16. Serafina
CHAPTER 16
Serafina
T he gray light of early morning seeps through the cracks in my blinds, unforgiving, a stark reminder that another day has come, whether I want it or not. My limbs feel like they've been filled with wet sand overnight, heavy and resistant against the tangled sheets that are my current prison.
"Merda," I whisper to the empty room, my voice hoarse with the remnants of last night's tears. The word is bitter on my tongue, tasting of every decision that led me here—to this bed, to this heartache.
It has only been 24 hours, but his absence feels like a gaping wound in my chest, throbbing with each heartbeat. Instead of adulting at work, I've been cocooned in bed all day. A queen in a kingdom of sheets and sorrow, ruling over nothing but my own broken heart.
The irony of it all is that the one place I found solace in was the same place I can't run to now. Seeing him again would just be adding salt to the wound, you know? Best to avoid Heartbreak Central for a while.
The burner phone—the lifeline between our forbidden worlds—lies dead somewhere under a pile of dirty laundry. I turned it off last night, couldn't bear the weight of its silence or the possibility of it ringing, his voice on the other end, full of hurt and confusion.
"We never really stood a chance, did we?" The words escape my lips, barely audible amidst the emptiness of the room. I clutch onto the pillow tightly, as if it's a lifeline, while tears continue to stream down my face.
Outside, the world moves on, uncaring. People go about their lives laughing, loving, hurting, and healing. And here I am, a spectator in my own life, bound by blood and duty, my own desires secondary to an ancient feud that knows neither reason nor end.
The door creaks open, and I don't need to look to know it's Dominic. He has a way of moving that's part caution, part intrusion, as if he's always ready to step into a room or a fight with the same reluctance.
"Sera," his voice a low rumble in the quiet of my sanctuary.
I shift under the covers, a silent acknowledgment, not wanting to see the concern I know is etched on his face. As much as we fight, he's also always the first to wave the white flag in our sibling feuds. He's actually a pretty awesome person when he's not busy being such a dick. Dominic's trying; I can feel it in the tentative way he approaches, but understanding me, understanding this sacrifice, is beyond him.
"Non puoi rimanere a letto tutto il giorno." You can't stay in bed all day - his attempt at lightness that feels heavy in the air.
"Watch me," I mutter, the words muffled by the pillow. It's childish, but so is this whole situation, isn't it?
He sighs, and I can picture him running a hand through his thick black hair—a gesture of frustration I've seen a thousand times before. "You know why you have to do this, right? For la famiglia."
"Si, lo so," I let bitterness seep into my tone. I am all too aware of the weight that comes with bearing my family name. I've been reminded of it ever since I could remember. But to have it actually hinder my own happiness? It fucking sucks. My heart aches for something I cannot name, perhaps freedom or maybe just Lucas.
"I will make sure Luciano treats you well, Sera," Dominic continues, unknowingly pressing a bruise. "But more important, this marriage... it's going to bring peace between the Mancinis and the Fabiettis."
"Peace," I scoff. "A fragile truce bought with a wedding band and a cage called marriage."
"Non è una gabbia," he protests softly. "Not a cage. It's protection. You know what's at stake. The bloodshed, the endless fighting— aren’t you tired of it all?"
"Forgive me if I don't swoon at the prospect of being a bargaining chip." I sit up now, defiance pushing me upright. "All these years, our family against theirs, and now I'm supposed to play nice? Share a bed with the enemy?"
"è più di un letto, Serafina. It's more than a bed. It's about our future, our survival." Dominic's voice hardens, the Don-to-be emerging. "Sometimes we must put aside personal desires for the greater good."
"Is it the greater good? Or is it because we can't imagine a life without power plays?" I challenge, even as my voice cracks with emotion.
Dominic doesn't answer, his silence a heavy cloak that wraps around us both. We are children of tradition, of a world where feuds last generations and love is a luxury we can ill afford.
"Try to understand, per favore," he pleads, reaching out as if to bridge the chasm between us with a touch.
I stare at his outstretched hand, a lifeline I can't bring myself to take. Instead, I wrap my arms around my knees, my own embrace of cold comfort. "You know how unfair this all is. You know that if I had a dick, I would be more than a thing to give away." I pause, swallowing the lump in my throat, "It's a hard reality to swallow, you know?"
"Lo so," he whispers, his hand falling back to his side, defeated. I know.
And then he leaves, his presence lingering like a question mark, leaving me alone with the ghosts of choices not made and paths not taken.
I flop onto my bed and bury myself under the blankets. Why do we women always have to clean up the mess made by fragile male egos? My hands clench into fists, the anger simmering beneath my skin as hot and restless as the blood of our ancestors who started this damned feud.
Our families, the Fabiettis and Mancinis, have bled this city for decades. Like a vendetta straight out of an old paesano tale, the rivalry began with a betrayal that cost lives and honor. It was my great-grandfather who first drew a line in the sand, or more accurately, in the streets of this city, when he killed Dante Fabietti's grandfather over a shipment gone wrong. Since then, it's been a tit-for-tat dance of shadows and bullets.
And little by little, the Fabiettis have been chipping away at our territory, our men, our power. And unless a miracle gets us out of this mess, the only answer is to marry me off to their eldest son. A truce by marriage, they say.
Luciano Fabietti, a man I know only through whispered threats and the cold glint of his eyes across a crowded room. A traditionally handsome man with broad shoulders and thick dark hair draped in luxury suits and guarded by some of the most prolific sicarios out there. He can easily have any woman he desires. Yet I shudder at the thought of being forced into a room with him. What could we talk about as enemies turned husband and wife? How was your day, dear? Did your father stop stabbing us in the back today? Can you pass me your family's loyalty along with the cream and sugar?
I can't help but feel like a chess piece in this game of power and vengeance. A bargaining chip to be used for their own gain. I can already see the look in Luciano's eyes when he sees me as if I am nothing more than a prize to be claimed.
"Unir dos familias," Mama had said, her voice laced with a conviction I wish I could share. Unite two families, as if a wedding band could erase generations of bloodshed. As if my hand in marriage is the olive branch that will bring peace.