Chapter 7~

The dining room buzzed with quiet conversation as the plates were cleared away. Dinner had been a formal affair, with Elena's family sitting across from Damien's, the atmosphere thick with tension. Every bite Elena had taken felt like it could choke her. The weight of what was about to happen pressed heavily on her chest, her hands trembling slightly beneath the table.

As the evening came to a close, Vittorio signaled to one of the staff, who brought out a silver tray adorned with velvet ring boxes. The sound of chairs scraping the floor filled the room as everyone stood, gathering around the grand dining table. Elena's heart skipped a beat, her pulse quickening as she realized what was happening.

It was time for the engagement ceremony.

Her engagement ceremony.

The room was dimly lit, soft candles casting flickering shadows on the walls. The glow highlighted the expectant faces of her family members, but all Elena could focus on was the cold reality settling in her bones. This was it. Once that ring was placed on her finger, her life would no longer be her own. She would belong to Damien.

Belong to him.

The words sent a shiver down her spine. Her body felt stiff, her breath shallow as her gaze darted toward her father, who stood beside Vittorio, both men speaking quietly, satisfied with the arrangement that would unite their families. She could feel the weight of their expectations bearing down on her, pressing her further into the inevitability of it all.

When her eyes found Damien, he stood still, his tall frame towering over her from across the room. His expression was unreadable, his face calm and composed as always. He was so much older than her, so much larger, and in that moment, he seemed like a force of nature—silent, but impossible to escape. His green eyes, sharp and piercing, flicked toward her for the briefest second. No emotion flickered across his face, yet there was something in that glance—something possessive. He didn't have to say it, but Elena felt it deep in her gut.

He knew. He knew that after tonight, she would be his.

And so did she.

The members of both families slowly circled around, forming a small gathering, their eyes filled with anticipation. Elena stood frozen, her palms slick with sweat. She was barely 15, her petite frame dwarfed by the presence of the people around her, especially Damien, who seemed to tower over her as he approached. His steps were slow, deliberate, as if every movement carried meaning.

Her breath hitched when he finally stood before her. His dark suit, tailored to perfection, emphasized the broadness of his shoulders. His black hair, neatly combed back, contrasted sharply with the brightness of his eyes, which were locked on her now with an intensity that made her heart race.

She lowered her gaze to the floor, too nervous to meet his eyes for more than a few seconds at a time. Her brown hair fell loosely around her face, its soft waves brushing against her cheek as she fidgeted, trying to calm her trembling fingers. Her eyes darted to the tray holding the rings, the small symbols of the future she didn't choose. The future she had no control over.

A soft cough drew her attention back to her father, who motioned for her to step forward. Her feet felt like lead as she moved, every step taking her closer to the inevitable. Standing beside Damien felt like standing in a shadow—his shadow. He was so much taller than her, so much more composed, while she felt like a fragile bird about to be caged.

Vittorio stepped forward first, his deep voice cutting through the silence. "This union marks the beginning of a new chapter for our families," he said, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "May it bring strength, prosperity, and loyalty."

Giovanni nodded in agreement, his pride evident as he glanced at his daughter. But Elena barely registered their words. All she could think about was the weight of what was about to happen. The ring. His ring. The one that would bind her to Damien.

Her throat tightened as her mother approached with the small velvet box containing the engagement ring. It was beautiful, shimmering in the soft light, but to Elena, it felt more like a chain than a symbol of love. She wasn't ready. She wasn't prepared to give her life away like this. But no one was asking her. Her fate had already been decided.

Damien reached out, taking the ring from the box with a quiet confidence that sent a shiver down her spine. His fingers, strong and steady, held the delicate band with care. And then, without a word, he reached for her hand.

Elena hesitated, her pulse quickening. For a moment, she wanted to pull back, to run, but there was no escape. She lifted her trembling hand, allowing him to take it. His grip was firm but not harsh, his skin cool against hers as he slowly slid the ring onto her finger. The metal felt heavy, its weight far more significant than its physical presence.

And then it was done.

Elena stared at her hand, the ring gleaming on her finger, binding her to the man standing beside her. She belonged to him now. There was no denying it. Damien didn't say anything, didn't offer any comforting words or explanations. He didn't need to. His silence spoke volumes.

As they stood there, surrounded by their families, Elena couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped. Her life, once her own, was now entangled with his. She wasn't just Elena Moretti anymore. She was soon to be Elena Cortelli.

Damien, for his part, remained composed, but his mind was already set. The little creature standing beside him—this small girl with her wide brown eyes and soft, wavy hair—was his. She didn't know it yet, not fully, but she would soon learn. The ring on her finger wasn't just a promise of marriage. It was a declaration. She was his, in every sense of the word.

He glanced down at her, taking in her small frame, her nervous fidgeting. She was so much younger, so much smaller, yet in his mind, she already belonged to him. That much was certain. And now, with that ring, everyone else would know it too.

_______________________________________

In Giovanni's grand office, the heavy air of power and secrecy lingered, the walls adorned with framed maps of Sicily, old photographs, and shelves lined with business documents. Seated around a large mahogany table were Giovanni, Damien, and a few trusted associates. The discussion had been business-focused until Damien, with his signature cold demeanor, broke the rhythm.

"As Elena will soon turn 18, our marriage will follow. Until then, she'll stay here with the family. I need to know—who is in charge of her safety?" His deep, authoritative voice sent a chill through the room. His piercing green eyes locked onto Giovanni as he spoke, leaving no room for doubt.

Giovanni gave a firm nod and gestured to Jerry, a man in his 40s, who had been standing silently in the background. Jerry's eyes were sharp, his movements calculated. He was no stranger to danger, and his reputation for handling security matters was known far and wide. But Damien's gaze unnerved him—Damien was different from any man he'd ever worked for. The young mafia heir had a terrifying air of control.

Damien's green eyes lingered on Jerry, assessing him carefully. Of course, Damien already knew everything about him. He had done his homework. Jerry was trustworthy and skilled, but Damien didn't like leaving any detail unchecked. Jerry, for his part, disliked Damien's arrogant authority, but he couldn't shirk his duty to protect Giovanni's children.

Before the conversation could continue, there was a soft knock at the door, followed by the sound of it creaking open. It was Elena's cousin, Matteo, a tall young man in his early 20s, his face showing subtle signs of nervousness. He had asked Clara for permission to come inside, and now here he was, holding a file for Giovanni. His presence pulled everyone's attention.

Matteo handed Giovanni the file, his eyes flitting nervously between Damien and Giovanni. As the business discussion resumed, Matteo's ears caught a word—engagement. The name Cortelli. The realization dawned on him in seconds: Elena was going to marry Damien Cortelli.

The blood drained from Matteo's face, and his chest tightened with a mix of emotions—hurt, anger, jealousy. Matteo had always loved Elena, ever since they were children. His feelings had grown stronger over the years, but he had kept them hidden, quietly admiring her from a distance. He had hoped that one day, when the time was right, he would confess and make her his wife. But now, hearing that she was betrothed to the powerful Damien Cortelli shattered his hopes.

"Giovanni uncle," Matteo blurted out, "I need to speak with you. Alone." His voice was tight, barely controlled, but the tension was obvious.

Damien's green eyes narrowed at the request, watching closely as Giovanni stood and motioned for Matteo to follow him outside. They stepped into the hallway, but Damien's sharp hearing picked up on every word that was spoken beyond the door.

"Uncle, I've always had feelings for Elena," Matteo said, his voice breaking slightly. "I want to marry her. I deserve a chance."

Inside the office, Damien's jaw clenched. His fists tightened, and a possessive rage flickered within him. He had no patience for fools like Matteo. Without a second thought, Damien strode toward the door, swinging it open. Matteo and Giovanni turned, both startled by his sudden appearance.

"You're too late, Matteo," Damien said, his voice cold and final. "She's mine. In this lifetime, she belongs to me."

Matteo's face contorted in anger. He clenched his fists, unwilling to back down. "I still have three years! She might fall in love with me. What then, Damien? What if she chooses me? I'll claim her, physically and mentally. She'll be mine, not yours."

Those words hit Damien like a spark to a fuse. The rage that had been simmering beneath his calm exterior exploded. In one swift motion, he grabbed Matteo by the collar, dragging him back into Giovanni's office. Giovanni, too stunned to react, followed them inside.

Damien shoved Matteo against the large desk, sending papers and objects crashing to the floor. His face was inches from Matteo's, the cold, murderous look in his eyes unmistakable.

"Jerry," Damien growled, turning to the man in charge of security, "no one—no man—is to go near Elena. You understand? She's under your protection."

Jerry, standing tensely near the door, nodded immediately. He could see the situation was on the brink of violence.

Damien's eyes returned to Matteo, his expression dark. "She already belongs to me, Matteo. Stop this nonsense."

But Matteo wasn't done. With a twisted, evil smile, he spat out his next words. "I'll make her mine, Damien. I don't care if I have to force her. I'll make her pregnant if that's what it takes to marry her."

The room fell silent. Giovanni's eyes widened in shock, but before anyone could move, Damien snapped. In one fluid movement, he reached for the knife strapped to Jerry's belt. In the blink of an eye, Damien lashed out, slashing at Matteo. The room was filled with a scream, Matteo's scream, as Damien's blade found its mark.

Blood splattered across Damien's face, the metallic scent filling the air. Matteo crumpled to the ground, clutching the gushing wound between his legs, writhing in agony. Giovanni stood frozen, shock and horror written across his face.

Outside the window, Elena and her younger brother Julian had been watching the entire scene unfold. Elena's hands flew to her mouth in horror, while Julian's face paled. His stomach twisted, and without warning, he vomited onto the ground beside her., his small body shaking with fear. The sight of the blood, the violence, was too much for him to handle.

Damien, still breathing heavily, wiped the blood from his face with a calm, controlled motion. He noticed the commotion by the window and turned his gaze toward it. His cold green eyes caught sight of Elena and Julian, both frozen in fear.

"Come inside," he motioned with a sharp nod, his tone still icy.

But Elena, her heart pounding in her chest, grabbed Julian's hand and bolted, running as fast as she could with her brother. Julian was sobbing uncontrollably, his little body shaking as Elena dragged him away, trying to put as much distance between them and the horrors of the office.

The entire night was a blur of fear and uncertainty for Elena. The scene she had witnessed—Damien's swift and brutal attack on Matteo—played on a loop in her mind, leaving her shaken to the core. Clara stayed by Julian's side, tending to him as he too was pale and feverish from the horror they had both seen. Elena couldn't sleep, her thoughts consumed with how her life was unraveling. She felt trapped, unable to escape the future being forced upon her. How could she live with a man capable of such violence?

By morning, the atmosphere in the house was unnervingly calm. Despite the chaos of the previous night, the Cortelli family gathered for breakfast as if nothing had happened. They spoke of business deals and future plans, their composed faces masking the bloodshed that had occurred just hours earlier.

Elena stayed in bed, her body burning with fever, too weak to join the others. Julian, also feverish, rested beside her, though his fragile state mirrored more than just illness—it was the emotional toll of what he had witnessed.

Downstairs, Vittorio leaned back in his chair after breakfast, addressing Giovanni with his usual cold authority. "Your children are weak-hearted, Giovanni. How do you expect your daughter to handle the responsibilities of being the wife of Sicily's Mafia head?" His voice was as smooth as it was dismissive.

Damien, seated next to him, remained indifferent. "They're still just kids," he said simply, his tone emotionless, as if what had happened the night before was no more than a minor inconvenience.

After breakfast, the adults discussed various business projects, including hotel ventures in Rome and Milan. It was as though the violent outburst had never happened.

Meanwhile, outside in the garden, 20-year-old Lorenzo Cortelli roamed around, exploring the grounds. His mischievous, carefree demeanor was a stark contrast to his brother's cold, controlled nature. He wasn't particularly involved in the business side of the family yet, and preferred to enjoy life in his own way.

As he strolled past a small swing set near the edge of the garden, Lorenzo spotted 14 years old Julian sitting alone. The boy looked fragile and pale, clearly still shaken by what he had witnessed. With a playful grin, Lorenzo approached quietly, holding a small bottle of pomegranate juice. "Hey there, little mate," he called, offering the bottle to Julian.

Julian looked up, recognizing him instantly as his future brother-in-law's younger brother "Thank you," he murmured softly, managing a weak smile. "But I'm allergic to pomegranate."

Lorenzo raised his eyebrows in surprise, then chuckled. "Good thing you told me, huh?" He sat down on the swing next to Julian, taking a sip of the juice himself. "You okay? Last night must've been pretty scary for you, huh?"

Julian's small frame tensed, but he nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. "It was… horrible." He looked down at his feet, unable to shake the image of blood, of Matteo's pain, from his mind.

Lorenzo sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "Yeah, my brother can be a bit terrifying. But Matteo said things that provoked him, and Damien… well, he's a man of morals, but he doesn't take it lightly when someone tries to touch what's his. Your sister—Elena—is his now. He's… protective like that."

There was a long pause. Julian, still overwhelmed, nodded slightly. He didn't know how to respond to Lorenzo's words, but something in his playful tone made Julian feel less alone in his fear.

Lorenzo noticed the boy's discomfort and leaned over, ruffling his hair playfully. "You know, you're cute. Like a little bunny," he said with a wink, trying to lighten the mood.

Julian's cheeks flushed red at the unexpected compliment, his nervousness shifting slightly into embarrassment. "I'm not a bunny," he muttered, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

"Sure you are," Lorenzo grinned. "But hey, don't let all this get to you. You're still young—there's plenty of time for you to grow up strong, like your dad. Just eat well, stay healthy, and make some beautiful memories with your sister while you can. You're gonna need them."

Julian looked at Lorenzo with wide eyes, a little awed by how effortlessly charming he was, even in the face of everything that had happened. He couldn't help but feel slightly better, the weight of the night before lifting just a little.

"Well, I've gotta go now," Lorenzo said, standing up and checking the time on his watch. He winked again at Julian, his grin never fading. "I'll see you at the wedding, little bunny."

Before Julian could say anything, Lorenzo was off, strolling back toward the house with his usual carefree air. Julian watched him leave, still seated on the swing, his heart racing from the conversation. His mind was swirling with everything that had happened—but somehow, Lorenzo's words stuck with him. Maybe things weren't as hopeless as they seemed.

As he sat there, swinging gently back and forth, he wondered how different life would become once his sister married Damien Cortelli.

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