Page 65 of Nights At Sea

“No,” she says wistfully. “No, Signor De Marco has someone. I did unpacking and organizing.”

“Well, you did a marvelous job. Thank you, Mariella.” She nods happily. “Which one is your favorite piece?”

Her eyes sparkle as she answers, “You probably laugh, but it’s the Versace silk scarf with baroque flower print. The silk is fine and the colors bright.”

I love the way she speaks English. It sounds so childlike. I have no idea which scarf she’s talking about, having paid little attention to any of the accessories in my wardrobe.

Seeing Mariella’s enthusiasm, I vow to appreciate things more. I will also gift her that scarf. She’ll appreciate it more than I ever could. And God knows what will happen to all of it when I’m gone.

“Why won’t your father let you study?” I ask, taking a bit of the cannoli. Yum, whoever made these deserves a medal.

Mariella’s face loses its vibrancy immediately. “He’s traditional man with five daughters. He always wanted a son for his business. He looks for a husband for me and my sister. He found one for me. I don’t know who.”

My eyes widen, and my head shakes in disbelief almost of its own accord. “Is he forcing you into an arranged marriage? Have you no say at all?”

Mariella shakes her head. “No. I must marry whoever Father chooses.”

I don’t get the impression Mariella’s father is choosing her future husband with his daughter’s happiness in mind, but rather to fulfill his own agenda.

What world have I stepped into? A world where women are just a means to an end and expected to be meek and obedient?

Jeez, this isn’t the eighteenth century anymore.

“I’m sorry, Mariella. Is there no way out of this for you?”

She shakes her head, looking deflated. “My father, he would disown me.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” If I was her, I think it’s the path I’d choose.

Fending for yourself can’t be much worse than marrying someone you don’t love and being stuck in the Mafia life. Her chosen husband is probably a middle-aged, bald guy with a pastry belly. Yuck!

She lowers her eyes and shakes her head again. “Familia is everything. Born in it, die in it.”

Where have I heard that before? Gualtiero, of course. It seems to be a thing in these circles.

“My father never let me walk away. He rather ruin me,” Mariella continues.

I blink rapidly, trying to process what she just told me. Having grown up in a loving family who supported whatever I wanted to do, it’s a completely foreign concept to me to use your own children as chess pieces on a strategy board.

“Mariella, I hate the idea that you have to marry someone chosen by your father,” I tell her. “If you decide you don’t want to do that, I will help you any way I can.”

It’s a bold statement given I’m a prisoner here myself with no power or future. But I feel strongly about this, and I’d find ways to help her.

A noise by the terrace door startles us, and we both turn around simultaneously. Mateo steps out, and Mariella immediately stands. She blushes furiously when she realizes who it is and lowers her gaze to the floor. With a respectful nod, she hurries to leave.

I haven’t seen Mateo since that first dinner. He looks preoccupied and his usual charming smile is missing.

“Ella, have you seen Tiero?” he asks without a hello, urgency in his voice.

Why would he ask me of all people?

Mateo looks worried, and I can’t help the unease that’s blooming in my chest.

Has something happened to Gualtiero?

I lean back in my chair and eye Mateo curiously. “Hello to you too, Mateo. And no, I haven’t seen Gualtiero since last night. I don’t think he’s here. Is there a problem?”

I’m not sure why I’m asking, given I have no desire to know anything about their business.

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