Delegation: The Game Of Alters

Author's note:

Before you officially get into this book, please remember:

1. This is the very first draft of the book, so I acknowledge that it contains typos.
2. I am neither Italian nor Russian, and my second language is English, so please bear with me.
3. The first 3 COMPLETED books in the series can be found on my Patreon (Shreya Sengupta).
4. The series is now set to make its debut on Amazon in mid-2026, so you can read the proper, edited version there.
5. Lastly, I know you'll love this story, because I know I am capable of making the characters as relatable to the readers as I can, so please dive in and enjoy the experience.

Also, please do not forget to leave a review for this.

FABIOLA

Pain always comes with an expiration date—my brother, Matteo, had once said to me, and I, like a foolish child, had believed it. But when growing up had stranded me in an empty boat sailing through the storm for years, pain had been the only thing familiar to me. It had been there since the moment I was born, lingering under my skin, haunting me, giving me endless nights with no sleep but only tears. The reasons for the pain had only ever affected me the most. So perhaps I was the abnormal one.

My head throbbed as a long, shrill sound echoed in my ears. People surrounded me, praising my makeup and the white sheath gown draped around my body.

White—the symbol of purity and everything good. I wasn’t pure. Neither was I good. So why did I have to wear this? Tearing it was half the plan, and then running away was the other half. But I had to think a thousand times before concluding that I couldn’t.

Hundreds of Famiglia and Outfit men were guarding this place. If they caught me, they would either shoot me dead or make me dread every decision I had ever made.

“Miss Rossi?” the hairstylist stood between me and the mirror and asked, pulling me out of my reverie. I blinked at her, tilting my head to the side. “Miss Rossi, are you okay?”

“Rossi,” I mumbled under my breath, looking down at my hands, bunching my dress over my knees and then at the white stiletto a few steps away from my chair.

Rossi was the name I was born with. The name I had carried so far. The name I didn’t want to carry anymore. This name, being a part of this family, has offered me nothing but pain—had built a hole in my heart that would never heal.

“I can’t do this,” I said and lifted my face to the woman, whose brows immediately pressed.

She gave an alarming glance to the other women gathered in the room, which cautioned not only them but me as well. These weren’t just makeup artists or beauticians. Matteo had appointed them to look after me, to see through my mood changes and to convince me to walk down the aisle no matter what.

He didn’t have to do it. Especially when I had been the very one who had said yes to this. Willingly.

But his gesture only made me more anxious. I had almost forgotten the strongest reason behind my decision. All that remained in my head was numbness. Everything hurt—the view, the sounds, the air. Even these fucking women around me.

I jerked up from my seat, holding the skirt of my dress, not caring how delicate it was. Delicate things were meant to be ruined.

“Miss, calm down. You’ll tear your dress,” another woman from the group spoke.

I didn’t know who it was, but I couldn’t stand the sight of them. With my breathing hiking, I yelled, “I want everyone out!” They blinked at me with their eyes wide, as though they had seen a ghost. “I said get out.”

The hairstylist grabbed my hand. “Miss, please.”

I twisted my head to the side and glared at her, my nostrils flaring. If they didn’t get out, they would see a side of me they wouldn’t like. “Touch me again and I’ll fucking kill you.”

Ironic how the words that sounded dangerous when uttered by Matteo sounded equally filthy on my tongue.

“I said get the fuck out,” I bellowed.

The women jolted and bolted out of the room with everything they could grab, and I quickly closed the door with a loud thud. I didn’t care if I looked like a crazy eighteen-year-old on drugs. People already thought I was strange.

Rubbing my hand on my rumbling stomach, I paced back and forth in the room. Everything that had happened in these few days rewound in my head. Two days was all it took for me to get here.

Matteo sat on the tea table before the couch right in front of me and stared at me for some reaction, but I didn’t know what to say. He said, “Say something, Fabi.”

“What do you want me to say?” I grunted. “I’m just looking at how far you Mafiosos will go in the name of duty.”

“You know my hands are tied.”

“I know that the age gap is a lot, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re my brother, Matteo. You’re not Papa or Mama. Why can’t you just let me be for once?”

Matteo sucked a sharp breath. “You’re just making things hard on yourself.”

“Well, I’m not you,” I shot back. “You can sleep with another woman while being in love with another, but I can’t.”

Throwing his hands in the air, Matteo questioned, “How can you love Luciano De Luca? You never even knew him.”

“I wish you would’ve cancelled my marriage to him saying the same thing. None of this would’ve happened.”

Matteo always had the authority to go against Papa’s decision. He was the capo of Chicago Outfit, for fuck’s sake—the head above everyone. Even Papa. But Matteo had never fought against him. He had allowed that monster of a father to sell me out to another man as part of a bargain, as a commodity in exchange for an alliance.

“You can blame me all you want, but you will thank me one day.”

“Thank you for finding a surrogate to marry me on the same day, on the same altar where I was supposed to marry Luciano?” I snickered. “We’ll see about that.”

“I’m doing this for you, Fabi.” He sighed. “Luciano is probably standing high and mighty on a pedestal right now, hoping to see our world crumble.”

I doubted that. Luciano had chosen Rosaline over me. Given the man he was, he wouldn’t look back, no matter what happened to me, no matter if the Mafia world tore me apart with their words and fake pity.

“He holds pride in his power and thinks we’re nothing without him. Seeing you moving on with your life will be the biggest counterblast.”

“Counterblast? It’s all you’ve ever worried about. Revenge. Alliance. Power.” I shook my head. “I’m so fucking tired of this.”

Fabiola Rossi—the girl who had been left behind. By her parents and brother. By her cousins. Now, even by her fiancé.

I was tired of this fucking life. Moreover, I was tired of being a Rossi. Being a part of this family had been the toughest part of my life, always being there but never being able to leave.

There were so many people who wanted me to fall. To break. To give up. Maybe this was my chance at finding out what lay beyond. What I could get without the name Rossi to bind me.

“Fine,” I said with a nod. “I’ll do it. I’ll marry whoever you want me to.” His face filled with relief and he took a deep breath. “But on my terms.”

“What terms?”

“You’ll see.”

Wanting to not be a Rossi didn’t seem like a good enough reason to go through with this marriage anymore. Because that foolish thought could get me trapped in a course far worse than the one I led back home.

A knock landed on the door and I jumped back, my heart doubling its palpitations. I would die of a heart attack as it felt. My entire body was stiff and fear was latching onto every nerve in my body.

I moved toward the door and held the doorknob, contemplating whether to open it. It had to be my cousin Dante Rossi or Matteo here to console me, to talk me into doing the ‘right thing’, which, according to them, was getting married.

“Miss Rossi,” a heavy voice sounded. My hand remained on the doorknob but I couldn’t turn it. The last thing I wanted was advice from a stranger. “It’s Terenzio.”

My jaw tightened. Terenzio De Vitto—the underboss of Washington, a renowned Mafioso of New York Famiglia. The big shot that every woman wanted to score, as my brother had mentioned. Every woman but me.

I couldn’t see him. Not after everything that had happened, which was why I couldn’t open the door, couldn’t torture myself that way.

My inner conscience laughed. He was the very one who would be standing at the end of the aisle for me today. I would have to maintain eye contact and sayI doand make fake promises, even when I didn’t mean it. But he was also the man whose fiancée had run away with Luciano. Luciano and Rosaline were gone, but he was still here, making him a constant reminder of what had happened merely four days ago.

Everything went silent for a few moments and I wondered if he had gone off.

But then he cleared his throat and voiced, “I hear you don’t wish to walk down the aisle.”

“You’re not the first one who said this to me.”

I tried to picture his face in my head to imagine the reaction he’d had right now, but I couldn’t even remember what he looked like. I had never paid much attention to him. Or any other man. The only man I had eyes for never looked at me twice.

“What happened is—was wrong to both of us,” Terenzio spoke again, his voice calmer than before. “But you cannot hold on to this forever.”

I frowned. “You say it as though it’s very easy to let go.”

“It is not easy,” he scoffed. “But if you choose to hold on to it, you’ll be the one suffering the most. Think about them. They’re probably at some beach, spending the time of their life while you’re trapped in a room, crying to yourself.”

They had been at a beach, where they had been photographed for the fucking article that had exposed their affair. Rosaline’s house. I wondered how long they had been doing this.

“It’s okay to be afraid. But if you’re afraid of me, I wish to tell you that I will not hurt you, that there won’t be a moment you would regret if you married me today.”

I already regretted making this decision, so I was sure I would regret going through with it.

In a humble voice, he added, “I’m willing to give you whatever makes you happy—whatever you want. Please consider this.” I didn’t speak and rested my head on the hard surface of the door. “If you wish to do it, I’ll be at the altar, waiting for you. And if not, I understand.”

The sound of footsteps faded, and I let go of the breath I had been holding onto.

It shocked me how the momentary panic was suddenly gone. It was all because of Terenzio’s words. I had feared getting married to a man who was a complete monster like my father or a robot like my brother. But I was glad Terenzio wasn’t like any of them. At least he didn’t sound like them.

His words had not only made my mind strong but had also reminded me of the reason I had decided to do this—the reason that I had been forgetting amid the chaos that I had been feeling.

Ever since I was a child, I had envied the girls born in the normal world with parents who worked normal jobs. They were not bound by the misogynistic traditions of the Mafia world, free to do what they wanted and go wherever their heart desired. Every night, they would sit around the table and have dinner. God, I could remember the last time I’d had dinner with anyone.

I desired to live life, feeling the air of a place far away from home where I could be free.

Freedom was what I wanted. The Outfit would’ve never offered that to me, because they would rather have their women tied up in the house than have them fly with the breeze. Matteo would’ve never let me go because he, too, had seen the advantage in bartering me, just like Papa.

Only marriage could ensure me both freedom and break me free of the name Rossi. Now all I had to do was run and make Terenzio hate me enough to let me go.