Page 72 of Stalk Me

“I don’t care about the old guard. Or about leading the family.” I stand, squaring my shoulders. “I appreciate you telling me the truth about my past, about my mother. But I won’t give up my life, give up Nikolai, to fulfill some dynastic obligation.”

“You’re being naive?—”

“No, I’m being honest. I love him. And if that means walking away from this inheritance and family, then that’s what I’ll do.”

Mario’s kind demeanor shifts, his eyes turning cold as winter frost. The transformation sends a chill down my spine.

“You think this is a choice?” His voice carries an edge I hadn’t heard before. “The family needs an heir. Your father is dying. This isn’t about what you want anymore.”

My chin rises as I refuse to cower. “And how did forcing my father into an arranged marriage work out? Look where we are now—his wife tried to kill his child, killed my mother, and murdered my foster parents. All because of some outdated notion of duty and arranged marriages.”

“You don’t understand our ways?—”

“No, I understand perfectly. History is repeating itself.” I take a step toward him. “You forced my father to marry Lucia instead of my mother. How many lives were destroyed because of that decision? And now you want to do the same to me?”

Mario’s jaw tightens. “The family comes first. Always.”

“The family?” I laugh bitterly. “The same family that drove my mother to hide me away and got her killed?”

“Enough!” Mario slams his hand on the armrest. “You will do as you’re told. You will marry who we choose. And you will lead this family as is your duty.”

“Or what? You’ll kill me, too?” The words hang in the air between us. “Add me to the list of family casualties?”

His silence speaks volumes.

“You’re no better than Lucia,” I spit out. “At least she was honest about her intentions to destroy lives. You hide behind tradition and duty while doing the exact same thing.”

Mario’s rigid posture softens slightly, and he releases a heavy sigh. “Sofia, I understand this is overwhelming. Finding out about your true heritage, your father’s condition, all of it... it’s a lot to process.”

“Then why force this on me now? Why not give me time?”

“Because time is the one luxury we don’t have.” He rubs his temples. “Your father’s condition is deteriorating rapidly.”

I pace the ornate room. “There must be other options. Surely there are cousins, other family members who actually want this role?”

“It’s not that simple?—”

“Why isn’t it?” I turn to face him. “The world has changed. Maybe it’s time for the family traditions to change, too. Why does it have to be a direct bloodline? Why not choose someone based on merit, someone who understands the business and wants to lead?”

Mario leans forward in his chair. “You speak of change, yet you don’t understand what’s at stake. The other families would see it as a weakness. They would move against us.”

“Or maybe they’d respect a choice that puts the family’s future above outdated traditions.” I sit on the edge of the bed, facing him. “There must be someone else who could take this on. Someone who’s been raised in this world, who understands all the complexities. I’m an art gallery owner from Boston. I know nothing about running a...” I hesitate, searching for the right words. “A family organization.”

“You have more natural talent than you realize,” Mario says softly. “The way you’ve built your gallery, your instincts for business, your ability to read people. These aren’t accidents.”

“That’s different. This is...” I gesture vaguely. “This is so much bigger.”

Mario rises from his chair, straightening his impeccable suit. “Just think about it,piccolina. That’s all I ask. Take some time to process everything.”

His use of the Italian endearment stirs something deep inside me—a half-remembered feeling of belonging that I quickly push away. I can’t let sentiment cloud my judgment, not with so much at stake.

“And if I refuse?”

“Let’s not discuss that now.” He moves toward the door with the fluid grace of someone used to power. “You’ll find fresh clothes in the wardrobe. The bathroom is through that door.” He gestures to a panel I hadn’t noticed before. “Feel free to explore this floor of the villa. My staff will attend to anything you need.”

I notice he doesn’t mention phones or outside contact. “Am I still a prisoner?”

“No, Sofia. You’re family.” His hand rests on the doorknob. “But I would advise against trying to leave. The grounds are heavily guarded, and we’re quite remote. It would be... unwise... to attempt anything foolish.”

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