Luca
As I step out of my car, my shoes hit the pavement with a steady rhythm that synchronises with my heartbeat. I'm standing in the driveway of the house where I grew up, but I'm about to leave the comfort of the familiar behind and make my way to my father's office, where he summoned me earlier this evening.
The halls of my parent's home are dimly lit, but the soft glow is enough to guide me as I walk towards my father's office, wondering what he wants to talk to me about this time. I've been meeting with him regularly lately, and while it's become routine, I can't help but feel a sense of unease every time I step into his office under his domain.
You see, I've recently taken on the role of underboss in the family business, preparing to become the next Don of the Italian Mafia. It's a position I never expected to find myself in, having grown up as a half-Italian boy in London, feeling like I only fit in with myself.
Looking back, it's clear that everyone was afraid of me and, more so, of my father and his ruthless ways. But I didn't know any of that back then. I was just an awkward kid, waiting for my moment to shine, waiting for puberty to do its magic and transform me from an ugly duckling into something more.
And now, as I walk towards my father's office, I can't help but think about the life I could have had if only I had known who my father really was and who I was destined to become. My mother had always shielded me from the truth, wanting me to have a normal life until I needed to take over the family business.
But my father's life lessons now make sense to me. The training in murder, the fighting and hand-to-hand combat, the insistence that I learn to shoot a gun by the time I was thirteen. It all seemed pointless and cruel at the time, but now I see that he was preparing me for the inevitable, for the day when I would become the most notorious Don this side of the last century.
It wasn't an easy road to become the man that I am. I was terrible with a gun when I first started, more eager to cause harm than to aim correctly. I was reckless and impatient, not realising the gravity of what I was being taught. But my father was relentless, and his methods of discipline were harsh, leaving both physical and mental scars on me.
For a long time, I hated him for it. I made plans to run away with the girl I loved, dreaming of a normal life away from the mafia. But then she left me, and everything changed. After that, I knuckled down with the realisation that my father's lessons would make me into the man I am today, ready to take on the world and become the most feared and respected Don in the business.
As time passed, pain no longer held any significance in my decisions. Emotions became inconsequential, and even loyalty was no longer a factor when mistakes occurred. My growth was marked by numerous challenges that I overcame, which is why my father has entrusted me with the responsibility of taking over more aspects of the family business.
I will be the top member of the family within a year, but I have to prove my capabilities and adhere to strict protocols. I must be the man everyone expects me to be, which brings me to the meeting I'm moments away from with my father. I am sure it will demand things of me that I would not have considered a year ago.
There is always a ceremony to show my commitment, and I will have to kill someone, no doubt. But the question is who and where?
Finally, I presume that I will be encouraged to marry another Mafia family princess. A woman who will stand beside me, a womb to give me my heir in return for my protection and, perhaps one day, my affection. Falling in love has never been on the gender since her, who shall not be named. Therefore, I accept that my parents will choose a girl worthy of being my child's mother.
I knock on the office door once and step inside without a second thought. To my surprise, my mother is also present, along with a young woman. The girl is breathtakingly beautiful, and no man could ignore her. Even from this angle, seeing her only from behind, I can tell that she is a natural beauty, with her light, ashen hair framing her youthful features perfectly. There is not an ounce of makeup on her face, and I can see her stunning side profile.
The subject possesses a strikingly attractive nose that appears to be perfectly straight. Her lips are round, plump, and well-defined, enhancing her other facial features. Her delicate chin is small and refined, adding to the elegance of her appearance.
Each of those features strikes me with similarity.
Fuck... The sight before me seems impossible to believe. I can't trust my own eyes, as they might be playing tricks on me.
She who shall not be named—.
As I approach my parents, my heart starts to flutter uncontrollably, and I feel a sudden rush of emotions. The girl beside me seems to have taken away all my attention, and I need to divert my gaze. "Papa, Mamma..." I say, trying to sound normal and composed. I look at them, hoping that they won't notice the chaos inside me. Then, my father greets me affectionately with a simple "Son," and I feel a sense of relief, knowing that I am in their presence and not alone with her.
As I stare at my father in disbelief, his face contorted into a grimace. His warning echoed in my mind despite my shock, reminding me to hide my emotions and maintain a poker face during any meeting. It was a lesson he had drilled into me time and time again and one that had become ingrained in my every thought and action. So, I school my features to ensure I please him.
"Luca?" With a heavy heart, I hear my mother call my name, and I rip my gaze to hers.
As I take a seat across from my mother, she showers me with her motherly love, her face beaming with a huge grin and reassurance. Despite her endearing demeanour, I can't help but feel a growing sense of apathy towards this meeting as I try to keep my emotions in check. Her blinding gaze only adds to my internal turmoil as I struggle to stay present in the moment and not dwell on the unwanted.
"What is this!" I ask sharply, my voice laced with anger and bitterness as I gaze at the face of the girl beside me. I feel a wave of dormant emotions wash over me. Her face was an image I thought I had buried deep in my memories, her name a word I had sworn never to say again.
The girl is Emma, the sweet and unusual Italian girl from next door. I remembered her as the girl with long blonde hair and captivating sea-blue eyes that hadn't blended in with our families' typical brown hair and brown eyes. She was the one I had fallen for when we were mere children, the one I had given my virginity to with the promise of a better life despite the mafia's most absolute rule, which was for the women to keep that innocence until their wedding night. Either way, I took what wasn't mine, and I promised to take her away from the misery and constraints of our current life that we mutually hated. But she broke my heart the very next day when she left unannounced and without so much as passed down words through the staff that we sometimes used to communicate through.
What the fuck is she doing here in my father's office?
"Take a seat," my father commands, his piercing eyes scanning me with a calculating gaze. His lips curl into a sly smirk as if he knows something I don't. I feel a shiver run down my spine, unsure of what could be coming next, though I have a pretty good idea.
"It's time for you to find a wife," my mother chimes in, her voice laced with excitement and anticipation. Her eyes sparkle with joy as if she's been waiting for this moment for years. She beams at me, her maternal instincts taking over, eager to have grandchildren to dote on and then her eyes dance to Emma, which confirms my worst nightmare.
"I'm sorry, her?" I ask, my voice laced with confusion at her betrayal. She knows most how hurt I was when Emma did the disappearing act.
My heart is pounding in my chest as I teeter, unable to shift from the spot where my eyes have her in my spherical vision. Memories flood back, memories of betrayal and heartbreak. My emotions are a whirlwind of anger and hurt as I silently drown in the uncertainty of my future.
But no, I can't allow myself to fall back into that vortex of pain. She betrayed me, and I swore never to fall for her again, and equally, I vowed to never give her the ability to hurt me further.
My father's voice brings me back to reality, his words booming through the room. His eyes are filled with disappointment, and I know I'm not living up to his expectations. But how can I pretend everything is okay when my heart is still bleeding from the wounds she inflicted six years ago?
My Don snarls as he mentions our names in a rage, "Yes, Luca. You are betrothed to Emma." He then orders me to sit down as I once again stand in defiance, his tone indicating that he is not to be disobeyed.
As I teeter above my seat, I contemplate my next move. The thought of just turning around and walking away crosses my mind, but I know better than to underestimate him. I've trained hard over the years as I stood before him as an opponent, and I'm faster now than I was a decade ago. Plus, with my gun within reach, I feel confident in my ability to defend myself. However, I can't shake the feeling that I'll suffer severe consequences if I act on my impulses. The mere thought of being shot tonight makes my skin crawl. Especially if it's for this traitorous bitch beside me.
My father across from me has a stern expression on his face, clearly unhappy with my silent behaviour. However, there is a glimmer of excitement in his eyes as he waits for me to make a decision. He wants me to go against him, to challenge him, and he's giving me a rare opportunity to do so.
I try to ignore the girl sitting next to me, who hasn't even glanced in my direction. Instead, I focus on my parents, feeling a deep sense of disdain towards them. I realise that my mother is the only bargaining chip I have to avoid my father's wrath.
As the Don of our family, he holds all the power, even over his own child. So I silently plead with my mother not to force me into this situation, but she shakes her head profusely and tells me that I must accept Emma as my fiancée.
The fuck?
"I agree with your mother; it's about time for you to settle down and start a family. Emma comes from a reputable Italian family that has a long-standing relationship with ours. By marrying her, you will not only strengthen the bond between our families but also create new business opportunities that will help us grow our income significantly in the next three years alone. Emma is beautiful, intelligent, and well-trained to support you and stand by your side as a leader in our organisation. Not to mention that your children will be immeasurably beautiful," my father explains utmost conivingly.
"Absolutely not," I firmly declare, my tone leaving no room for negotiation as the impulse takes over my logical thinking. "When the time is right, I'll choose my own wife. And assess that woman based on the needs we have as a family."
My father sighed deeply, his disappointment palpable as he realised I had taken the bait and had gone against him. He glances at my mother, and I catch a glimpse of indignation in his eyes before he turns back to me, almost as if he's asking why I'm declining the beautiful woman standing before us.
And he's right. Emma is a stunning woman with confidence and poise that commands attention, and that would only make us a powerful couple. Her family also strongly believe in the equality of both sexes, and she's next in line to become the Don of the Rossi's. This leads me to ask, why is she here, and why is her hand being offered in marriage?
"Choose another; I refuse to take her," I snarl at my father, trying to assert my newfound authority. But deep down, I know that my words are futile. I don't have a choice in the matter, and I've always known it. My father has never lied about the expectations placed on me as his son and sole heir.
That vein in his neck pulsates, and I can see his anger building. I've pushed him too far, but I must do something to prevent my downfall. I can't let my family's legacy slip through my fingers, even if it means sacrificing my own desires.
"Luca!" My mother's voice booms with anger as she scolds me for my disrespectful behaviour towards my father. She knows that my punishment will be severe and well-deserved. However, deep down, she despises the strained relationship between my father and me. I'm sure her presence alone is the primary reason why my father has exploded as of yet.
Gritting my teeth, I realise I am livid and unwilling to accept the girl who broke my heart, and I would rather face any punishment than succumb to the pressure of my father's oppressive upbringing. Yet I know I'll still leave this room with her because of his say so.
Emma stands abruptly and is visibly upset and hurt by my behaviour; there's a tremor I hate flitting through her body, but I direct my sight away from her as she speaks.
"Well, Don Moretta, I think I'll be leaving," she declares, but before I allow her to take one step, my father and I shout in unison, commanding her to stay put.
A sly smirk spreads across my father's face as he notices my displeasure at Emma's intended departure. I take that moment to look toward him, hoping he would understand my silent distaste for his choice of her, but all I see is the challenge to make me submit.
As our eyes lock, a silent understanding passes between us. Despite my best efforts to argue my point and his best efforts to allow me an opportunity to go against him, I realise that there are other forces at play that I am not aware of, and he won't back down.
"Don Moretta, with all due respect, I did not agree to be disrespected in such a manner. I agreed to your proposal of merging our families, not to be treated like an unwanted pawn," Emma's tone is laced with confidence, but I can sense the unease in her voice as she gestures towards my displeasure and her own presence in the room.
Even though she speaks with an air of nonchalance, I can see her pulse racing as she finally confronts the issue at hand—my lack of willingness.
As I sit beside her, I feel a seething anger rising within me. Her complete disregard for my father's social status is like a slap in the face. It's as if she thinks she's better than us. The urge to lash out at her is almost overwhelming, and I can feel my hand twitching involuntarily. I have to clench my fist tightly to stop myself from acting on my violent impulses. It's a struggle to keep my composure, but I know I must stay calm and collected. I can't let my emotions get the better of me, no matter how much she may deserve it.
"Please, have a seat, Emma," my father demands, his voice cold and unwelcoming. "You're here to wed my son, and let me clarify that nothing will change that. Not money, not holy water, not even your own objections." He looks to me then before continuing. "Our families have been bound by an agreement that was signed and sealed between her father and me years ago. You will marry her, Luca, and you will sign that dotted line within the month, and within the year, you'll give yourself an heir. It's your duty to respect those decisions made for you years ago. I don't care if you make her fall in love with you to keep her rooted to you. You can even lock her up in your compound and throw away the key once her use is over if that's what it takes to fulfil your obligations to the organisation, but you must remember your status and what you have to lose if you fail to follow the rules and produce the heir that will conclude one of your remaining tests, son."
As I feel words escape my subconscious, I can't help but wince at the tone of my own voice. "Father," I growl unhappily in a nod of acceptance, feeling the urge to challenge him fading away as if it were doused in water, the embers slowly fading into smoulder ash.
I can't help but notice the look on my mother's face, making my heart ache. She looks like a wounded doe about to meet the slaughter of a knife. Confusion is deep-seated in her gaze, and I wonder if she's questioning why I'm so upset at seeing that the only girlfriend I allowed myself to have is to become my wife.
As I contemplate this, I can't help but wonder if my mother played a role in my father's decision to choose my future wife. Perhaps she swayed his decision, or maybe she's as much a victim of these circumstances as I am.
I can't deny that it's my fault we've even reached this stage. My father warned me, gave me four years to grow up and marry, or he would make me take a wife. I should have taken him seriously but was too stubborn and foolish to see the bigger picture. Choosing to presume an arranged marriage was for the best because god knows I already tried the loved-up route and failed that miserably.
I regret wasting four years of my life. If I had made better decisions, I might have chosen someone who didn't hurt me so badly. Someone I could have learned to trust to stand beside me, but I know I can't have that with Emma.
I snarl unhappily as I stand with a nod to my father, who smiles in return, allowing me the dismissal I'm obviously asking for and grabbing for Emma's arm; I yank her to her feet harshly before I turn the pair of us away from my parents. I pull her in line and cradle the base of her spine as we walk out side by side, as my fingers burn with the loss of contact I had with the skin of her arm.
As I walk, my inner turmoil echoes in the silence of the deserted hallways lined with memories of Emma's and my childhood. The sound of my discontentment reverberates through my body, making each step feel heavier than the one before.
Despite my gloomy state, I can't help but feel a sense of pride as I catch Emma admiring my flashy and impressive car. It symbolises my hard work and dedication, reflecting my success since she left me in the dust.
With a heavy heart and anger that I'm taking her home to my compound, where I vowed she would never stand foot inside, I force Emma to get into the passenger seat, hoping that the drive will offer some solace from the weight of my emotions regarding having to take her as my wife. Closing the door with more force than I'd typically like to, I collect myself as I walk behind the car.
I have to find a way out of this...