The Mafia Princess
The piano’s melody drifted through the drawing room. I sat rigid in my chair, the porcelain teacup balanced on my knee, watching Alessio’s mouth move with the enthusiasm of a man who’d never been told to shut up.
For thirty minutes now, he’d been regaling me with stories of his brutality.
The way he’d broken the man’s fingers, one by one, until the screaming stopped and the lesson was learned.
“You should have seen his face,” Alessio said, leaning back with a self-satisfied chortle that made my skin crawl. “He thought he could steal from me. Me!?”
I lifted my teacup and took a measured sip, the liquid barely lukewarm now. The chamomile tasted like ash in my mouth, or maybe that was just the company.
Across from me, Alessio continued his monologue, oblivious to my glazed eyes.
“But enough about me,” he said suddenly, and my attention snapped back to him.
His cropped brown hair was gelled within an inch of its life. His close set eyes were fixed on me with an intensity that probably worked on other women.
“What about you, cara? Tell me something I don’t know.”
I set down my teacup with deliberate care, the china clicking softly against the saucer.
I studied him for a moment, he wasn’t even my type and the thought alone made my mouth feel sour.
I leaned back in my chair, letting my shoulders relax.“What do you want to know about me that you don’t already, Alessio?” My voice was flat, stripped of pretense.
“I’m Arya Vitale, first daughter of the Vitale mafia family. I enjoy chamomile tea and chess. I read Machiavelli for fun and I can shoot a target from fifty yards.” I paused, letting each word land like a stone. “And I hate arranged marriages.”
Then I leaned forward, close enough to see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, and I smiled. “But in my life, freedom is an expense I can’t afford.”
Alessio’s face crumpled into something confusing. The expression was so absurd on a man who’d just been bragging about torture, that I nearly laughed.
He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “Well,” he said. “You’re quite the beauty. Everyone talks about you, you know. The jewel of the Vitale family.”
My smirk deepened. “Do they?”
Before I could elaborate on exactly what I thought of being discussed like a commodity at market, the drawing room doors swept open.
My mother glided in, wearing a cream silk dress, every inch the matriarch of their household. Her dark hair was swept up in a chignon, and a welcoming smile was on her face.
“Alessio,” she said warmly. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but Arya has her fitting in ten minutes. The seamstress is waiting.”
Alessio stood immediately, smoothing down his jacket. “Of course, of course. I have business to attend to anyway.” He turned to me, reaching for my hand before I could pull it away. His palm was warm and slightly damp. “I can’t wait to see you again, cara.”
I let him hold my hand for exactly two seconds before extracting it, my smile fixed in place. “I’m sure.”
“I’ll walk you out,” my mother offered, already moving toward the door.
“That’s not necessary-” Alessio started to shake his head.
“I insist.” She said firmly.
As they left, my mother glanced back over her shoulder, catching my eye. One perfect wink, then she was gone, sweeping Alessio away.
I sat alone in the drawing room for a moment, listening to the piano.
There was no fitting, of course. I made a mental note to thank my mother for the quick save. Any second with Alessio and I was sure I would lose my mind.
I stood abruptly, leaving the cold tea behind.
The walk to my father’s office took me through corridors lined with art that cost more than most people’s homes. Our house was a monument to power and wealth, every room a testament to the Vitale family’s place in the world.
In a few days though, I would leave all this behind. Trade one gilded cage for another.
I knocked on my father’s office door twice.
“Enter.” He called from inside and I pushed the door open, walking in.
Robert Don Vitale sat behind his massive oak desk and was talking to Ivan, one of his most trusted capos, when I entered.
Their conversation cut off mid-sentence.
“Leave us,” my father said.
Ivan rose immediately, bowing to me as he passed.
I barely noticed him, my attention fixed on my father. He was the perfect embodiment of power and wealth with his slicked back salt and pepper hair.
Although they were the fine lines of wrinkles on his face, the man looked good for his age.
“How was your date?” he asked, not looking up from the papers he was signing.
“He’s a bore.” I crossed the room, stopping in front of his desk. “Do I really have to marry him?”
“Yes.” The word was final, delivered without hesitation or sympathy.
“Pick someone else,” I pressed. “He’s vain, he’s cruel for the sake of it, and he has no vision beyond his own ego. He’ll drag our families down with-”
“Enough.” My father’s voice cut through the air like a blade. He looked up now, his eyes hard. “Know your place, Arya. You’ll marry Alessio De Luca, and you’ll do it with a smile on your face. This alliance is bigger than your preferences.”
The words hit like a slap. My jaw tightened, and my nails dug into my palms.
I forced myself to smile like I’d been taught since childhood to wear it when faced with my father’s overbearing requests.
“Yes, Father.” I said.
I turned on my heel, walking toward the door with my spine straight and my head high.
But as my hand touched the handle, I made myself a promise.
If I had to marry Alessio De Luca, I’d make damn sure he regretted it every single day.
