I look at myself in the mirror in my walk-in closet. I am the vision of the perfect bride-to-be. A white midi dress that hints at my femininity without showing too much. The strapless bodice cups my cleavage perfectly, giving my breasts the ideal roundness. My neck is adorned with one of my mother’s sapphire necklaces. It’s a small teardrop-shaped pendant that hangs on my chest—a gift she received from my brother.
Antonio. Oh, how I wish he could be here. Had he still been alive, none of this would be happening.
I touched up my makeup and kept my face a little natural to avoid looking too caked and overdone. I smack my lips together, mixing in the light lipstick I had applied.
I hear her footsteps before she comes into view in the mirror. Our eyes connect, and she smiles, looking me up and down. I press my sweaty palms onto the skirt of my dress, nervous.
“How do I look, Mamá?”
“You look beautiful, cara,” my mother gushes from the door of my closet. She is dressed in a black dress, a sign that she is still in mourning. “Ready?”
No.
“Yes,” I push down whatever reservations I have. I straighten my back and roll my shoulders. “Are they here?”
She nods and holds her hand out to me. “They’re in the tea room with your father. They’ve been here for some time, but I wanted to give you some space to yourself.”
Her words ease me a little.
“Okay.” I walk over to my mother and place my hand in hers. There is a sense of unity between us. We are both women forced to conform to the pressures of our society. My mother, of course, is more inclined to do it—whereas with me, it is more of a forced disposition.
“Mamá?” My voice is loud against the thickness of the silence.
She lifts her face; her caramel eyes meet mine through the glass. “Si, amore?”
“Do you think he will like me? Do you think we will find love like you and Papá?”
It seems silly that one would hope for love in an arrangement like this, but I can’t help it. As a little girl, I dreamed of the grand kind of love I read about in novels and watched on the big screen.
“Of course he will like you, amore. You aren’t marrying a stranger.”
The softness in her tone does little to ease the tension that still riddles my heart.
We walk out of my room, hand in hand, as we head down the stairs.
With each step I take, I feel the world closing in on me. My chest heaves up and down, trying to pull in as much air as possible to stay calm. We make it into the front foyer, and I can already hear their voices echoing through the space.
This is it. I pat my free hand against the skirt of my dress and brace myself for what’s to come. My mother and I walk hand in hand until finally, we come to a halt in the archway of the tea room. The scent of expensive cologne and alcohol wafts into my nostrils.
I clutch my mother’s hand for dear life. She is the only thing grounding me. We stand in the archway, staring at the three men in the tea room.
“Mi amor,” my mother calls out to my father. “We’re here.”
My father’s hazel eyes meet mine, and I catch the slight glint of pride radiating from his gaze. My eyes shift to Matteo, who sits in the chair beside him. His striking steel eyes watch me with great intensity. That gaze of his—it will always pierce right through me. My breath hitches—only for a moment—before I steady myself.
“Benvenuto, Signor Davacalli.” I even go so far as to drop my gaze to the floor as a show of respect to my elders. “It’s good to see you again.”
When I lift my eyes, there’s a small hint of a smile on my father’s lips. Of course, he’s proud. I’m being the obedient little Italian girl he raised me to be—the perfect bride for a family like the Davacallis.
“Ciao, Maria.” Matteo’s thick voice fills the room. He turns his head toward his son. “Daniele, you know Maria, of course.”
Finally, my eyes move to the man standing by the window of the tea room. He’s dressed in form-fitting dress pants and a white button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing a sleeve tattoo beneath.
Our eyes meet, and my heart thunders in the center of my chest. I blink. My hazel eyes lock with his warm caramel ones. I haven’t looked into those eyes in over a decade. The innocence that once shone so brightly within them is now gone. I can see the years have turned him into a man.
His brown hair is styled to perfection. His body stands a solid six feet off the ground, his head held high like he’s already wearing his crown.
The mafia prince. In all his glory and wonder. The man many women in our world want to bed—and many men want to kill.
“Ciao, Maria. It’s been a long time.” His lips curl into a charming smile.
“Ciao, Daniele,” I respond.
The time apart hasn’t dulled him—it’s refined him. My ten-year-old self would be screaming that her childhood crush turned out to be sex on legs. Okay—at least the attraction is there. Now, we just take the next steps, day by day.
“Please, sit.” Daniele gestures to the empty loveseat and steps away from the window. He walks toward the seat and waits for me to come to his side.
My mother leans in and whispers gently in my ear, “You got this, cara. Amore, I have some calls I need to make. I’ll be in the study.”
I drop her hand and make my way to my awaiting fiancé. My heels click against the wooden floor until I reach his side. I offer him a small smile and take my seat, and he swiftly follows. The air in the room is thick with tension and nerves. Matteo and my father watch us expectantly, as if waiting for something to happen between Daniele and me.
I don’t know what they want. I’m not going to jump the man’s bones in front of them.
“Dad,” Daniele cuts through the silence, “you both staring at her is making things a little awkward.”
“Oh.” Matteo clears his throat and glances at my father, who suddenly seems a little flustered. “Well, I think for now we can leave you two to get to know each other a little while we discuss what needs to happen in the coming days.”
“You’re dismissing us?” I try to keep the attitude out of my voice, but it’s hard when I can feel irritation simmering just beneath the surface.
“Yes,” my father quips. “We need to discuss other matters, but I think you two should get reacquainted after all these years. Show him to the gardens, Maria.”
The edge in his voice tells me everything I need to know—I shouldn’t push back. I nod and glance over at Daniele, who is already looking at me. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips.
“Let’s go.”
Before I even have a chance to rise, Daniele is already on his feet, offering me his hand. I stare up at him, surprised by how chivalrous he’s being, but I try not to let the expectation get the better of me. I place my hand in his and lead him out of the tea room, leaving our fathers to talk.
His large hand swallows mine, but his warmth radiates up my arm in small, electric tingles. It’s a subtle sensation—but it wobbles the very foundation I stand on.
Everything’s been set in motion. Now it’s just a matter of time before I do what’s expected of me—fulfill my duty to my family.
I only hope that through it all, I don’t lose the parts of my soul that still make me… me.
