Despite their acceptance of the bond, a bitter aftertaste remained in my mouth after telling them. I’d always been glad to have a bride my age. Serafina and I would have had at least a few things in common. We knew the same people from our shared social events. Apart from that, Serafina and I shared our outward poised behavior. We could have made a marriage work.

I doubted Sofia and I had anything in common, certainly not now. She was a little kid. When I’d seen her pink room with the pony posters on her walls, I’d considered canceling the whole thing, but again my pride stopped me. I wanted to marry someone high-ranking, someone close to Dante to establish my power even more, and that left only Sofia.

Soon the discussion turned to our usual updates regarding drug trade and the Bratva problem.

I was glad when the meeting was over. Only Marco remained to have a drink. We played a round of darts while having a cold beer without saying a single word to each other. Marco knew me well enough to recognize my need for silence.

Eventually, after my second beer, I leaned against the pool table in my man cave—as my mother always called it. “What do you think?”

Marco slanted me a look and took a deliberate sip from his drink. We were often mistaken for brothers because of the similarities in our looks. Same brown hair and eyes, and the famous strong Mancini chin.

He gave a shrug. “It’s a messed-up deal. You realize neither Emma nor Sofia will be happy if they find out you and Samuel struck an agreement to marry each other’s sister.”

Emma would be devastated. Sofia probably wouldn’t react much better. But in our circles, every marriage was based on a deal of sorts. Always quid pro quo. Love was very rarely the reason behind a bond. “They won’t find out.”

The look Marco gave me was full of doubt. “You know how easily rumors spread in our circles.”

“I wasn’t talking about the deal when I asked for your opinion,” I clarified. “I’m talking about Sofia. I don’t know how I feel about marrying her. What do you think?”

“You won’t marry her for another six years. Until then, even you, stubborn bastard that you are, will have gotten over losing Serafina. You get a Cavallaro niece, that’s what matters, right?”

It should have. From a tactical standpoint, my position hadn’t been weakened. And yet, it felt like I’d taken a deep fall. “She’s too young.”

“Of course, she is, but it’s not like you’re marrying her any time soon. Trust me, in ten or fifteen years, you’ll thank your lucky stars that you have a young wife.”

“We’ll see.” I motioned at the dart board again. “Another round.”

Marco grabbed the darts without protest and began throwing. “What about Emma?”

“What about her?”

“She was supposed to live with you so your mother can focus on caring for your dad. But now that Serafina won’t be moving in, that’s not going to work out, right?”

“Emma’s been getting more independent these last few months. She doesn’t need as much support as she used to. I’ll employ a nanny who specializes in children with disabilities. The maids can take care of the rest.”

“You realize that you work a lot and are barely home? It’s not like you’ll have a ton of time to spend with her.”

“I’ll make time,” I muttered.

“It wasn’t your fault, Danilo. You have to stop blaming yourself for the accident.”

I glared at him. “This discussion is over.”

Marco sighed but finally shut up and continued to play darts.

Emma’s accident wasn’t something I wanted to think about, much less discuss with him. It was bad enough that it haunted my dreams.The next day, I visited my parents. Emma still lived with them, but I’d promised her that she could move in with me today.

When I stepped into the house I’d grown up in, my chest tightened like it always did on my visits lately. The soft whir of Emma’s wheelchair sounded, and she appeared in the doorway of the living room, worry reflected in her brown eyes. Her still-wet hair was piled atop her head in a messy bun. I’d tried to protect her from the darkness of the last few months, but Serafina’s kidnapping had been the trending topic in our circles, even among the children. Emma had witnessed the tumultuous events at my canceled wedding. She knew more than she should.

I headed over to her and hugged her, kissing her forehead before I straightened. She felt frail in my arms, as if a strong gust of wind could break her. “How are you?”

In the first months after the accident, she’d often felt an almost stabbing pain in her legs—not to mention the emotional turmoil she’d been experiencing when she realized she wouldn’t be able to use her legs like she used to, would never dance ballet again.