“You make a beautiful bride, Emily,” he said softly.

“I feel like a prisoner,” I said.

Alessandro sighed, a sound that seemed to come from the very depths of his chest.

He sat down in the velvet armchair near the fireplace, resting his hands on his cane.

“A prisoner protects the walls just as much as the walls protect her,” he said.

I stepped down from the platform, the heavy silk dragging behind me.

“My father’s restaurant didn’t burn down by accident,” I said.

The words spilled out before I could stop them.

Alessandro did not look surprised.

He simply stared at me with his pale, watery eyes.

“No,” he said. “It did not.”

My heart hammered against my ribs.

“You knew?”

“I knew the Sforzas were looking for a foothold in Boston,” Alessandro said.

“They wanted to squeeze your father to get to us.”

“So you let them ruin him?” I demanded, my voice rising.

“You let them destroy our life so you could buy me?”

Alessandro shook his head slowly.

“I did not destroy your father, Emily. He came to me for help, and I gave him a choice.”