The Return Of The Young Marshal's

Cecilia's Forced Marriage

CHAPTER 2: Cecilia's Forced Marriage

The Ferretti family estate sprawled across five acres of prime Marina Azzurra real estate, its marble columns and manicured gardens a testament to old money and older cruelty. Inside the grand ballroom, decorated with white roses and gold ribbons, a wedding was about to take place—whether the bride wanted it or not.

Cecilia Ferretti stood in the doorway wearing jeans and a simple white blouse, her face bare of makeup, her dark hair pulled into a careless ponytail. Around her, three hundred guests in designer gowns and tailored suits turned to stare.

"Madonna santa..." someone whispered.

"Is that the bride?"

"She looks like a servant!"

At the altar, Connaro Lombardi waited in a custom Armani tuxedo, his handsome face twisted into a sneer. Everyone in Marina Azzurra knew Connaro's reputation—three previous engagements broken amid whispers of abuse, rumors of drug addiction, and credible allegations of assaulting women that his family's money had made disappear.

"Cecilia!" Her mother, Ginevra, rushed forward, her eyes red from crying. "Tesoro, please, just put on the dress. Don't make this harder on yourself."

"Harder on myself?" Cecilia's voice was calm, cold. "Or harder on the family, Mamma?"

"Cecilia, per favore—"

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?"

The roar came from Filippo Ferretti, the family patriarch, who stormed toward them with his gold-tipped cane striking the marble floor like a judge's gavel. At seventy-eight, Filippo still commanded the family empire with an iron fist, and his weathered face was purple with rage.

"Nonno," Cecilia said quietly, meeting his furious gaze. "Good evening."

"Good evening? GOOD EVENING?" Spittle flew from Filippo's lips. "You dare show up to your own wedding looking like... like a street beggar? Like garbage? You shame this family!"

"I'm the one being shamed, Nonno. Sold like cattle to that—"

"Watch your tongue, girl!" Filippo raised his cane, and for a moment, Cecilia thought he might actually strike her.

Nearby, her father Aldo stood silent, his eyes on the floor. Aldo Ferretti, once considered heir to the family fortune, had been systematically pushed aside by his younger brothers over the years. Now he was little more than a figurehead, voiceless and timid, afraid to defend even his own daughter.

"Papa," Cecilia said softly, desperately. "Say something. Please."

Aldo's mouth opened, then closed. He looked away.

"Pathetic," muttered Riccardo Ferretti, Filippo's second son, stepping forward with his arms crossed. "Aldo can't even control his own daughter. Look at her—dressed like an insect. No, worse than an insect. At least insects know their place."

Laughter rippled through his children—Marco, Luca, and Sofia—who stood behind him like a pack of well-dressed hyenas.

"An insect!" Marco laughed. "That's generous, Papa. I'd say she looks like something we'd scrape off our shoes."

"She's trying to embarrass us," Sofia added, her diamond earrings catching the light. "In front of everyone. The Lombardi family, all our business associates... she's making us look like fools!"

Quintino Ferretti, the third brother, nodded sagely. "This is what happens when you raise a girl with too much freedom. They forget they're meant to serve the family's interests, not their own childish whims."

"Childish whims?" Cecilia's voice rose. "Is not wanting to marry an abusive drug addict a childish whim?"

The ballroom went silent.

Connaro's face darkened. "You little bitch—"

"Careful, Connaro," Cecilia cut him off. "We're not married yet. You don't own me for another hour."

"ENOUGH!" Filippo's cane struck the floor with a crack that echoed like a gunshot. "The contract is signed! The Lombardi family has already transferred the first payment—five million euros! This marriage WILL happen!"

"So that's my price?" Cecilia laughed bitterly. "Five million euros? I should be flattered I'm worth so much."

"You're worth nothing!" Guglielmo Ferretti, the youngest brother, sneered. He'd been silent until now, nursing a glass of champagne. "You're a burden. A useless girl who can't even bear the family name properly since you're a woman. At least now you'll serve some purpose—cementing our alliance with the Lombardi construction empire."

"Construction empire built on corruption and blood money," Cecilia shot back.

Riccardo stepped closer, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "Listen to me, you ungrateful insect. Do you know how many girls would kill to marry into the Lombardi family? To wear those diamonds, live in that mansion?"

"Then let them marry him!"

"You think you're special? You think you're better than this family?" Riccardo's face was inches from hers now. "You're nothing. A commodity. A trading chip. And you'll do as you're told, or—"

"Or what?" Cecilia's eyes blazed. "You'll disown me? Do it. I'll leave tonight with nothing but these clothes."

Filippo's cane whistled through the air, stopping an inch from Cecilia's face. "You'll leave in a coffin before you leave this family in disgrace!"

"Filippo, no!" Ginevra threw herself between them. "Please, she's our daughter! Our granddaughter!"

"She's a disgrace!" Quintino spat. "Look at her! She comes to her own wedding looking like she works in a factory! She makes us all look like we can't even afford a proper bride!"

"Maybe that's the point," Cecilia said quietly. "Maybe I want everyone to see what this really is. Not a wedding—a transaction."

Marco stepped forward, his handsome face ugly with contempt. "You know what, Cousin? You're right. You ARE a transaction. And not even a particularly valuable one. The only reason Connaro agreed to this marriage is because Nonno threw in the commercial properties on Via Dante as dowry."

"So I'm not even worth five million on my own?" Cecilia's smile was razor-sharp. "How disappointing."

"You're worth less than the insects crawling in the garden," Luca added. "At least they don't talk back."

Sofia circled Cecilia like a shark. "Look at her, everyone. This is what happens when you give a girl an education, let her have opinions. She forgets that women in this family exist to produce heirs and maintain alliances. Nothing more."

"Is that what you are, Sofia?" Cecilia asked sweetly. "An heir-producing alliance maintainer?"

Sofia's hand flew up to slap her, but Riccardo caught her wrist.

"Not here," he muttered. "Too many witnesses."

Filippo's breathing was labored, his face still purple. "The marriage will proceed. Now. Go to the dressing room, put on your wedding gown, fix your face, and walk down that aisle like the Ferretti you pretend to be."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I'll have Riccardo and Guglielmo carry you down the aisle themselves." Filippo's eyes were cold as tombstones. "One way or another, you WILL marry Connaro Lombardi tonight."

Cecilia looked around the ballroom—at the guests pretending not to watch, at her father still studying the floor, at her mother crying silently, at her uncles and cousins surrounding her like prison walls.

"I'll walk down the aisle," she said finally, her voice ringing clear. "But I'll wear what I choose. You can control my destiny, Nonno, but you can't control how I face it."

"You insolent—"

"Let her," Riccardo interrupted, placing a hand on his father's shoulder. "Let the little insect wear her rags. The contract is signed. The Lombardi money is already in our accounts. What does it matter what she wears?"

Filippo's jaw worked, but finally, he nodded. "Fine. Proceed with the ceremony. The sooner this is done, the sooner I can forget I have such a disgraceful granddaughter."

As the family dispersed to take their seats, Ginevra clutched Cecilia's hand.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry, tesoro. If I had any power—"

"I know, Mamma." Cecilia squeezed back. "This isn't your fault."

But as the wedding march began to play and Cecilia started her slow walk toward a future she didn't choose, she held her head high. They could force her into this marriage, but they couldn't break her spirit.

Not yet.

Not ever.