I looked at my father, but he avoided my eyes, staring at his shoes.

Alessandro took a slow sip from a small porcelain cup of espresso.

“Your father is a very poor businessman, signorina,” Alessandro said.

He set the cup down on the saucer with a soft, sharp click.

“It was a bad investment, Emily,” my father stammeron.

His face was turning a deep, blotchy red under the collar of his shirt.

“He owes my family two million dollars,” Alessandro said.

The silence in the room grew heavy and suffocating.

I laughed, expecting a joke, but neither of them smiled.

“We don’t have that kind of money,” I said.

“No,” Alessandro agreed. “You do not.”

My father gripped his own hands together until his knuckles turned white.

“Alessandro has agreed to clear the debt,” my father whispered.

“How?” I asked. “We don’t have anything left to sell.”

My father looked down at the polished floor.

“By taking you as his wife,” my father said.

The words did not make sense.

I felt the air leave my lungs as if I had been struck in the chest.

“What did you say?” I asked.

“It is the only way, Emily,” he said. “They would have killed me.”

“You sold me?” I whispered.

My voice shook, thin and fragile.

“It is a business arrangement,” Alessandro said calmly.

“You will live here, and your father’s debt is gone.”

I stepped back, my heel clicking sharply against the stone.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

“No,” I said. “I am leaving.”

I turned toward the heavy double doors of the room.

My father did not move to help me.

He only stared at the floor, his shoulders hunched in shame.

I grabbed the brass handles of the door and pushed them open.

The hallway outside was long and empty, lined with grim oil paintings.