Page 2 of Inescapable Ties
The two days seemed to slip away like sand through my fingers, leaving me with a sense of dread and anticipation. Suddenly, it was seven o’clock, and I stood in front of the mirror, admiring my reflection in my favorite dress. The midnight blue fabric hugged my curves in all the right places, and the delicate beading shimmered under the warm lights. My father had carefully chosen every detail for this special evening, from the matching earrings to the satin heels that clicked gently against the hardwood floor as I paced in my room.
He had gone to great lengths, even hiring a professional makeup artist for me. I felt like a prized animal being primped and prepared for auction. Every brush stroke and powder application made me feel more like an object than a person.
My bedroom door opened, and Martina poked her head in.
“You know I can hear you clacking from down the hall. Why are you so nervous? Well,” she paused and laughed. “This is the first dinner you’ve attended in years.”
“Yeah,” I responded, my throat going dry.
“Why the change of heart? You always find a way to wiggle out of these things.”
It was an undeniable truth. The whispers and stares from others made it clear they thought I was acting out, that my behavior was just a passing phase.
The truth was much more simple. I was sick of being in a mafia family, and always being controlled. This was not a phase; I wanted a lifestyle change. Now that I had my upcoming arranged marriage, it was apparent I would never achieve it.
A pang of guilt shot through me as I looked at Martina, her innocent face unaware of the news I was keeping from her. My father had made it clear that I was not to divulge the details of this arranged marriage to my siblings, but the weight of this secret was becoming too heavy to bear. Images of disappointment and hurt flashed through my mind, and I knew that once this truth came out, our sisterly bond would never be the same. But for now, I kept my lips sealed and carried on with a heavy heart.
“Just to piss off father. I’m sure I’ll say something stupid and embarrass him,” I responded.
I mustered my best evil grin to sell my lie. Fortunately, Martina bought it.
“You’re playing with fire.”
“I know.”
She glanced down at her watch. “We’re late. C’mon.”
We walked down the hall together, my heels clacking in time to my heartbeat. This was it. I didn’t know my future husband’s name, let alone what he looked like. It felt like a sick reality show.
My heart lurched as Martina and I reached the second-floor balcony. Below us, a group of men, ranging in age from forties to sixties, waited expectantly. The majority were overweight and balding, their features blurred by the dim lighting. But one stood out to me - with grotesque dental hygiene, a thick film coating his teeth like a layer of grime. My stomach churned at the sight of it.
One of these men would be my husband.
I remembered father was watching and did my best to give the group a small smile.
The rest of my family had already joined them. My mother gave me a thin-lipped smile, and I could tell she was pissed that I was a few minutes late. I didn’t care.
My older brother, Rolando, was already socializing with the men.
Despite his young age, he was already making a name for himself as father’s successor, eagerly networking with the other men in the room. He exuded an aura of ambition and drive, setting himself apart from the rest with his unwavering focus on his future role as leader.
Just as I was about to ask my father which of these geezers would be my husband, the front door opened.
The man that walked through our front door was so remarkably handsome I had to suppress a gasp at the sight of him.
He stood at an impressive height, his muscular figure towering over those around him. His eyes, a deep shade of brown, held a captivating intensity that drew me in.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “I left my phone in the car.”
“Ah, Luciana,” my father said. “This is Emilio, your fiancé.”
With a confident stride, he approached me and extended his hand. The corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly, a sly grin playing on his lips. He held out his hand, palm facing upwards, and gestured for me to take it. A small glimmer in his eye hinted at the playful mischief brewing beneath his composed exterior.
I hated him already.
Chapter two
Emilio
