
Matteo.
“You’ve made quite a mess of things.”
“You shot at my engagement.”
“No.”
“Everyone denies that.”
“Because everyone is lying to you.”
“What do you want?”
“To meet.”
“Why?”
“Because Lucia gave you half the story.”
“And you’ll give me the other half?”
“I’ll give you the part Carmela died protecting.”
Isabela’s grip tightened.
“Where?”
Matteo laughed softly.
“Ask Damiano where his father was the night your mother was conceived.”
The line went dead.
Isabela slowly turned.
Damiano looked confused.
But Rosa, standing in the doorway, had gone completely white.
Isabela saw it.
“Rosa?”
The elderly woman shook her head.
“No.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Rosa.”
Tears appeared in her eyes.
And Isabela knew.
May you like
There was another secret.
One even Damiano did not know.
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