Flirting with Fire

Ivy

Clack.

Clack.

Clack.

The sounds from my four inch Louboutin against the pebbled stone pathway dominate the sounds of the otherwise uneventful morning. I walk along the pathways, with sure even steps that resonate with the rage that’s brewing in my head.

How could he? No, how dare he?

My eyes darted all over the gazebo where I would normally find him at this hour. Sipping on his stupid cup of morning coffee while reading his stupid newspaper. But today, the gazebo was void of any living person. No coffee or newspaper insight.

I huff my frustration. Trying to recall where else he could have gone. The lake then. His second choice spot for breakfast.

I straightened my gray colored jacket and turned and head to the other side of the compound. My anger only heightened by this pointless hide and seek my father has decided to play so early in the morning.

“DAD!” I screamed at the man as soon as I saw him in my line of sight. He’s sitting in a wrought iron garden chair, reading his daily newspaper, as expected. A cup of steaming coffee and plates of breakfast items sit on top of the matching wrought iron table.

He doesn’t seem surprised to see me marching towards him. Barely looking up from his damned papers. My steps steady despite having to walk on the soft grassy ground in these ridiculous high heels. Never falter, I say to myself. Don’t stumble, don’t show him any weakness. Don’t you dare give him that satisfaction. The bastard probably picked this spot for his damn breakfast today because he already knew I was coming.

I stop a few feet from him, my breath is a bit uneven but I know I’m still in control. I gracefully tucked a stray hair that has managed to escape my otherwise very neat low bun behind my ear and stand with my back straight in front of him.

Don’t back down Ivy. You know you did nothing wrong. In fact, you did everything you could to please him. He had no right to take it away from you. This is not the time to be weak and caved to his demand.

My father lowered his newspaper slightly and looked at me pointedly, all innocent like.

“Were you looking for me, pumpkin?”

“Don’t pumpkin me.” I snap back at him, my voice seething despite trying my best to be in control. I can tell, my restraint is almost at its end. “I happened to run into cousin Johnny yesterday and he had the most peculiar notion that he is supposed to be next in line to be Don. Is there anything you’d like to say to that?” I asked him point blank. One of my eyebrows arches as I glare at him.

He hummed.

I stood there as I waited for a reasonable answer and all my father would say is a humm? No denial or affirmation, just a one syllable that pretty much doesn’t say anything.

Ever since I was ten, I had been training to become the next leader of the Greyson’s mafia. As the eldest in a family blessed with only daughters, my father had more than hinted that I am his obvious successor. And yet, for some reason, today, all he can say about it is a simple humm.

Is he for real? My whole life revolves around me preparing myself for the role. From all the combat training I endured, to choosing to pursue business in college. It was all in anticipation for this role. Even my personality had been honed to fit the role. From the way I talk and walk down to my choice of wardrobe had been specifically designed to exude this powerful aura so that I would look the part.

I can still remember Madam Maria, my lead trainer. Her favorite words to me would be chin up, Ivy, back straight, a Don is not a slouch, they are a powerful tiger. Regal on the outside, and formidable on the inside.

Yes, there have been some hiccups to the plan, but it’s not intentional. It’s not my fault that I’m 5’1 and look like a dwarf compared to the rest of the men. And that’s true even when I don one of my high heels. If I hadn’t got some curves, I’m sure everyone would assume that I’m just some kid instead of a grown ass woman. In fact, occasionally, I still get some jokes that claim I shop in the children’s department.

My petite stature doesn’t exactly help when it comes to hand in hand combat either. One out of ten, I would lose the fight. What would you expect when everyone else is twice your size and a master in self defense. I know I’m above average when compared to the rest of the world, but in the mafia, I’m the bottom of the barrel. I’m a pretty good marksman but that’s the only silver lining in this scenario.

I am not blind to the fact that our men don’t look at me as a possible heir to the throne. But I thought maybe, just maybe, with his endorsement, things might turn around and everyone else would see that I could be a pretty good leader.

“Why don’t you sit down, Ivy.” He pointed to the empty chair across from him. “Please.” He added when he sees sitting down was the last thing I would like to do right now.

I begrudgingly listened and sat down. My hands wrap themselves around me protectively, preparing me for what he has to say for himself.

“You’re upset.” he cocks his head and finally puts down his half read paper.

“Well, that’s pretty obvious, don’t you think?” I lash back at him. My tone, a tad too harsh considering he is still the Don and I am to some extent, insignificant compared to him.

“I know I’ve been filling your head with this idea that you would be the next in line-”

“Filling my head?” I let out a fake laugh. “You’ve literally told everyone that I am supposed to be your successor.” I rented. My rage spilling out a little.

He raised a finger to shut me up.

“Let me speak.” He calmly said. His tone not giving out any emotions to his current state of mind.

“You can not expect me to hand you the title when our own men don’t even see you as a possible candidate. How are you supposed to fair against the other family? They would obliterate you, Ivy. I’ve been patient and I’ve tried to understand your predicament, but enough is enough. You might be good on the business side, but you still need to look and act the part. And honey, a business suit isn’t going to solve the problem.”

My shoulders sag at his harsh words. I know it’s true but a small part of me is still hanging on to this fantasy that he had created for me. A part of me is still wishing that something, anything, some magic fairy would appear and help me become the person I was meant to be.

“I know this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have tried to make you my heir even though you’re a girl. I wished I had a son to pass down the title. Life would have been so much easier. So much simpler.”

I gulp hard at his words. It was no secret that my father had wished I was born a boy. And if my mother was still alive, they would probably still keep trying. But the cards he had been given, gave him all daughters. And since I was the eldest, it was up to me to try and fulfill that role.

“But,” I perked up at that single word spoken by my father.

“But, I may have a solution.”

I look into his eyes, waiting to hear this magical solution that would make everything better.

“You can get married.”

I waited a few seconds. Is that it? Is that his big idea?

“Are you trying to marry me off? That is not going to make things better dad.”

“Marry someone who looks the part. You two can share the title. He’ll take care of the men, you take care of business. It’s a win-win situation.”

“And who am I supposed to marry, in this preposterous scenario?”

“I have someone in mind.” He said quietly.

“Oh my God.” My eyes widen in surprise as I connect the dots and realize to what extent he had gone in this absurd plan of his. “You’re proposing an arranged marriage, aren’t you?”

“Pumpkin-”

“Dad, I did everything you’ve ever asked of me because I wanted to be the perfect heir to your empire, but forcing me to marry some stranger is a whole other low, even for you. I can’t believe you even think that it’s okay to ask me that.”

I mean, this is not some band aid solution. This is for life. If I do this, I’ll be stuck in a loveless union. What if the guy only agrees because he wants the power that comes with it. What will happen to me then? He’ll dominate my life and I’ll have no control over anything. No, I can’t let that happen. This is bad on so many levels.

I would be signing off my life to a complete stranger. I would lose everything, my will, my freedom, I would be at his mercy day and night. I can’t let this happen. There has to be another way around this.

“Ivy, why don’t you have some of these french toast? They are delicious. Have a bite. Cooldown for a bit.” He pushed a plate of french toast towards me, trying to offer an olive branch, of sorts.

The still water from the lake behind us glimmered in the sun. On the far side of the lake, beautiful shades of blues and greens from the mountainside complimented the bright clear blue sky. If it had been some other day, this would have been a perfectly peaceful spot, the ideal spot to start the day. I knew then, that was the reason why he had chosen to eat at this spot today. He needed me to be compliant. He needs me to be zen. He needs me to play ball.

I need to buy some time. There has to be another solution to this. I can’t let him win that easily and marry me off. Marriage is definitely not the answer. I just need more time to figure a way out.

I look into my father’s brown eyes, trying to read what goes on in his head. The same brown eyes that adorn my own face stare back at me. On him, it makes him look menacing, exuding dominance. It commands others to respect his presence. But on me, it somehow managed to accentuate my own vulnerable, troubled state.

I shift my gaze away, not willing to continue our stare down.

“Who’s the guy?” I ask him, sounding surprisingly composed that even I was shocked that I could pull it off. Inside, I’m a frenzy of chaos, on the outside, I am the ideal picture of serenity.

“He’s the second son of Don Bonucci.”

I rack my brain trying to put a face to the name. “I don’t think I’ve ever met him before.” I finally said.

“Me either. But I’ve heard good things about him.”

“And he agrees to this?” I ask, suspiciously.

“I’ve spoken to his father and he is very enthusiastic about the union.”

I don’t know what this marriage would lead to, but it would be foolish to make a rash decision. That much I do know.

“I want to meet him. I’m not saying yes. But I’m also not saying no.” That’s right Ivy, string him along as long as you can. This will buy us some time to figure out another solution.

“I understand. I’ll call Don Bonucci right now. This could be a good thing Ivy. Not just for the family, but for you as well.”