For as long as I could remember, I wanted to be a doctor.

That dream seemed far away at the moment, though. I was struggling just to keep up in my second year of university. After this came years of medical school and residency.

I wasn't quitting, though. Someday this would all be worth it.

I waved to the guards as I passed through the front gate of my home. Toronto was bitterly cold this time of year, and I always felt bad for my father's men who were stuck outside. I guided my electric car up the drive and into the four-car garage. My father's two cars-a big gas-guzzling SUV and a sleek sports car-were idle, as they had been for months.

After plugging my car in to charge, I grabbed my bags and headed inside. I needed to eat something and then finish my mound of homework. But all of that had to wait until after I checked in on Papà.

I dropped my things in the kitchen, then strode through the quiet house. The once-vibrant home was now an eerie collection of empty rooms. The loneliness used to bother me, but I was too busy these days to notice.

Everything changed in the past four years. Not only were my two sisters living on the other side of the globe, happily partnered, but my father revealed four months ago that he has Stage 4 cancer. It started in his prostate, but quickly spread throughout his whole body. The only reason he told me was because he needed to have radiation and chemotherapy to attack the tumor. Because we lived together, he knew he couldn't hide it from me.

He made me swear, however, not to tell my sisters. Frankie and Gia had complicated relationships with my father, so I tried not to feel guilty about keeping this from them. It wasn't like either of them had been home to visit recently. Neither one of them even called him on the phone these days.

The soft sounds of a television reached my ears as I climbed the stairs. Papà must be watching another old movie. Maybe he'd feel up to playing chess today. Unfortunately his last round of chemo had really sapped his energy. It would take a few weeks for him to regain his strength.

Gloria, his live-in nurse, was in his room, reading in a chair. My father was asleep, his body completely still except for the rise of his chest. Medical equipment cluttered the large space around the bed. We kept his treatment here, a secret from the rest of the world.

Gloria held a finger up to her lips and gestured for me to follow her into the hall.

"Hi," I said as she closed his door. "How is he today?"

"Good. He ate some soup and complained about the lack of salt."

"Of course he did. Has he been sleeping long?"

"About fifteen minutes."

The doorbell rang, the unusual sound startling me.

Gloria and I exchanged a look. It couldn't be a visitor, not with the guards outside. They would never let a stranger come to the door. Had Uncle Reggie lost his key? He was the only other family member who knew of my father's illness, and that was because Uncle Reggie needed to oversee the business until my father was back on his feet.

"I'll go down," I told the nurse. "Be back in a few."

"No need." Gloria patted my shoulder. "You must be hungry and have work to do. I'll sit with your father a little longer."

"Thank you. That would be very helpful."

The bell clanged again. Jeez, impatient much?

I hurried to the ground floor. By the time I reached the front door I was breathing hard. I swung it open and found three well dressed men staring at me. "May I help you?"

The strangers moved forward, pushing past me to enter the house. I stepped back, out of reach, as a sense of foreboding crawled over my skin. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"Signorina Mancini," the older one said, his Italian accent thick. "May we sit?"

Thanks to my upbringing, I recognized dangerous men when I saw them. And these three definitely qualified. Blank flat stares? Check. Guns bulging under their suit coats? Check. A lack of respect for personal space? Check.

I fought to stay calm. "Tell me who you are first."

He ignored me. Instead, he strode into the formal sitting room and lowered himself into a chair. The other two men followed, standing behind the man now seated. They appeared bored, but I knew better. These were killers.

The guards let them through. The guards would never let a threat near the house.

This eased my worries somewhat, until I thought about my father upstairs. I had to get rid of these men before they discovered our secret. If word got out that Papà was sick, everything we had would be stripped away by his enemies. This house, the cars. The protection and money. We'd have nothing-and we'd never be able to afford Papà's care.

I took the seat farthest away from the one in the chair. He wore a fancy gold watch and had the straightest, whitest teeth I'd ever seen. Dark hair was slicked off his large forehead. Early to mid-fifties, if I had to guess.

"We're sitting," I said. "Now, please answer my questions."

"My name is Bernardo Virga. Have you heard of me?"

Swallowing, I shook my head.

He frowned, as if this answer disappointed him. "Your family has done you a disservice, then, Signorina Mancini."

"Why? What are you talking about? And how did you get past the guards outside?"

"Do you know anything about a meeting three months ago between your brother-in-law and Don Buscetta?"

Did he mean Fausto? Why on earth would this man think I knew anything about the Ravazzani empire? I wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans. "No."

"You see, signorina, I am responsible for the whole of Sicily. Capisce? And Don Buscetta is the head of one of my most important cosche." He waved his fingers. "Clans. "

I knew how the mafia worked. If what Virga said was true, then he was il capo dei capi. The boss of all bosses.

And he was sitting here in Toronto. In my living room.

This was a very bad sign.

"You see, Don Ravazzani and Don Buscetta are at odds. It's a long string of disagreements, the nature of which I will not bore you with. However, these things need to be settled amicably. The way it is going now is very bad for all of us. Too public. Too dangerous."

"And you wish to speak with my father about this?" It was the only logical conclusion.

"No. I am here to see you."

My stomach collapsed in on itself like a popped balloon. This couldn't be good. "Me?"

"Sì, signorina. You see, a simple solution to the bad blood has been decided. Yet neither side has moved to accept it. I am here to get the process started."

That sounded ominous. But I had no idea what Fausto's disagreement with this Buscetta person had to do with me. "By doing what?"

"By collecting you. I suggest you go and pack a bag, signorina."

"Pack a-"

Oh. The words collided in my brain and the puzzle began to solve itself. Sicily . . . bad blood . . . solution . . . pack.

Holy smokes.

I knew how things worked in the Old Country. They intended to join the two families in marriage to settle a business dispute between Fausto and this other man, Buscetta. I was the solution.

"No," I blurted.

Virga cocked his head. "Perdonami?"

Though it was likely unwise, I tried to explain. "You hope to marry me to this Don Buscetta person, but I'm not part of that world. I'm in my second year at university. I plan to become a doctor."

"You are Emma, Roberto Mancini's youngest daughter. You are part of our world whether you like it or not."

I rubbed my forehead and tried to think it through. No way Frankie had agreed to this. Which explained why no one told me-Fausto had no intention of marrying me off to a total stranger.

Looking up, I said with total conviction, "My brother-in-law will not allow this."

"Your brother-in-law does not have a choice. We serve a greater good, which is the brotherhood. Whether it's in Sicily or Calabria, the 'Ndrangheta or the Cosa Nostra, it's all the same."

I didn't believe him. Fausto answered to no one, save my sister. "My answer remains no. You'll need to make peace some other way."

"There is no other way, signorina. And this has already been decided."

I pulled my phone out from my back pocket and unlocked it. If this man wouldn't listen to me, I would ring Fausto.

"I wouldn't do that," Virga said. "It would end very badly for your sick father."

I paused, my finger hovering over the glass. "What did you say?"

"Your sick father, upstairs. Did you think we were unaware? Your father is dying, signorina, and if you do not come with me today, I will send my men upstairs to kill him. Is this what you want?"

My blood turned to ice in my veins and I sucked in a sharp breath. "You wouldn't."

But deep down I knew he would.

Virga's smile was filled with menace. "If you wish for your father to live, then you will not involve Ravazzani. You will pack a bag and come with me to Sicily."

I thought of Papà, weak but still very much full of life. Could I save myself and allow him to be murdered? I knew I couldn't do it. This was my father, the man who'd hugged me and helped me with homework. Bought me lemon cheesecake when I was feeling down. Taught me chess. Allowed me to pursue a career as a doctor.

"And we will shoot his aide, as well."

Horror rolled through me. Gloria didn't deserve to die any more than my father did. I couldn't live with myself if either of them were hurt because of me.

Did this mean I was agreeing to marry a Sicilian mafia don?

No, no, no. Please, no. I didn't want a life of violence and blood, death and destruction. My sisters might not mind it, but I needed to help people. To heal and comfort. To give back.

I couldn't become a mafia wife.

Lightheaded, I gripped the chair's armrests. Air refused to enter my lungs, my body seized in dyspnea. "This can't be happening," I wheezed.

"I'm afraid it is very much happening, signorina. If it doesn't, then not only will you cause the deaths of those two upstairs, you will cause a war between Buscetta and Ravazzani. Is this what you wish, to risk your sisters and their families?"

I knew how mafia wars ended, with carnage and loss. There were no winners. Fausto's first wife died in his last war, after all. I couldn't risk Frankie or my niece and nephews.

My eyes grew hot, but I wasn't a crier. I had to be strong for myself and for my family.

I had to be the responsible one.

I pushed my emotions down and tried to think logically. "This Don Buscetta, does he want to marry me?"

Virga's lips thinned, the lines around his mouth deepening. "It does not matter. He will do as he is told, as will you."

Ah. So, Buscetta didn't wish to do this, either. Good. It meant he and I could come up with a solution to this problem.

I forced myself to my feet. "I'll go pack."

"Va bene." Virga didn't move, but one of his men started toward me. "Sandro will come with you. And so you know, my men will stay behind here until the wedding in Sicily. Just in case."

Here? Near my father? "You can't do that. It will upset him."

"All you need to do is marry as I've instructed and they will leave Toronto."

I glared at him, feeling my life and future slip through my fingers like sand. I wasn't prone to dramatics and tantrums-that was more Gia's style-but I was close to starting right now. Maybe I should scream for the guards outside.

Virga spread his coat wide to show off the pistol he wore in a holster. His tone was as cold as Lake Ontario in February. "If you are hoping for a rescue from the men outside, I hate to disappoint you."

"What did you do to them?" I choked out.

"That shouldn't concern you at the moment."

I'd known most of these men my entire life. Were they injured? Dead? "Are they hurt?"

"I would focus on your own well-being, signorina, rather than anyone else's."

More threats? "If you hurt me, I can't come with you."

"You very much underestimate me, then. There are plenty of ways I can hurt you, Miss Mancini." He let that statement sit for a minute, and I could feel sweat building up at the nape of my neck. Then he said, "I suggest you start packing and we can avoid any further violence."

What choice did I have? I'd rather suffer at the hands of this man than see Gloria or my father harmed.

Buscetta didn't want this union either.

That gave me a tiny sliver of hope.

Shoving aside my panic, I started for the stairs. I had to speak to Buscetta as quickly as possible. We needed to come to a practical agreement-one that would save my family, while also avoiding a lifelong commitment between a pair of strangers.

Then I would return to Toronto and my father's bedside, war and marriage avoided.

Don Buscetta, whoever he was, would certainly be reasonable about this.