Page 2 of The One
How could he?
This is only the third time I’ve seen him up close, and we’ve not really spoken.
It’s strange to think I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life with this man and give myself completely to him. Other than his reputation and what he looks like, I know nothing about who he is.
The unknown looms large, growing more daunting the more I think about it.
My fiancé stands beside me, stoic and calculated. He’s a perfect reflection of the harsh realities of our world. His chiseled features and strong jawline exude authority. It’s a necessary trait in the unforgiving hierarchy of the Mafia.
Noticing my eyes on him, his attention flicks to me. His gaze is cold and piercing, revealing little emotion.
This is what our ‘marriage’ will be like, isn’t it?
My stomach lurches, nausea swirling in the pit of my gut. I swallow down the bile.
Unable to hold his gaze, my eyes drop back to the floor.
I turn slightly and peek over at my mother, who sits alongside my father and my three younger sisters in the front row.
What am I hoping to find there?
Reassurance?
It’s too late formammato help me now. Besides, my mother has never openly defied my father’s wishes. Any disagreements always ended with her locked away for a few days, or worse.
Her eyes glisten with tears. They’re not tears of happiness. She tried to protect me, but she’s powerless to stop history from repeating itself.
Women mean nothing in our circles. We’re bargaining chips for power, lust, and greed.
My gaze locks with my father’s. His unyielding eyes pin me in place, a silent warning to behave. He’s angry with me because I couldn’t muster a smile when we entered the church.
I’m used to his coldness. But still, disillusion hits me like a bullet to the heart.
He doesn’t care for me. Never has, never will.
All he ever wanted was a son to follow in his footsteps, carry on his legacy and all that crap. He made that painfully clear as he walked me down the aisle.
“Let’s get me the son your mother denied me,”he growled, low enough that only I could hear.
He tried for years to bring a male heir into the world, but fate, or perhaps karma, cursed him with five daughters instead.
But even if he had fathered a son, my fate and my sisters’ would have been the same. We were never more than assets to be traded, pawns in his endless pursuit of power.
My older sister Isabella will be next. The negotiations for her marriage are already underway.
She was promised to another man, a man she actually loved. But after his family betrayed the De Marcos, the ruling Mafia family in Sicily and most of Italy, they fled and have not been heard of since. So Father had to start his search from scratch.
I glance over at her, solemnly standing next to me.
Our eyes meet, and she sends me a sad smile.
I wish there was a way out of this for both of us.
Father Josef clears his throat to capture my attention. He raises his eyebrows in silent prompting.
He’s no stranger to ordaining loveless marriages. It doesn’t seem to trouble him. How does he reconcile it with his conscience?
With a practiced smile, he motions for us to turn and face each other.
