Page 2 of Unholy Union
Marital negotiations between families come down to these sorts of basics. The goal is mutual growth and an extension of legacies. Consolidation of power and means of peace in times of war.
As the eldest Valente son, it’s my duty to fulfill my role. The hope is that when I do take my father’s place, the long-standing feud between the Valente and Corsini families will be over. We’ll be allies and business partners, more powerful than any other family in the city.
In our lifestyle, marriage has nothing to do with love. Marriage is about continuing bloodlines and cultivating power and dominance. It’s a business contract dressed up in the lace of a bridal veil and the golden bands of wedding rings.
Papà has never loved Mama. Not in the way a man would traditionally love his wife.
It’ll be the same for me and Don Corsini’s daughter.
I barely know a thing about her other than the basics. But he was right in what he said about her—she’s a beautiful, docile girl fit for a mafia heir like me. It won’t ever be love, but it doesn’t need to be.
We’ll come to a mutual understanding.
“Yes,” Rinaldo says finally, his tone clipped. “Yes, she will bear the child within the first year, or the deal will be void.”
“It seems we have decided on the terms of agreement. Now to solidify the pact we’re making.” Papà motions to a soldier behind him. He hastily steps over and lays the parchment flushon the table. “Cato, write down the terms. Your penmanship is probably the most legible of everyone present.”
I do as asked, grabbing the pen the soldier presents and scribbling down each of the provisions that have been agreed upon. Once the last letter has been inked, I push the sheet across the table for Corsini to eyeball.
He gives a tight nod, then motions to one of his men. The soldier rushes in the same prompt manner Papà’s guy did, presenting a sharp blade in the palm of his hand.
Corsini takes it and pricks the ball of his thumb. A few beads of dark crimson blood drop onto the parchment where his signature goes at the bottom before his thumbprint is pressed to paper.
“The Corsini family agrees to these terms,” he says.
The parchment and blade are slid across the table toward us. I pick up the blade and quickly nick the pad of my thumb, producing several thick droplets. I press my thumb down on the parchment like a fingerprint, signing under the Valente name.
While I sign for our family and my role in this pact, Corsini has signed for his daughter, who has even less say than I do. She likely hasn’t even found out she’s being married off yet.
Not that it matters.
Her father’s consent is her consent. His blood on the parchment signifies her agreement.
“The oath is done,” says Don Corsini. “It has been written in ink and signed by blood. There’s no going back now.”
Papà extends his hand for a stiff shake of his rival’s. “I’m glad we could come to this truce. My family will reach out to yours to begin making arrangements. It’s best this happens soon. Before either side gets cold feet.”
“Yes, we wouldn’t want someone to back out. We’re family now.”
The corner of Don Corsini’s mouth twitches as though he’s tempted to grin at the ludicrous statement.
As gradually as we arrived, we make our exit. The rain hasn’t let up outside. The droplets only pelt down harder, the smell of wet asphalt pungent in the air. One by one the cars disappear down the slick streets. I’ve slid into the backseat of the same car as Papà. As La Rocca fades into the background, he speaks to me for the first time tonight.
“If our plan fails, then it’ll be war,” he says in his usual blunt, callous manner. “And that bride of yours? She will be the first casualty.”
Chapter 2
Sabrina
Control - Halsey
The world hasn’t ended yet, so I bring breakfast. That’s our rule.
I barge through the front door of Moda with a brown paper bag of bagels in one hand and a cardboard drink carrier in the other. The brunette behind the counter looks up and lets out a sigh of relief.
“Oh, fuck yes! I knew I could count on you. Hear that growl? It’s my stomach eating itself.”
“Glad I saved the day,” I say, setting both the bag and drink carrier on top of the sleek glass counter. “Now you have all the caffeine and carbs you could ever want. You’re welcome.”
