I watch as the SUV makes its way off the tarmac, leaving me with Emily. The wind picks up and blows my hair into my face. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, trying to calm the storm raging inside me.
“Shall we go, Mrs. Davacalli?” the little sweet voice pierces my eardrums. I turn my head to the side and catch a pair of wide blue eyes. Her blonde hair whips around her face as the wind picks up. “All your bags have been placed in the car. Would you like to stop anywhere before we make it home?”
Home.
“Umm, no. We can go.” I look up and see the two burly men staring at me. Irritation immediately riddles my mind. “I get that he made you his lapdogs, but can you at least try not to breathe down my neck?”
The black-haired one, Tony, looks to his counterpart, then turns back to me. “We are instructed whatever is necessary for your safety. We will keep at least ten paces behind and ensure there are no active threats that can get close to you.”
His answer is so mechanical and rehearsed. But what gets to me is the lack of emotion that touches his features. He is stoic and… blank.
“I see. Well then,” I clutch my notepad to my chest. “Shall we?”
I get into the backseat of the SUV with Emily on the other end. I remain quiet, my body glued to the door. I watch the tall buildings move past as we drive down the pathways of the concrete jungle.
New York is a jungle of steel and glass, a sharp contrast to Florence’s sun-kissed vineyards and cobblestone streets. The scent of fresh basil and olive groves feels like a distant memory against the city’s constant hum of honking taxis and burnt coffee.
“I hear that you used to live in New York when you were younger.” Emily breaks the thick silence.
I turn to face her, and she has this megawatt smile on her face. I will be honest and say that it is a little unnerving how one person can be so… bright.
“Yes. But not in the city; we were just on the outskirts. I was closer to New Jersey than central Manhattan.”
“Did you ever miss it?”
“No.” My answer comes almost immediately. “I left this place when I was far too young, so I hold no real attachment to it. Italy is my home—the rolling hills, the blue water lakes, and the peace. There was no evident violence, and this world—the guns, the blood, the death—is far removed from it.”
The smile on Emily’s face falters a little. “Oh, I see. But I’m sure that now you are a married woman, you will enjoy it more than you did as a child.”
“I doubt it.” I turn back to the window and continue to stare as the world passes us by. I don’t want to be a bitch to Emily but I also can’t lie. “But maybe it will grow on me in time.”
Even as the words slip out, they feel empty, like echoes in a hollow space. But what choice do I have? If I don’t believe them, who will?
After about a thirty-minute drive, we finally make it to Matteo’s building. Along with his other nefarious deals, he also owns a construction company responsible for several skyscrapers. You would think that since he does honest work, he would drop the mafia overlord persona, but it’s engraved into his DNA. You can never separate the two.
When we make it to the top floor of the building, I can’t say I’m surprised at what I walk into—a full glass wall overlooking the city, an open floor plan, and an ultra-modern interior.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Davacalli,” Emily announces as I make my way into the penthouse.
The color scheme is no better than mine back home. White, black, and gray—monotone, one-dimensional, and dark. Much like the character of Matteo.
Tony walks in with my luggage and walks past me, heading to the stairs. Emily stands at the center of what must be the foyer. She holds back a shit-eating grin as she observes my reaction to the penthouse.
“It’s nice.” Those are the only words I offer. Her smile slips, and she blinks.
“Would you like a tour?”
My eyes continue to move from the living room to the dining area and then to the large grand piano that sits off the corner.
“No thank you,” I say absently. “I think I need some sleep right now. We can do all the grand tours later.”
“Of course, please follow me to your room.” There was a subtle emphasis to the word ‘your’ but I don’t think on it too much. “Mr. Davacalli made sure that it was ready upon your arrival.”
We walk up the spiral stairs that take us to the second floor. I notice as we walk that there is little to no personalization in this place.
“Has Matteo lived here alone long?” I ask as I look at the empty walls. No family. No friends. Just a cold and void mansion with no real life.
Emily looks over her shoulder at me. “Mr. Davacalli used to live on the outskirts of the city. The Davacalli manor. But after his wife died, he decided to come back into the city. The reasoning was he wanted to be closer to work, but I think it’s because he misses his late wife—Beatrice.”
Her name sends shock waves through my system. Until recently, she had been married to him. She had been the one at his side, and now I had come in as her replacement.
“He loved her?” The questions slip past my lips.
We pause at one of the doors at the end of the hallway. Emily turns to me fully with a distant glint in her eyes.
“She humanized him. She brought out the softer side to his darkness that the rest of the world never got to see.” It’s the softness that she speaks of her. I can tell that Beatrice made lasting impacts on everyone. “Here is your room, Mrs. Davacalli.”
She opens the door and I am immediately stunned.
“This…” I walk into the oak-floored room as my eyes dart from corner to corner. Apart from the wall of windows that displays the New York skyline, this is a dead ringer for my room back home. The beige and white color scheme litters the room, from the bedding to the white oak furniture that decorates the area.
“Mr. Davacalli gave me inspiration from your old room. He wanted you to feel right at home. He requested that the same fine bed linens be imported from Italy.” Emily still stands at the door. “I will leave you to rest. I will be back with lunch a little later. Or would you like something to eat now?”
“Uh, no, I ate on the jet. Thank you, Emily.” I tear my eyes from the paintings that hang from the wall. “You’ve been lovely, truly.”
Her eyes light with joy and she nods before she closes the door, leaving me in my room.
I close my eyes and breathe in the fresh scent of wood and fabric softener that wafts into my senses. I walk over to the bed, my heart lurching in the center of my chest.
He did all of this…
The sight of my room—a near-perfect replica of the one I left behind—catches me off guard. I shouldn’t feel grateful. But the warmth creeping into my chest tells me otherwise.
“I guess you aren’t as much of a brute as I thought.” I plop myself onto the bed and take out my phone from my back pocket. I scroll through my contacts until I reach one particular name that I never imagined I would ever dial, but here I am.
“Don’t be a wuss, Maria.” I try to give myself my version of a pep talk. “He’s just a human who bleeds red and breathes air like the rest of us.”
I click on the name, a lump finding its way into the center of my throat. I bite down on my tongue, my fingers hovering over the keypad before I finally decided to type the first word.
Will you be home for dinner?
I toss my phone onto the mattress, my chest rising and falling in frantic waves. I can’t believe that I am panicking over sending a text to my husband.
My phone vibrates. I reach for it, not sure what to expect as his response.
No, we have a gala to attend to. I will have a dress sent over to you and the car will bring you to the venue.
“A gala?” I spit. “Already? Day one?”
I know there will be many galas that I will need to attend, but I at least thought he would give me a little heads up. I just got off a plane no more than two hours ago, and now he wants me to be ready for a party even though I am battling jet lag? Criminal.
I throw myself back onto my pillows and sigh heavily to the ceiling. The morning rays stream in through the large windows. The sight from this high up is beautiful. But the anxiety of what is to come keeps me from fully appreciating its beauty.
“Fucking hell.” I turn back into my pillow and scream. Fatigue finds me, and suddenly, I’m plunged into a sleep my body so desperately needs.
The next time I open my eyes, the sun is setting behind the skyscrapers. Before I can answer the door, it opens, and in walks Emily with a rack of gowns and that same smile on her face.
I wonder if she has any expressions other than that one.
“Mr. Davacalli says that you have a gala to attend. We have just under three hours to get you ready.” She claps her hands together. “You can get the shower going, and I will unload your luggage. But Mr. Davacalli did take the liberty to stalk the closet for you.”
I rub my eyes and sit up in my bed. “What?”
Emily chuckles and walks over to where I sleep. “You need to get up and get ready. You can leave the rest to me, okay?”
“Okay.” My mind is still foggy with sleep.
“Let’s make you look fabulous.” She grabs my hands and pulls me to my feet.
A shower, some scrubbing, and a few curling iron mishaps later, I stand in the middle of my walk-in closet with a full dome mirror in front of me.
“Your car is here, Mrs. Davacalli.” I hear Emily’s voice call from the room.
I don’t say anything. I am too lost in my thoughts for me to even articulate what I want to say properly. I pat my hands on the skirt of my gown and fidget with the embroidery on the bodice.
Finally, after a long pause, I answer, “I will be right out.”
I give myself the once-over in the mirror. The floor-length gown I wear hugs me at the bodice, the boning sucking me in and giving my chest that added lift. The white cloth dances against the overhead light of the walk-in closet; I’m not too thrilled about the color, but Emily says that I should take advantage of it as a newlywed.
“You look stunning,” Emily comes up from behind me with a brush in her hands. She loosens my curls and smiles at all her handiwork. “I knew this dress would look good on you. The image of a perfect bride.”
“Perfect bride,” I mutter under my breath as I look myself up and down. “I don’t feel like the perfect bride. If I’m being honest, I feel really out of my depth here. I am the wife to the mafia warlord.”
“And he also happens to be the best of them, Maria.” She offers me a thoughtful smile. “As much as he is tainted in many ways, the man cares for his own, and you are a part of his tribe now. He will honor you and protect you.”
Her words do nothing to ease all the anxiety in my body. “I want to believe that, but after all the rumors and things I read about him, I…”
The words trail off into the atmosphere. I cast my gaze down to the floor. I catch the glint of my ring against the light. It’s a large billboard and serves as the symbol of my imprisonment.
“You’ve worked with this family for some time, right?”
Emily nods. “Almost eleven years. Mrs. Davacalli—uh, I mean—Mrs. Beatrice Davacalli, Mr. Davacalli’s first wife, picked me herself.”
The first wife.
“What was she like?”
“She was beautiful, warm, and incredibly kind. Much like you, she didn’t seem to fit the world of the mafia darkness.” She walks off to the center drawers that contain the jewelry. She pulls out the most gorgeous sapphire necklace that sparkles against the light. “This will go well with your dress. May I?”
“Are you sure? My mother gave me some of her jewels to wear and I think that they will—”
“You are a Davacalli now, and you need to be wearing the jewels. This is the first time you will be presented to this world and I think it’s only appropriate that you are decked out in the finest the name has to carry.”
I hadn’t realized how deeply politics ruled this world. There are so many rules and regulations I am not used to. Since my father took us out of New York, I didn’t need to know all these ‘protocols,’ so to speak. I need to get accustomed to it if I want to acclimate quickly.
“The women in this world don’t get to say much, but they can speak volumes through what they wear. This necklace is a statement piece. It has been in the family for generations and worn by almost all the Davacalli women.”
She walks up behind me and places the necklace around my neck. When the cool jewels hit my skin, I can’t help but feel like I have been adorned like a queen. They are heavy but they make me feel… powerful for some reason.
I hold my head high and watch myself in the mirror. I hardly recognize the woman I am right now. All in the space of a month, I lost my brother, got married to the mafia king, and am now thrust into the thick of the world my parents tried to run from.
“Let’s get this night over with, then.” I turn away from the mirror and leave the closet with Emily in tow. I walk out of my bedroom and find Tony on the other side of the hallway. His eyes look to me and he says… nothing. “Tony, do you ever crack a smile? Or is that against your contract?”
He blinks. “My job is to protect you and not—”
“—make childish conversation. I know, you told me.” I look back at Emily, who hands me a clutch and my phone. “Oh, thank you. You always seem to know what I want before I do.”
Her lips tilt up into a smile. “That is my job. To make your life easier.”
It is a little unnerving but I don’t let those words pass my lips. “Shall we go? I’m sure Matteo is waiting for me.”
Tony grunts in response and leads the way down the narrow hallway. I follow, clutching my bag for dear life. My palms are slick with sweat, and my heart hammers against my ribs. This isn’t just a party—it’s a battlefield dressed in silk and diamonds.
The idea of standing beside my husband in a room full of power-hungry sharks sends a chill down my spine. But if this is my fate, I have two options—sink or swim. And I refuse to drown.
