Page 5 of Luca
"Don't marry the bastard. We'll find another way. There has to be a way out of this."
She stares at me like I've suggested we sprout wings and fly away. "There is no other way. The contracts are already signed, the business alliance is arranged. If I back out now, it's not just an insult to the Romano family. It's a declaration of war. Papa's business, our family's protection, everything depends on this marriage happening today. This is bigger than me or my emotional issues."
"Then maybe it's time for Papa to find a different solution to his business problems. You’re not a piece of property to be traded."
"You don't understand." She's crying again, tears running down her face in steady streams. "It's not just about business anymore. Two months ago, there was a problem. Someone tried to muscle in on Papa's territory. Some of his pieces went missing from the gallery, expensive ones. The type of theft that sends a message."
This is the first I'm hearing about any of this. "What kind of message?"
"That he's vulnerable. That he doesn't have powerful enough allies to protect what's his." Sofia wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, a gesture so familiar I immediately reach out with my thumb to wipe the tears away. "The Romano marriage isn't only about expanding business anymore. It's about survival. If I don't go through with this, if I make Papa look weak or unreliable..."
She doesn't finish, but she doesn't need to. In this world, looking weak gets you killed.
And your family.
"Everyone expects you to sacrifice yourself to a criminal to save the family business?"
"I'm the only daughter Papa acknowledges," she corrects. "The only daughter who exists in his world. As far as anyone else knows, you’ve been dead a long time."
It's a pointed reminder that even though Sofia and I reconnected eight years ago, even though we've maintained secret contact through encrypted messages and carefully planned meetings, I'm still officially dead to the Arcari family.
In Papa’s eyes, I died the night Mama took me and disappeared. Only Sofia exists, and only Sofia works for his business plans.
"What if there was another way?" I ask softly. "What if you don’t have to be the one who walks down the aisle?"
She looks at me, confused. I sense the exact moment she understands what I'm suggesting.
"Gabriella, no. You can't risk it."
"Why not? We're identical twins. I've been gone for many years. No one knows I’m still alive and around. How well does Luca know you?"
"Not well, but he'll know something's different. He’s a smart man. When he finds out, he might kill us both. And Papa."
"If I notices that I’m different, I'll tell him marriage has changed me. That I've decided to be more confident. Men love thinking they've inspired some kind of transformation." I'm already working through the logistics in my head. "You can disappear, and I’ll take your place at the wedding. The marriage agreement gets honored, the family stays safe, and you get your freedom."
"And you get trapped in a marriage to a dangerous man who could kill you if he ever finds out what we've done."
"Don’t worry about it. I can handle dangerous men. You can't. That's not a judgment, only a fact. You're not built for this kind of life, and there's nothing wrong with that. But I am. I can do this, I promise."
She shakes her head. "You can't sacrifice your life for mine. It’s not right and I won’t let you do it."
"I'm not sacrificing my life. I'm trading one version of my life for another. And you're not sacrificing yours either. You're finally going to get to live it. Are you with me on this? It’s your only chance, Sofia. I’m begging you to take it and go live your life for once."
I take her hands in mind and squeeze them. Finally, she lets out a long breath and nods.
“If you think it’ll work,” she says.
“I know it will, but we need to hurry.”
We spend the next few hours going through everything. I study photos on her phone, memorize details about her conversations with Luca's family, practice her handwriting until my fingers cramp. She shows me how she walks, how she laughs softly and covers her mouth, how she sits with her ankles crossed.
"Oh no!” she blurts out before noon. “Your hair! It's longer than mine, and wilder."
I run my fingers through my travel-tangled waves. "Cut it for me."
"I don’t know how to cut hair!”
“Cut it. How hard can it be? We don't have time for vanity. I’m sure the hairdresser you’ve arranged for the wedding will fix it nicely when she arrives."
