PROLOGUE:
{GIANNA}
"No."
The word hangs between us, a fragile lifeline I've just thrown myself. In the ten years I've lived under Uncle Aldo's roof,
I've never dared to say it. Not to his face. Not aloud. I didn't have the guts. Hell, I still don't. But sometimes, the scariest monster isn't the one who raised you—it's the one he's chosen for your happily never after.
Uncle Aldo narrows his cold, dead eyes at me, and I feel that fleeting spark of courage shrivel up and die somewhere between my racing heart and churning stomach.
Stupid, stupid girl. What were you thinking?
When he leans forward in his chair, I clamp my lips shut and force myself to breathe through my nose. The last thing I need is to puke on his expensive rug.
That will only piss him off more.
"The wedding is on Friday," he continues, as if my refusal didn't register at all. "Carlo wants to take you out tomorrow to officially propose. We'll say you two met a month ago, fell madly in love—"
