Inescapable Ties : An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance

1. Chapter 1

It was never a good day when my father called me to his office. I had made it a point to brand myself as his least favorite child, so whatever he had to say to me would not be pleasant.

His office was a cold, cavernous room with tall bookshelves that lined the walls, and was filled with dusty tomes from centuries past. The air carried a distinct scent of aged paper and hints of hidden secrets.

And there were many, many secrets. They went hand in hand with a Mafia family.

As I reluctantly stepped inside, the heavy wooden door creaked shut behind me, sealing my fate within its confines. My father sat behind his grand oak desk, his beady eyes narrowed into slits.

“Sit down,” he said, his voice as stern as ever. I obediently took a seat in one of the uncomfortable chairs opposite him, mentally preparing myself for whatever reprimands or demands he had in store for me this time.

I just wanted to get out of there, and away from him, as soon as possible. He would probably just lecture me about how I didn’t attend the Alto’s big dinner party last Saturday.

“You will be getting married in three weeks.”

I nearly choked on my breath as I tried to process my father’s words. Married? In three weeks? This was beyond outrageous; it was a death sentence to the life I had dreamed of. How could he even consider arranging my marriage without my consent, without considering my desires or aspirations? The very thought of being bound to someone I didn’t love sent a shiver down my spine, and I slammed my palms into his desk.

“Is this your idea of a joke?” I said, unable to contain the rage that was seeping through my veins.

“Have I ever ‘joked’ with you, papera?”

He didn’t say it in the endearing way like when I was a little girl. Now he was mocking me.

“I won’t do it.”

My father’s face contorted into a mask of fury, his eyes burning with anger. He leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the desk with a menacing force that sent a tremor through the room.

“You will do as I say,” he hissed, his voice laced with venom. “You are part of this family, and you will uphold our traditions.”

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I struggled to control my rising desperation. This was not how my life was meant to be. I had dreams of pursuing my happiness, of forging a path that was mine and mine alone. But in that moment, it felt like those dreams had been mercilessly snuffed out.

“I won’t sacrifice my own happiness for the sake of some archaic tradition,” I spat back at him, my voice laced with defiance.

My father’s gaze narrowed further, a dangerous glint flashing across his eyes. “You think you have a choice?” he growled. “You belong to this family, and you will marry the man I have chosen for you.”

“What are you going to do? Tie me to the altar and torture me until I say ‘I do?’”

“Hm, I suppose you’re right.” There was a look of deviance on his face I was all too familiar with. “Martina turns eighteen in about six months. I suppose I’ll just have to wait until then.”

With a sickening feeling in my gut, I realized that my sister Martina, a musical prodigy with a voice so beautiful it could make angels weep, would be the one to bear the burden of this arranged marriage.

As my father’s ominous words hung in the air, I couldn’t help but think of the countless hours my sister spent practicing her violin, the way her fingers would dance gracefully over the strings, coaxing the most enchanting melodies from the instrument. Her talent was a gift from God, a beacon of hope and joy in a life that was often shrouded in darkness and fear.

There was no way I’d let him have her.

I sat there, frozen, as I watched my father’s smirk grow wider, the satisfaction of his victory palpable in the room. He knew he had won. I, too, knew that I had lost.

“Fine,” I muttered.

“I’m glad we could come to an agreement. You will meet him in two days.”

“Alright,” I said as I stood up.

My father nodded, his face still etched in a sinister smile, and I knew he was reveling in my defeat.

As I walked back to my bedroom, my heart ached with a mixture of resentment and dread for the future. My father’s words echoed in my mind, and I wondered what my future husband would be like. I imagined a life filled with rigid expectations, where love would be replaced with duty, and passion would be held at arm’s length.

The two days seemed to slip away like sand through my fingers, leaving me with a sense of dread and anticipation. Suddenly, it was seven o’clock, and I stood in front of the mirror, admiring my reflection in my favorite dress. The midnight blue fabric hugged my curves in all the right places, and the delicate beading shimmered under the warm lights. My father had carefully chosen every detail for this special evening, from the matching earrings to the satin heels that clicked gently against the hardwood floor as I paced in my room.

He had gone to great lengths, even hiring a professional makeup artist for me. I felt like a prized animal being primped and prepared for auction. Every brush stroke and powder application made me feel more like an object than a person.

My bedroom door opened, and Martina poked her head in.

“You know I can hear you clacking from down the hall. Why are you so nervous? Well,” she paused and laughed. “This is the first dinner you’ve attended in years.”

“Yeah,” I responded, my throat going dry.

“Why the change of heart? You always find a way to wiggle out of these things.”

It was an undeniable truth. The whispers and stares from others made it clear they thought I was acting out, that my behavior was just a passing phase.

The truth was much more simple. I was sick of being in a mafia family, and always being controlled. This was not a phase; I wanted a lifestyle change. Now that I had my upcoming arranged marriage, it was apparent I would never achieve it.

A pang of guilt shot through me as I looked at Martina, her innocent face unaware of the news I was keeping from her. My father had made it clear that I was not to divulge the details of this arranged marriage to my siblings, but the weight of this secret was becoming too heavy to bear. Images of disappointment and hurt flashed through my mind, and I knew that once this truth came out, our sisterly bond would never be the same. But for now, I kept my lips sealed and carried on with a heavy heart.

“Just to piss off father. I’m sure I’ll say something stupid and embarrass him,” I responded.

I mustered my best evil grin to sell my lie. Fortunately, Martina bought it.

“You’re playing with fire.”

“I know.”

She glanced down at her watch. “We’re late. C’mon.”

We walked down the hall together, my heels clacking in time to my heartbeat. This was it. I didn’t know my future husband’s name, let alone what he looked like. It felt like a sick reality show.

My heart lurched as Martina and I reached the second-floor balcony. Below us, a group of men, ranging in age from forties to sixties, waited expectantly. The majority were overweight and balding, their features blurred by the dim lighting. But one stood out to me - with grotesque dental hygiene, a thick film coating his teeth like a layer of grime. My stomach churned at the sight of it.

One of these men would be my husband.

I remembered father was watching and did my best to give the group a small smile.

The rest of my family had already joined them. My mother gave me a thin-lipped smile, and I could tell she was pissed that I was a few minutes late. I didn’t care.

My older brother, Rolando, was already socializing with the men.

Despite his young age, he was already making a name for himself as father’s successor, eagerly networking with the other men in the room. He exuded an aura of ambition and drive, setting himself apart from the rest with his unwavering focus on his future role as leader.

Just as I was about to ask my father which of these geezers would be my husband, the front door opened.

The man that walked through our front door was so remarkably handsome I had to suppress a gasp at the sight of him.

He stood at an impressive height, his muscular figure towering over those around him. His eyes, a deep shade of brown, held a captivating intensity that drew me in.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I left my phone in the car.”

“Ah, Luciana,” my father said. “This is Emilio, your fiancé.”

With a confident stride, he approached me and extended his hand. The corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly, a sly grin playing on his lips. He held out his hand, palm facing upwards, and gestured for me to take it. A small glimmer in his eye hinted at the playful mischief brewing beneath his composed exterior.

I hated him already.