CHAPTER TWO
“Sacrifices need to be made,” my father admonished me.
“You said I could still finish my degree online and—”
“There’s no time for that,” Damon interrupted in his growly voice. “Your wedding is in six weeks.”
And after that, my only duty was to be the wife of Matteo. My brother didn’t say the words, but I knew what he was thinking.
We buried my mother yesterday morning and I only had six weeks to “mourn” her.
And then I would be wedded off to Salvatore’s heir in the grandest wedding the Chicago Outfit and the New York Famiglie had ever seen.
My fists clenched and I refused to look at my brother. “But father—”
“Why is that degree so important to you anyway? What will it get you?”
My mouth snapped shut. My father’s words irritated me, but ironically, he was right.
I wanted to be the first woman in my family to earn a degree. To be educated. To be valued. To do something meaningful. But yes, what would a degree get me when my fate had long been decided?
I was betrothed at five years old.
My future had already been carefully planned and calculated.
My worth was only that—my marriage to Matteo Salvatore.
“Even if I were to allow you to do this now, I doubt you’d be able to finish your degree once you’re married.
Matteo doesn’t care about an educated wife.
” My father stood up and walked around his large, carved oak desk.
He had his favorite poison, a cigar, between his lips.
“Serafina, it’s important for you to understand your duty. ”
Despair swelled in my throat, digging its claws around my flesh from the inside.
“You have been gone for four years, but you know the rules. They are ingrained in your soul.”
Oh how I wish I stayed gone.
My life would have been so much better if I had remained a shadow, living quietly in Southern California.
While I was away, for only a short time in my life I had some kind of freedom. Limited, but it meant something to me.
Freedom—
To be who I was.
To pursue what I wanted.
To make friends… though it wasn’t many.
So while any other sane person would have been frightened to find out that someone was out to kill them, for me it was a blessing in disguise. Sure, I was horrified at first, but then I realized it was my only ticket out of Chicago.
I was thirteen when a hit was put on me for the first time. I got out of the accident unscathed because whoever was hired turned out to be a pitiful novice. Lucky for me, unfortunate for him. Because my brother put a bullet right between his eyes.
But when I was fifteen, they sent a trained assassin.
Angelo, my bodyguard, had his head blown off in front of me, his blood spattered over my face and then I took a bullet in my shoulder.
Somehow, I survived.
The hitman escaped, and it left Santino Morelli panic-stricken.
So I was sent away. For my protection.
I couldn’t possibly die. My life was precious to my father. Not because of fatherly love. No, because he needed me.
My life for his.
Sixteen years ago, my grandfather started a war he couldn’t win. He had a personal rivalry with Antonio Salvatore, the previous Boss of the Salvatore family. One of the most powerful and influential New York Famiglia.
The Chicago Outfit and the New York Mafia families (the Five Families of the American Cosa Nostra) have a long history of cooperation, tension, and mutual dependence.
There was an unspoken oath between them.
They were separate powers, often cooperating, sometimes competing, but always respecting territorial lines.
It was a relationship based on mutual respect, until my grandfather put his personal, impulsive whims before the protection and lives of his own people.
It was selfish and destructive.
A decision we were still paying for.
He may have succeeded in killing Antonio, but he wasn’t powerful enough to win. We called it the War of Broken Oaths.
Bloody.
Murderous.
Vicious.
Enzo, Antonio’s son, killed my grandfather… and then he came for the rest of my family. My father feared for his life, but he was also a smart, political man.
This bloody feud would have never ended if my father hadn’t made a deal with Enzo Salvatore that night.
Santino’s only daughter for Enzo’s eldest son.
Our marriage was to symbolize a peace pact, a business alliance, and the attempt to stop all the killings. It was to prevent any other wars between the Chicago Outfit and the Cosa Nostra.
I was five when I was betrothed to Matteo Salvatore.
And since that night, I was trained to be the dutiful wife to the heir of the Salvatore family.
Perfect wife. Perfect puppet. Perfect pawn.
Perfect liar.
“You know how crucial your marriage to Matteo is.” The smoke of the cigar wreathed around my father’s head as he spoke and the scent of it burned my nostrils.
God, I hated that smell.
“You are my daughter, Serafina. My blood,” he said, and if I wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of pride in his voice. “And family is important. Your brother and I have done everything in our power to keep our lineage alive and thriving after—”
“After the War of Broken Oaths, yes I know.”
Damon hissed under his breath, and my father’s eyebrows furrowed with deep contempt.
“It seems you still have much to learn before your wedding,” he snipped before taking another long drag of his cigar and then letting out a sharp puff.
“First lesson, you are to never speak of the war again. It is not a woman’s affair and certainly, you never bring it up in front of the Salvatores. Understood?”
Panic coursed through me. I had only been back for two days and I was already slipping… No, this couldn’t happen again.
“Yes,” I said quietly.
Obedient. Graceful. Faithful.
“Six weeks.” My father leaned back against his desk, crossing his ankles.
“Your wedding to Matteo is finalized, and nothing will change that. But your job is to have him fall for you. Make him want you. Your marriage is a political alliance, but there is a difference between a marriage carved out of duty alone and one in which a man needs you. Only then will you matter. Otherwise, you are just a body warming his bed.”
A woman in the mafia had little influence, we were merely vessels. To please and to breed.
But there was one thing we could control.
After all, a man obsessed would do anything for his beloved.
In other words, for this marriage to be favorable for the Morelli family, I needed to have Salvatore’s heir trapped in my web of love.
Though… I wasn’t sure if he was even capable of feeling that kind of emotion. Men like him didn’t do love. Just like my father and brother.
That was fine, love wasn’t needed.
I just needed to keep him enticed.
A man didn’t need to love to be obsessed.
There was a fine line between the two.
I swallowed my pride and tears. “I understand.”
“Then, you’re dismissed.” My father waved his hand sharply.
I turned on my heels and walked away like the dutiful daughter I was.
***
The door of my bedroom closed behind me with a soft click. Nothing had changed since I moved away, all the furniture and decorations were still in the same spot, yet everything felt strange to me. New and Foreign.
High ceilings with exquisite crown molding, polished with gold accents and a grand white bed in the middle of the room. Expensive hardwood and a fancy hand-knotted rug that I knew cost a fortune. My mother’s choices were always exquisite and lavish. Fake.
Everything about the Morelli mansion was extravagant… and nothing about it felt like a home that I could call mine.
I hated it.
The apartment I lived in California was better. It was small and cozy: mine.
I even had a roommate…
Who I had left behind.
I wondered where she was now…
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I looked around the unfamiliar bedroom again— unfamiliar because I may have been my father’s blood, but I never truly belonged to this family. Serafina Morelli was sold at the age of five. Not for money, but my life was never my own. I was a prized possession.
My body—
My womb was the vessel that was promised to the Salvatore’s heir.
Our marriage had two purposes: a business alliance and to procreate. Having a child with Matteo was the only way to prove my worth.
I squeezed my fists, my nails digging into my palm. I believed maybe the pain would give me some kind of reprieve from my darkening thoughts but nothing helped. I didn’t know whether to cry in despair or screech in frustration.
A knock rattled against my door before a soft voice called out, “Serafina? Are you inside?”
I swallowed down the emotions clogging my throat. “Yes.”
The knob turned and Lucia pushed the door open, before she peeked her head inside. “May I come in?”
Lucia, in her late fifties, wasn’t just a “maid” for the Morelli’s family. She was my nanny and as close to a mother figure as I could possibly have in my life. But she was also my mother’s confidante, the only one who kept her sane in this world of cruel and dangerous men.
So while she was empathetic and nurturing, I could never fully trust her with my secrets… my truth. Lucia and I had some kind of understanding. I accepted her care, and she never delved further into my life.
“Please,” I said, gesturing for her to enter.
Lucia walked in, and behind her two housemaids, whom I didn’t recognize, followed, wheeling in a large clothing rack filled with dresses that swayed gently with each movement.
The fabrics caught the light: silks, satins, and chiffons, in various shades that reminded me of a jeweler’s collection: emerald, sapphire, ruby, and classic black.
Wow, that was a whole unexpected collection. A little fancy and over-the-top but I expected nothing less from Lucia. She always did everything with extreme precision and utmost perfection.
“Your father instructed me to help you prepare for tonight’s dinner.” Lucia dismissed the maids with a gentle nod. “The Salvatore family will be here at seven.”
My stomach tightened. “All of them?”