Chapter 1 The SUMMONS

The midday sun blazed down on the dusty village of Castello Verde, casting long shadows on the narrow, cobbled streets. The scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the sweet aroma of sun-ripened figs, and the distant toll of the church bell echoed over the hills. Yet none of it stirred Lucia Moretti.

She stood motionless, her hands clutching the worn letter that had arrived that morning, carried by a man in a polished black car with De Luca insignias on the doors. The parchment was thick, the ink elegant and formal, and the message brief-but it had turned her world upside down.

You are requested at Villa De Luca immediately. A matter of family legacy requires your presence. - Matteo De Luca.

Lucia reread the line again, hoping it might change. But the words remained, carved in deliberate ink, laced with command and mystery. The De Lucas were the most powerful family in the region-wealthy beyond imagination, rulers of vineyards, banks, and bloodlines. She had never imagined she would cross their threshold, let alone be summoned.

Her grandmother, Nonna Rosa, had paled when she saw the envelope.

"They never forget a debt," Rosa had whispered, making the sign of the cross. "And you, ragazza mia, are the price."

Lucia had laughed then-nervously, dismissively. But now, as she approached the gates of the grand estate in the back of a luxury car she didn't belong in, that laughter had long since faded.

The Villa De Luca was a fortress of opulence-marble columns, gilded balconies, and gardens so vast they felt like kingdoms of their own. Lucia stepped out of the car, her cheap cotton dress clinging to her from the heat and nerves. She smoothed her curls self-consciously, painfully aware that she was a poor peasant girl walking into a lion's den.

The butler didn't speak as he led her through the cavernous halls. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, and oil paintings of long-dead De Lucas glared down at her like ghosts judging an intruder.

At last, he stopped at a tall oak door and knocked once before opening it.

Lucia stepped inside-and froze.

There he was.

Matteo De Luca.

Tall, lean, and carved from stone. His charcoal suit hugged his powerful frame like it was tailored by God himself, and his jet-black hair was slicked back with ruthless precision. He didn't rise from the chair behind his massive desk. He merely looked up with eyes the color of storm clouds-cold, calculating, unreadable.

"You came," he said simply.

Lucia's throat dried. "You summoned me. I didn't think declining was an option."

He tilted his head, a ghost of amusement flickering over his face. "Smart. That will serve you well."

She bristled at the condescension in his voice but said nothing. She had grown up poor, yes-but she was not stupid, nor weak. If he expected a meek village girl, he'd be sorely disappointed.

"Why am I here?" she asked, folding her arms.

Matteo stood, and for a moment, the sheer force of his presence made her breath catch. He walked slowly to a cabinet, poured himself a glass of amber liquid, and stared at it as if it held answers.

"My grandmother is dying," he said finally, not looking at her. "She has only one wish-to see me married before she goes."

Lucia frowned. "And you expect me to-?"

"Not expect," he interrupted coolly. "Require."

Her jaw dropped. "I beg your pardon?"

Matteo finally met her gaze, his expression unreadable. "Years ago, your mother saved my grandmother's life. My family owes yours a debt. My grandmother has decided to repay it-with you. She believes fate brought you here. I don't believe in fate, Miss Moretti. But I do believe in honoring her."

Lucia stared at him. "You want me to marry you. Out of obligation?"

His lips curled into a smirk. "Let's not romanticize it. I need a bride. You need security. The arrangement benefits us both."

"I don't need your money," she snapped, taking a step back.

"No," he agreed. "But your family does. Your farm is drowning in debt. Your brother's medical bills are rising. One stroke of my pen, and all of that disappears."

Lucia's heart pounded. It was blackmail, wrapped in silk and spoken in velvet. But it was also the truth.

She hated that he was right.

Still, she lifted her chin. "What kind of man uses his wealth to manipulate someone into marriage?"

Matteo's eyes darkened. "A man who doesn't believe in love. A man who has no time for games. This is a contract, Miss Moretti. Not a fairytale."

She swallowed hard. Her mind screamed to run, but something else-pride, duty, defiance-anchored her to the ground.

"What do you get out of this?" she asked softly.

He walked toward her, slow and measured, until only inches separated them. She could smell his cologne-clean, rich, intoxicating.

"Peace," he murmured. "A quiet life without complications. A woman who won't pretend to love me. And most importantly, my grandmother's blessing, before she leaves this world."

Lucia searched his eyes, looking for warmth. There was none. He was a man carved from ice, but she sensed there was fire buried somewhere deep beneath the frost.

And against all reason, she was curious.

Dangerously curious.

"I want to meet her," she said at last.

Matteo blinked. "Who?"

"Your grandmother. If she's the one making this demand, I want to see her face when she says it."

For the first time, his expression flickered with surprise-and something else she couldn't place. Respect?

He gave a short nod. "Very well. Follow me."

As she walked beside him through the long corridors of the villa, Lucia couldn't help the thought that wormed its way into her chest:

What the hell am I getting myself into?