Chapter 1
VITTORIA VITALE
My mother always said there were 2 dresses most important in a woman’s life. Her wedding dress, and the dress she wore to her 21st birthday party.
Today was the latter.
It took 5 boutiques to find the perfect dress, and as expensive as it was, looking at myself in the mirror right now, I couldn’t help but think it was worth every penny I spent on Papa’s black credit card. Not that he’d notice or care due to how vast the wealth of the Vitale family was. It wasn’t the kind of money you worked hard for and earned. It was the kind that was passed down from generation to generation.
I did a twirl in the mirror, loving how I looked in the dress from every angle. It was a blood-red cocktail dress, covered by little sparkling gems in all its entirety. The same shade of red as my nails. The dress hugged my chest and waist in a tight corset, pushing up the girls in a sexy yet tasteful way. The sleeves were relaxed and hung off my shoulders. The skirt of the dress was short in the front, ending a little higher than mid-thigh, and longer in the back. I paired the dress with silver heels which matched the gems on the dress and my jewellery.
Mama would love the dress. Papa would hate it. Though Papa never liked it when I wore short dresses.
In the Vitale family–both blood and Mafia family–21 was a special age. In the US, it was the age people could legally start drinking but it wasn’t nearly as simple as that here. Not for us, at least.
For a Vitale, at 21, we were introduced to our future spouse. An arranged marriage, if you pleased.
And for me, it was no different. Papa had spoken of Bruno Greco, son of the Capo of the Greco Mafia family a few times over the past few years. I never wanted to hear about him because I didn’t like the idea of an arranged marriage, not when I hadn’t had a proper chance to find love for myself, but Papa was insistent. Just as he was insistent with my sisters.
My brothers got off easily and were simply instructed to choose their partners to marry at 21 while my sisters were subjected to an arranged marriage, just as the women before them. Most of the time, it was to Capos or the sons of Capos.
Not to sound hypocritical as I was born into the Vitale Mafia family myself, but Mafia men had a record. They were known to be aggressive, narcissistic, rough, lacking morals and humanity and honestly, the list could go on. I didn’t see it from my papa or brothers because they were always good to us, but I had seen their act slip when they spoke to outsiders. Those times, they didn’t feel like my loved ones. They felt like scary strangers that could snap and turn to me, subjecting me to the same torture and suffering of the people unfortunate enough to be at the hands of their mercy. Or lack thereof.
I was the youngest and last of the Vitale children to turn 21, meaning I was the last to uphold this tradition before it was passed down to my siblings’ children. That wouldn’t be for many years as my eldest nephew was only 7.
I wished things could be different for them, but I was in a position to help my young nieces when I couldn’t even help myself. Perhaps I would have the strength when it came to their time but for now, I needed to focus on myself.
I sighed and did another twirl in the mirror to cheer myself up. The worst thing I could do right now was ruin my makeup by crying and having to start all over again.
Actually, the worst thing I could do was run away.
I loved my papa and trusted him, but I didn’t trust his judgement in choosing me a husband. I wouldn’t have been so worried or doubtful if I wasn’t the youngest and hadn’t seen all the men he had chosen for my older sisters. They all seemed happy and in love now, but that hadn’t always been the case. Especially not at the beginning when the arranged marriage seemed more like a forced marriage.
Out of all 3 of my sisters–there were 7 of us, 3 brothers and 4 sisters–the second eldest had it worst. Zelmira.
Zelmira was arranged to marry Fabiano Sartori, the Capo of the Sartori family. He was also more than a decade older than her and this would have been his second marriage. His first wife had passed away from suspicious circumstances, but everyone knew better than to question that if they didn’t want to meet the same fate. He had no children then, but his nephew, an orphan, was in his care.
I was only 11 when Zelmira married Fabiano so I don’t remember or know a lot of the details, but I remembered that she kept running away from her husband after the wedding until one day, it just suddenly stopped. I don’t know what happened but one day, she went from being miserable and trapped in her marriage to happier than I had ever seen her. Today, a decade later, she saw Fabiano’s nephew like her own son and she had 2 children with him, and I suspected that there was another on the way.
My 2 other sisters, Paolina and Lucia seemed to have it easier, but they were arranged to marry in the same way. Somehow, they all looked to be in love with their husbands, but I didn’t think I could do it.
I didn’t think I could marry a man that I didn’t love.
It didn’t help that I had heard a lot about Bruno Greco over the years, long before Papa announced that we were arranged to marry once I turned 21. He was 6 or 7 years older than me and all the rumours painted him to be a wild party boy. He was always drinking, doing drugs, partying and with a lot of women. There was more than once that I had heard he had gotten a woman pregnant and his papa had to pay off the woman to get an abortion.
I don’t know why Papa had arranged for us to wed.
Actually, I did know.
The Greco family was a very powerful Mafia family. They had been around for as nearly as long as the Vitales and were just as prominent and powerful as us, if not more. It also helped that he was the youngest child of the Greco Capo and would never want for anything.
I had no idea why a man like Bruno Greco agreed to this arranged marriage, especially since we had never met or even seen each other in person, but I planned to find that out tonight and hopefully, change his mind.
The only reason I wanted to attend my party tonight was to convince Bruno to break off our upcoming engagement. I was powerless against his, and my words held no value, but his did.
Something soft and fluffy brushed up against my leg. I glanced down to see that it was my Bengal cat, Rocky.
Upon my birth, my papa gifted my mama a Bengal cat, but unlike her other cats, she never bonded with it. It bonded far better with me. When I started speaking as a babbling toddler, I named her Benny even though she was a girl, and I had Benny for many, many years. Benny grew up to have many children whom I gave away, mostly to mafia members as I couldn’t handle a litter of kittens along with Benny, but I kept the one from her last litter. Rocky.
I was happy to say that Benny lived a long, happy life with me and was able to see her children whenever she wanted. Now, Rocky, the youngest of his siblings, lived a similar life to his mama, but he wasn’t as social. In fact, the only person he seemed to like was me and I took great pride in that.
“Ready to meet your new papa, Rocky?” I joked bitterly and picked up Rocky. He merely meowed and rested his head on my chest, gazing up at me with his gold eyes that I loved so much. They were just like Benny’s.
Rocky hissed.
“Yeah, I’m not ready to meet him either,” I sighed and scratched him between his ears–his favourite spot. “I hope I can convince him to call off this engagement. I’m not like my sisters. I can’t marry a man I don’t love, let alone one I’ve never met before.”
Rocky meowed, and I knew he understood. He always did. He was one of the few men in life who actually heard me, and not just listened for it to go out the other ear.
“Do you think I’m wasting my time, Rocky?” I purred, still scratching him between his ears. “Do you think I can’t convince him? Do you think I should run away now while I have the chance?”
A knock sounded on the door before Rocky could answer, and the door opened behind me.
“Tori?” Lucia, the sixth eldest sibling and the closest to me in age stepped into my bedroom, gently closing the door behind me. “Everyone is waiting for you downstairs.”
I didn’t turn to look at my sister. I could see her approaching me from behind in the mirror, but my eyes were still glued to my dress.
“I can’t do it, Luce,” I whispered. “I can’t go through with the marriage.”
-
Layla Knight
31.12.2023
