Twisted Loyalty

Chapter 4: Till Death Do us Part

Sienna

The chandelier above glimmers with hundreds of tiny crystals, each one catching the light and casting delicate reflections around the grand hall. The room is filled with people—dressed in the finest suits and gowns, masks of civility covering the corruption and violence that pulses just beneath the surface. Tonight is no ordinary event. This is a formal celebration, a declaration, a public display of Luca Romano's power.

And my downfall.

The dress I'm wearing is stunning. A deep red, tailored to fit my every curve. It's strapless, the bodice tight and unforgiving, cinching me in as though it's a physical representation of the trap I'm walking into. The fabric flows out from my hips, elegant, expensive, designed to make me look like the perfect prize my father wants everyone to see me as. My dark brown hair is swept up into an intricate style, a few loose tendrils falling around my face. I look exactly the way my father wants me to look tonight—untouchable, beautiful, and completely under his control.

But on the inside, I feel like I'm about to suffocate.

Enzo stands beside me, his hand possessively gripping my waist, fingers pressing into my skin with more force than necessary. He's tall, broad-shouldered, and meticulously groomed, the picture of wealth and power. His dark hair is slicked back with precision, and his suit—black, with a hint of red in his pocket square—matches the formality of the night. But his eyes—those cold, pale gray eyes—seem to suck the warmth out of the room. Every time he looks at me, it feels like he's appraising me. Judging whether or not I'm worth the effort of breaking.

I hate him already.

"Don't slouch," Enzo murmurs, his voice cold as he leans in close, his lips brushing my ear in a way that sends a shiver of disgust down my spine. "You're making us look bad."

I force my posture to straighten, my back stiffening as I plaster a smile on my face. It's tight, unnatural, but I have no choice. I can feel his fingers dig deeper into my waist, his silent way of reminding me who's in control tonight. He's been like this all evening—correcting me, guiding me, positioning me like a puppet in his twisted little show. Every time I move, I feel his eyes on me, calculating every gesture, every breath, as if waiting for me to misstep.

And the worst part is, I can't do anything about it. I'm trapped. Not just in this dress, or in this room, but in this life my father has built for me.

"I said smile," Enzo hisses under his breath when he notices the tightness in my expression. "You don't want to embarrass your father."

I force my lips to curve into a wider smile, though it feels like glass cutting into my skin. My heart races in my chest, but I keep my breathing steady, careful not to let Enzo see how much he's getting to me. The entire room is watching—my father's associates, allies, enemies, all waiting to see how this night will unfold. Tonight is the night I'm being promised to Enzo Sorrentino, and I know every eye in the room is waiting for me to fail.

The applause is deafening as my father steps forward, raising his glass. His deep voice carries through the hall as he speaks of family, loyalty, and the strength of alliances. But I can barely hear him over the roar of blood rushing in my ears.

Enzo's hand slides lower, resting on my hip now, his grip tightening to the point of pain. He leans closer, his lips almost touching my ear again. "Stand still. Stop fidgeting."

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from snapping back. I can't afford to make a scene. Not here, not now. So I stand there, my back stiff, my smile plastered on, pretending that I don't feel like I'm about to crawl out of my own skin.

"Tonight," my father continues, his voice booming through the hall, "we celebrate not only the strength of our family but the future of it. I am proud to announce the engagement of my daughter, Sienna, to Enzo Sorrentino."