3. Bianca
3
BIANCA
I can’t help but look back as we walk away from the encounter with the ruggedly handsome stranger. He’s currently looking at the bridal boutique with a look of annoyance on his face. I wonder why.
I can’t put my finger on it, but he intrigues me. There was something about the way he and my mother interacted that suggested a deeper history, a past that I’m suddenly desperate to uncover.
Mama is murmuring something to Jean-Luc, our bodyguard, that I can’t hear, but I don’t care. I want answers.
“Mama,” I say, breaking the silence that has settled over us. “Who was that man? You seemed to know each other.”
Mama glances at me, her expression guarded. “Oh, that was just an old acquaintance, Bianca. No one you need to concern yourself with.”
I scoff, glaring at Chiara as I feel her elbow jab into my ribs, a silent warning to drop the subject. I ignore it. My curiosity is too strong to be suppressed, and it’s clear my mother is trying to deflect.
“But he clearly knew you. He knew I was named after Great-Grandma. That’s not something a mere acquaintance would know.”
“Drop it, Bianca,” my mother says, staring straight ahead. Mia glances at me, her eyes darting toward our mother as if trying to tell me I’m nearing the end of her patience.
But I’ve never been known to just toe the line. I like to leap over it.
“No,” I say boldly, stopping in my tracks and placing my hands on my hips, my chin jutting up stubbornly. “Who is he, Mama? If you don’t tell me, I’ll just ask Papa because this Rork guy clearly knows him, too.”
I think back to Rork’s final parting words to my mother, his emphasis on ‘charming husband’ making it obvious that he doesn’t care for my father.
“Miss Bianca,” Jean-Luc says, his eyes darting around to ensure that no one approaches us, “it’s not safe to stop?—”
“No, Jean-Luc,” I snap. “I won’t move until my mother answers my question. And if not, I’ll ask Papa.”
My mother’s steps falter for a moment, and I can see the tension in her shoulders as she whirls around. “Don’t you dare ask your father about Rork O’Malley,” she says fiercely. Her eyes are filled with a mix of emotions I can’t quite decipher. “He doesn’t deserve that type of stress right now!”
“Stop, Bianca,” Chiara hisses.
“No,” I retort back, my gaze still locked on Mama. “Not until I find out who this guy is and how he knows our parents.”
A myriad of emotions pass across Mama’s face before she closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. “Rork O’Malley and I were friends when we were growing up.”
“Friends?” Mia asks. “Did you like him, Mama? Was he your boyfriend before Papa?”
“ No ,” Mama says firmly, her face screwing up in disgust. “Rork and I were friends only . Maybe he wanted more, but we never—I would never ?—”
Chiara comfortingly presses a hand to Mama’s arm. “We believe you, Mama.” She throws me a filthy glare, but I shrug, unfazed.
“So, if you weren’t together, then what happened?” I press, sensing there’s more to the story.
Mama hesitates, as if weighing the consequences of revealing the truth. “Rork and your father got into a knife fight. It was… it was brutal and bloody. I had to cut ties with Rork after that. It was the only way to keep the peace, to protect everyone involved. If I hadn’t, your father would have killed him.”
It takes everything in me to keep my mouth from falling open. I’m stunned by her revelation, my mind reeling with questions. What could have driven my father and Rork to such violence? Is that the reason Rork has that scar over his eyebrow and cheek?
“Why did Rork fight with Papa?” Chiara asks curiously, seemingly reading my mind.
Mama sighs. “Your papa thinks Rork had a crush on me and wanted me for himself. It would explain why Rork tried to break the engagement between your Papa and me.”
Well that’s interesting. I file that little bit of information away. I remember the intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes lingered on me a moment too long.
“That was a long time ago,” I say. “Can’t you let bygones be bygones? He could be someone valuable to alliance with. Maybe I could help?” I’ve always wanted to be more involved in the family business.
Mama’s expression hardens, a flicker of fear crossing her features. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Bianca. Rork is dangerous, and I don’t want you getting caught up in whatever grudge he still holds against your father.”
“But Mama?—”
“No buts,” she interrupts, her tone leaving no room for argument. “This has been over a twenty-year issue, and it goes way beyond what happened when your father and I were engaged. Promise me, Bianca. Promise me you’ll leave this alone.”
I can see the desperation in her eyes, the unspoken plea for me to trust her judgment. And as much as I want to keep questioning her, I know I can’t bring myself to cause my mother any more distress.
“I promise,” I say, the words feeling heavy on my tongue.
Mama nods, relief washing over her face.
“We should get going, Ma’am,” Jean-Luc says.
Mama nods again. “You’re right, Jean-Luc. Thank you. Now, let’s focus on the task at hand. We have a wedding to plan, after all.”
She turns and continues walking, her steps more hurried than before as Jean-Luc brings up the rear. I exchange glances with Chiara and Mia, seeing the same curiosity and confusion mirrored in their eyes.
* * *
When we get home, Mama goes to lie down while Chiara, Mia, and I gather in my room to start planning my seller’s market—I mean, tournament.
Despite my initial reluctance, I find myself getting caught up in the excitement of it all. If I’m going to be forced into this ridiculous situation, I might as well have some fun with it.
“Okay, ladies,” I say, grabbing a pen and a notebook. “Let’s brainstorm. And don’t hold back—the more ridiculous and extravagant, the better.”
Mia’s eyes light up, and she leans forward eagerly. “Ooh, what if we make it a masked event? Like a grand ball, but with a tournament twist!”
I grin, loving the idea. “Yes, Mia! I love it! A masked tournament would be perfect. It adds an air of mystery and intrigue.”
Chiara nods. “Plus, it’ll make it harder for the suitors to cheat. They won’t be able to rely on their family names or reputations.”
“Exactly,” I agree, scribbling down the idea.
“Do you really think Papa will agree to this?” Mia asks, pulling her knees to her chest and watching me write things down.
I wave a flippant hand. “Papa said I can plan the tournament tasks. He has to agree to this.”
“Yeah, but a masked tournament seems dangerous,” Mia points out. “How can we guarantee that the people we invite will actually be the people who show up?”
That’s a good point. I tap my pen against my lip thoughtfully. “Maybe… maybe we put that the suitors have to bring their invitation with them and be unmasked so security can verify them.”
“Who do you think Mama and Papa will invite?” Chiara asks, glancing at my notebook as I write things down.
“All the political and Mafia bigwigs, I imagine,” I remark. “I’m sure our parents will go through that invitation list with a fine-toothed comb.”
“Ooh, what if Dante enters the tournament?” Mia laughs.
I gag. “Dante Tenebre ? Mia, ew . We’ve known him for forever . Besides, he’s not of our station.”
“He’s a good man,” Chiara says sharply, her face contorted into a scowl.
I raise an eyebrow at my normally even-keeled sister’s response. “He may be a good man, but he’s not exactly suitor worthy, Chi. He’s great and all, but?—”
“He’s poor,” Mia chimes in, and I nod vigorously, keeping a careful eye on Chiara’s sullen look.
“What’s up your ass, Chi?”
“Nothing,” she mumbles, schooling her features into a disinterested look. “Let's just talk about the tournament and leave the potential husbands to our parents.”
Frustration bubbles up inside me. The more we talk about the tournament, the more stupid the whole concept seems.
“You know what I don’t get?” I say, tossing the pen onto the bed. “Why does everyone seem to think I need a man for protection? It’s the twenty-first century. I don’t need anyone’s protection.”
Mia frowns, her brow furrowing. “But Bianca, Papa just wants what’s best for you. He wants to make sure you’re taken care of.”
I sigh, softening my tone. “I know, Mia. But I don’t need a husband to take care of me. I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself.”
Chiara shakes her head. “Are you? B, let’s be real. None of us have ever lived outside this estate. We’ve been pampered and coddled all of our lives, you included. Do you really think you could take care of yourself?”
A ripple of irritation courses through me. How could Chiara seriously think I couldn’t make it on my own? Out of all the Marino sisters, I’m the most independent and willing to get my hands dirty.
“Of course I can,” I say sharply. “And if I am forced to marry, the man I choose will have to respect my independence.”
“Maybe we should add that to the tournament requirements. Must respect Bianca’s ability to kick ass and take names ,” Mia says slyly.
We all burst out laughing, the tension in the room dissipating. As we continue to plan and joke, I feel a sense of gratitude for my sisters. They may drive me crazy sometimes, but they’re always there to support me, no matter what.
Just as we’re getting into the swing of planning, the door to my room opens and Sofia walks in. She’s fresh off her most recent trip to the Bahamas and looks as elegant and poised as ever, her diamond wedding rings sparkling in the overhead lights.
“Sofia!” Mia exclaims, jumping up to hug our eldest sister. “Welcome back, Sof! We were just planning Bianca’s tournament.”
Sofia raises an eyebrow, her gaze flickering to me. “A tournament? What’s that about?”
I sigh, suddenly feeling a bit sheepish. “Papa’s decided it’s time to marry me off now. He says it’s for my protection, but I think it’s stupid. So, I suggested a tournament to find a worthy suitor, and he thought it was a great idea.”
Chiara chimes in, “We were trying to tell Bianca that Papa just wants what’s best for her. He’s worried about her safety.”
Sofia’s expression softens as she sinks into the plush carpet, but there’s a gravity in her voice when she speaks. “Bianca, I know you’re not thrilled about this arrangement, but there’s more to it than just your protection.”
It takes everything in me to not roll my eyes. Here comes my perfect older sister to try and lecture me about what I should be doing. Well, I have news for her. Just because she was matched to the Sicura heir—the man she loved—and accepted, it doesn’t mean that I will.
Sofia folds her hands in her lap. “This marriage isn’t just about keeping you safe, Bianca. It’s about protecting our entire family. Papa’s health is deteriorating, and when he dies, it’s going to happen abruptly. We’re going to need all the help and security we can get to maintain our power and influence.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I’ve been so focused on my own frustrations and annoyances that I haven’t stopped to consider the bigger picture.
“I–I forgot,” I mumble, feeling a sudden wave of guilt wash over me.
Sofia reaches out and takes my hand, her touch reassuring. “It’s okay, Bianca. I know it’s a lot to process. But we have to think about the future of our Family. Your marriage could be a crucial alliance that immensely helps us.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat at the thought of Papa’s death.
Mia and Chiara exchange a glance, the mood in the room shifting from playful to somber.
“We’re all in this together,” Chiara says, her voice gentle. “We’ll support you, B, no matter what.”
Mia nods, her eyes wide with concern. “And we’ll make sure the tournament is still fun, even if it is to find you a husband.”
I manage a small smile, feeling a rush of love for my sisters. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Die,” Chiara quips before we all burst into laughter.
Sofia squeezes my hand, her gaze filled with understanding. “We’re family, Bianca. We’ll always be here for each other, no matter what.”
With the weight of our family's future hanging over us, I realize that my earlier tantrum seems trivial in comparison. If my marriage can help secure our legacy and keep my loved ones safe, then I guess I’ll do whatever it takes.
Even if it means sacrificing some of my own desires and dreams.