Chapter 5

The Announcement

The grand hall of the hotel had gone silent after hours of negotiations. The Italians had decided.

Dante rose from his seat, his presence commanding even without a single raised tone. His dark eyes swept over the Knights, then landed coldly on Charles.

“We leave for Italy tomorrow. Before eleven. Have her ready.”

The order was delivered like a verdict. No room for discussion, no pause for emotion.

Margaret gasped softly, her hand clenching around her pearls. Charles swallowed hard, his pride already reduced to ash.

Dante’s gaze flickered briefly toward the closed doors of the hall—toward Evelina’s absence. A shadow of something unreadable crossed his eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it came.

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Later that night, Charles approached Dante privately. The Italian stood near the window of the suite, hands in his pockets, the Manhattan skyline burning behind him.

Charles’s voice was hoarse. “I know… I know this is not her fault. Evelina never wanted this. She doesn’t even know your world.”

Dante’s eyes didn’t move from the glass. His silence was heavy.

Charles stepped closer, his voice lowering into a plea.

“She’s young, Dante. She’s soft, but she’s smart. Please… do not show her your cruel side. She is not Scarlett. Treat her like your wife. Respect her. She’s a sweetheart. Don’t… don’t break her.”

The weight of a father’s helplessness hung between them.

Dante finally turned, his gaze sharp, unreadable. He didn’t speak—words weren’t his way. He gave a single, firm nod. Nothing more.

And somehow, that single gesture was all Charles could cling to.

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Upstairs, Evelina had changed out of the heavy wedding gown. In soft cotton, hair undone, she looked like the girl she had been that morning, not the bride she had been forced into hours ago.

She lay curled on the bed, hugging her mother tightly. Her body trembled with quiet sobs, though her lips made no sound. Margaret stroked her daughter’s hair, voice breaking as she whispered advice Evelina barely heard—

“Be respectful… stay quiet when you must… don’t anger him… remember, you are strong, my love…”

But Evelina was too overwhelmed to respond. She had never left her family, never lived without their protection. Now she was being taken to Italy, bound to a man she didn’t know, a family feared by the world.

Exhaustion pulled at her fragile frame. Her tears dried against her mother’s dress until finally, Evelina’s breathing evened out, sleep claiming her in her mother’s embrace.

The door creaked open. Charles stepped in, shoulders weighed down with invisible chains. His eyes softened when they fell on Evelina, curled up like a child.

He bent down, pressing his lips gently to her forehead. It lingered—a silent apology, a goodbye disguised as love. His throat tightened as he whispered words he could never say aloud: Forgive me, my little girl.

Margaret carefully eased herself from Evelina’s side, tucking the sheets around her. Together, she and Charles began quietly packing clothes into luggage, folding her innocence into suitcases as though preparing her for exile.

The room was hushed, only the sound of zippers and drawers closing filling the silence. Evelina stirred once, sighing in her sleep, clutching the pillow tighter.

And so the night folded in shadows. Her last night as Evelina Grace Knight, daughter of the Knights of America.

Tomorrow, she would awaken as Evelina Moretti—the lamb bound to the lion.

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