5. Bianca
5
BIANCA
I wake up on the first day of the tournament with a knot of nerves twisting in my stomach. The tournament will take place over two days with a ball in my honor happening tonight.
The atmosphere in the house is buzzing with excitement, like the anticipation before a grand party. But to me, it feels more like I’m preparing to walk down the aisle toward a lifetime of imprisonment.
As I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, I can’t help but feel a sense of restlessness and longing for adventure. This life, with all its luxuries and privileges, has always felt stifling to me. I want the freedom to make my own choices, to explore the world on my own terms.
Girls my age are in college, preparing for their future careers and independence. College was never something even remotely entertained in the Marino household. As much as I love my parents, they never valued education. Our only way out is to marry.
And marry young, I guess.
Sofia may have been okay with marrying Dominico and becoming a Mafia princess, but that’s not me. I want freedom. I want the power to chase my own destiny. I’ve even entertained the idea of giving up my inheritance and striking out on my own. The thought of starting from scratch doesn’t scare me as much as the prospect of being trapped in a loveless marriage, forever bound by the expectations of my family and Mafia society.
Ugh. The thought of forever planning parties and always being dressed to the nines makes my lip curl. I’ve always been a bit of a tomboy, much to my mother’s dismay. I prefer the freedom of movement that comes with pants and practical clothing, rather than the constricting dresses and delicate fabrics that are expected of Don Marino’s daughter. I love the rush of adrenaline that comes with physical activity, whether it’s horseback riding or even just running as fast as I can, the wind whipping through my hair.
But today, I know I’ll have to put on the mask of the perfect daughter, the demure and graceful young woman who is ready to be admired and wooed by a host of eligible suitors. The thought of being paraded around like a prized possession, my worth measured by my beauty and my father’s wealth, makes me want to vomit.
What about loving me for me? Wanting me because of my personality, because they can’t live without me? Because they can accept who I am, flaws and all? I want someone who will do physical activities with me, isn’t afraid of getting their hands dirty, and hates society balls as much as I do.
Fuck. I just remembered the ball my parents are throwing.
I’ve never been comfortable at the fancy balls and occasions that my family regularly attends. The way the men look at me, with a mix of desire and condescension, as if I’m a delicate object to be admired but not truly seen or heard, is suffocating. I want to be recognized for my mind, my strength, and my spirit, not just my appearance and my family name.
There’s a knock at my door, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Bianca! If you aren’t already out of bed, you need to get up now . The hairdresser and makeup artist are here!” my mother shouts.
Groaning, I throw the covers off me and sit up, scrubbing my face. This weekend’s tournament is just the beginning of a long and difficult journey, one that will test my resolve and my ability to not run away.
But some part of me can’t help but hold onto a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there will be someone among the suitors who sees beyond the surface, who recognizes the fire within me and values my independence and my dreams.
It’s a long shot, I know. But a girl has to dream, right?
* * *
As I descend the stairs, I feel like a stranger in my own body. The dress I’m wearing is undeniably beautiful, with its intricate embroidery and flowing silhouette, but it feels like a prison, constricting my movements and stealing my breath. The corset is cinched so tightly that I can barely inhale, and the layers of skirts make me feel like I’m drowning in fabric.
At the bottom of the stairs, my sisters are waiting for me, their faces a mix of excitement and concern. Sofia steps forward and places a comforting hand on my shoulder.
“Remember to breathe, B,” she says softly.
I can’t help but snap back, my frustration getting the better of me. “It’s hard to breathe when this dress is cinched so tight. I feel like I’m being suffocated.”
Sofia gives me a sympathetic smile, but she doesn’t argue. She knows all too well the expectations and pressures that come with being a Marino daughter.
“Let’s go see it,” Mia says eagerly, and we set off to go outside.
Sunlight nearly blinds me, but once my eyes adjust to the light, I take in the sight of the elaborate obstacle course that has been set up for the final round of the tournament, to take place tomorrow. It’s a daunting array of challenges designed to test the strength, agility, and wit of the suitors who will be competing for my hand.
Today’s challenges include an archery competition, hand-to-hand combat, and duels with blunted knives. Tomorrow will be a shooting competition, the obstacle course, and—I swallow as I spot an elegantly decorated area off to the side that can only be meant for one thing. The wedding ceremony.
A bitter laugh escapes my lips as I recall the moment I had sarcastically suggested holding the wedding on the same day as the tournament. I never imagined that my parents would actually take me seriously and incorporate it into their grand plans.
God, they really do want to get rid of me, don’t they?
The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. By the end of tomorrow, I’ll be married to a man I barely know, my fate sealed by the outcome of a series of stupid and arbitrary challenges. The thought makes me feel sick to my stomach, and I have to take a deep breath—or try to—to keep from losing my composure entirely.
Chiara elbows me in the ribs, and I’m pulled out of my thoughts to see her gesturing for me to follow them to the balcony that has been built to accommodate my family. As we take our places on the balcony overlooking the course, I can feel the eyes of the gathered crowd upon me. The suitors, all dressed in their finest attire and wearing masks to conceal their identities, are lined up and ready to compete for the ultimate prize. Me.
I scan their faces, trying to discern any hint of character or kindness behind the masks, but all I see are the same hungry, calculating looks that I’ve grown accustomed to over the years. These men don’t care about me as a person. They only see me as a trophy to be won, a means to an end.
The weight of my impending fate settles heavily upon my shoulders as I am seated next to my parents, and I feel a sense of despair washing over me. Is this really all that life has in store for me? Am I destined to be nothing more than a pawn in the games of men, my own desires and dreams forever subsumed by the needs of my Family and the expectations of society?
As Victorio’s voice booms out from a microphone, welcoming the suitors to the tournament, I close my eyes and pray for strength, for courage, and for the ability to find a way out, even if it means defying everything I’ve ever known.
I can’t accept a life without love, without passion, and without the ability to be true to myself. And if that means taking a leap of faith and striking out on my own, then so be it.
I just hope that somewhere, among the sea of masked faces and hidden agendas, there is someone who will see me for who I truly am and stand by my side and let me live the life I know I deserve.
* * *
The tournament begins with an archery competition.
As the suitors line up to begin, I find myself drawn to one suitor in particular. Even though his face is obscured by a mask, there’s something about him that sets him apart from the others. He’s tall and muscular, with bright blond hair that catches the sunlight as he moves. I can’t help but notice the intricate tattoos that peek out from under the collar of his shirt, hinting at a rebellious streak that intrigues me.
Around me, my sisters are buzzing with excitement, their eyes wide as they take in the spectacle before us. Even Sofia, who is usually so composed, can’t hide her interest in the proceedings, whispering to her husband and pointing at certain suitors, an amused gleam in her eyes.
When the suitors take their turns firing arrows at the targets, I can’t help but cringe at some of the pathetic attempts. A few of the arrows barely make it off the ground, while others veer wildly off course.
I hear my sisters snickering beside me.
“Jesus,” Dominico mutters, his arm wrapped possessively around Sofia. “What the fuck was that?”
“Pathetic,” my father agrees, letting out a barely concealed eye roll at the lackluster performance.
But then, it’s the blond suitor’s turn. I find myself leaning forward in my seat, my heart pounding with anticipation as he steps up to the mark. He moves with a fluid grace that speaks of years of practice and skill, his muscles rippling beneath his fitted clothing as he nocks an arrow and draws the bowstring.
I hold my breath as he takes aim, his focus unwavering. And then, in rapid succession, he fires off three arrows, each one finding its mark in the center of the target with a resounding thud.
“Holy shit,” I mutter under my breath, unable to contain my admiration for his skill. My sisters turn to look at me, their eyebrows raised in surprise at my reaction.
But I barely notice their scrutiny, my attention still fixed on the blond suitor as he lowers his bow and steps back from the line. There’s a confidence in his stance, a quiet assurance that sets him apart from the other competitors.
As he turns to face the crowd, his eyes seem to find mine, even through the mask that conceals his identity. For a moment, I feel a jolt of electricity pass between us, a connection that I can’t quite explain.
“Who are you?” I murmur to myself, ignoring Mia’s glance at me. There’s something about this mysterious suitor that calls to me, that makes me want to know more about the man behind the mask.
I find myself increasingly captivated by the blond suitor’s performance. In the hand-to-hand combat challenge, he moves with a fluid grace that belies his strength, easily outmaneuvering his opponents and emerging victorious. And when it comes to the dueling with blunted knives, he’s nothing short of mesmerizing.
He twists and parries with effortless skill, his muscles straining beneath his clothing with each movement. There’s a deadly beauty to his technique, a sense of controlled power that sends a shiver down my spine.
“You’re drooling, B,” Chiara laughingly tells me as I jerk back, wiping my mouth frantically.
Despite myself, I can’t help but wonder what lies beneath those clothes, what kind of scars and stories his body might tell. I also wonder how far those tattoos go. Do they swirl around his chest and head south, past his navel? The thought makes me flush, and I pinch myself in disbelief.
Pull yourself together, I tell myself firmly, trying to calm my racing heart. I can’t believe my mind is wandering in such an inappropriate direction, especially given the circumstances.
But even as I try to rein in my wayward thoughts. I notice another suitor who seems to be giving the blond one a run for his money. He’s tall and dark-haired, with a similar build and a fighting style that rivals the blond suitor’s in both strength and agility.
My family seems delighted by this development.
“It looks like we have quite the competition on our hands,” my father remarks, his eyes gleaming.
My mother smiles while Dominico says, “either one of them would be good for the Family. I wonder who they are. Don Marino, any ideas?”
Irritation courses through me at their words. All they care about is what these men bring to the table—not whether they’ll treat me right or whether I’ll be happy with him. But I bite my tongue, knowing they won’t listen to me. My parents are determined to marry me off.
As the day wears on, it becomes clear that the blond suitor and his dark-haired rival are neck and neck, each one matching the other’s skill at every turn. The crowd is buzzing with excitement, placing bets and speculating about who will emerge victorious in the end.
But even as I watch the spectacle unfold, I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something more going on beneath the surface. The blond suitor’s eyes keep finding mine, even through the mask that conceals his face, and I feel a jolt of electricity every time our gazes meet.
Is he trying to tell me something? I can’t tell. But there’s something in those eyes of his that makes my heart flutter.
“The blond one keeps staring at you, B,” Mia says slyly, leaning forward in her seat.
There’s no way I can tell my family that I’m drawn to him in a way that both thrills and terrifies me.
“Probably already trying to figure out how much my dowry is,” I respond sarcastically, ignoring my parents’ glares.
As the first day of the tournament comes to a close, I can’t help but let out a sigh of relief. The tension and excitement of the tournament have taken their toll, and I feel the weight of the day pressing down on me like a physical burden. All I want to do is go back to my bedroom, take off this stupid dress, and lose myself in a few moments of blessed silence.
But just as I’m about to make my escape, my mother leans over and nudges me.
“Don’t forget, Bianca,” she says, her voice low but insistent. “You only have a few hours to rest and get ready before the ball tonight. Manolo and Petra will be here by five to start your hair and makeup.”
I can’t suppress the frustrated groan that escapes my lips, my face twisting into a scowl of distaste. Of course, how could I forget? As if being put on display like a prized broodmare wasn’t bad enough, now I have to endure yet another evening of forced smiles and empty flattery, all while trussed up in yet another suffocating gown.
“Great,” I mutter, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Just what I wanted, to be on display even more.”
Mama shoots me a warning look, her hazel eyes narrowing. “Let me remind you that this tournament was your idea.”
“But not the ball,” I snap back. “That was your idea.”
“Bianca,” my father warns, his voice dangerous as he turns to me, his blue eyes like ice chips. “You will listen to your mother and not back talk.”
I bite back the retort that springs to my lips. I’m old enough to be married off but young enough to still have to let my parents boss me around? This is such bullshit.
“Fine,” I snap and stand up, storming off back toward the house. A pool of dread settles in the pit of my stomach. I can’t stand any of this. The fake smiles, the insincere compliments, the constant pressure to be something that I’m not—it’s enough to make me want to scream, to tear off my metaphorical mask and reveal the truth of who I really am to the world.
But I can’t do that. I’m the daughter of Nico Marino. I know exactly what happens to people who don’t obey their Boss.
And so, I steel myself for yet another night of pretense and performance, of playing the role that has been assigned to me since birth.
Entering my bedroom, I can’t help but let my thoughts drift back to the blond suitor, to the way his eyes seemed to pierce through the mask and see the real me. And for a moment, I allow myself to indulge in a fantasy, to imagine a world where I might be free to follow my heart, to choose my own path and my own destiny.