Page 3 of Beautiful Revenge

Though, I know mine will be one day.

“Hello, ladies,” I say to the group. Janet is seated next to Clara, a young widow, who’s seated next to Isabella, a sixty-year-old stern woman.

“Sit, sit,” Janet says, motioning to the seat next to her. Once I do, the gossip begins. “So, Aria, we all heard about your failed engagement to Viktor Smirnov. What happened there? Because I would be embarrassed if I was rejected like that. You see, my husband is just an amazing man. He gives to charities and helps children in need. He would never hurt me like that.”

I stare at Janet for a long moment. She’s a fake bitch but I would never say that to her face. I have manners after all. “Viktor and I met once to discuss a potential marriage agreement. But nothing was set in stone. He didn’t reject me. Besides, I’m glad to not have to marry a Russian. I mean, can you imagine? Only an Italian for me. Or maybe some Englishman. I could see myself married to a British man. Maybe the British royalty.”

Clara chitters. It grates on my nerves. “Don’t be delusional, Aria. You could never marry into royalty.”

“Why not?”

Her eyes go wide and her cheeks flush. Clearly, she didn’t expect me to challenge her. “Because… I mean… you know.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You’re… you. Everyone knows you have a mouth on you. An attitude that’s hard to ignore. No British prince would want that.”

“Were you ever taught, Clara, that if you don’t have something nice to say, then don’t say anything at all?”

“You asked,” she grumbles, slinking into her seat.

“I say go for the stars,” Isabella says. “But be reasonable. Your father will find you a good match, I’m sure. I know a few single Mafia men who would make good husbands. Are you interested?”

“Of course, Isabella.” I force a fake smile onto my face. The truth is: I couldn’t give a damn about what Isabella has to say. She is way past her prime. All the men she knows are old and stuffy. I want a young, handsome man to sweep me off my feet.

That’s what I, Aria Romano, deserve.

After listening to the women drone on and on for hours, I return back home only to find that Dante is there.

He’s seated at the kitchen table across from my father.

Now that I’m eighteen, I can admit that Dante is a handsome man. I used to have a schoolgirl crush on him when I was younger but that’s passed now. He’s a married man and nothing will ever happen between us. I know he sees me as a daughter figure and always will.

That doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate his handsome looks. Nadia is lucky to be married to the head of the Mafia (and she’s a Russian herself). The world is just unfair.

“What are you doing here?” I ask in a sharper tone than I intend.

“Hello to you too.” Dante leans back in his seat. “I’m here to tell you that I think I found a good alternative for a husband for you.”

“Is he Italian?”

“He is.”

I cross my arms and narrow my eyes. “And…?”

“And he’s… older.”

“How much older?”

Dante shares an uncertain look with my dad. “He’s fifty.”

All the air leaves my body. “What? Dante, no! You promised you’d always protect me.”

“I know, I know. Trust me. If I could keep you from marrying anyone, I would. But you’re too connected, Aria, just to waste you. You will be married. And Giovanni Amato would make for a good match. He’s been frustrated lately by my alliance with the Russians. I know he’s seeking to make some trouble. But marrying you to him would help calm him down.”

“And what about the next man who causes trouble? You won’t have me to marry off then.”

Dante shrugs. “Then some other mafia girl will be used.”

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