6. Lelia
Chapter 6
Lelia
F rustration.
It’s one emotion I’m well versed in. At eighteen, I want to be free. I ache to run off with friends from school and live a normal life. But I know I’ll always be the Vitale principessa. The men stare at me as I make my way down the hallway to my bedroom.
Security tonight is extremely tight. More than usual. The party for my mother’s birthday has been announced far and wide, and everyone who is anyone is here. Actors, politicians, Capos from every familia there is in the city. Some even traveled from New York and Los Angeles to be here.
It’s no secret that I hate the life.
My parents know I would like to escape, but there isn’t a way out, unless you’re in a coffin being buried six feet under. In my bedroom, I find two of the maids tidying up the mess I made trying to find something to wear tonight. My mother insisted on a designer dress, which didn’t cover much of my body. Showing off my assets is not what I want.
“Please leave me,” I tell them gently. I don’t like being rude to the staff. My father, on the other hand, would have manhandled them from the room. My mother would have insulted them in some way and made them cry.
Once I’m alone, I pull out the sleek silver dress from the floor. It’s form-fitting, which I’m sure will satisfy my mother’s requirements. Also, it’s mostly covered, only hinting at a slight cleavage. Suddenly, my bedroom door whooshes open and my father’s enormous frame fills the entrance.
“Lelia, why aren’t you ready?” he questions but doesn’t wait for me to respond. “I need to speak with you.” His voice lowers and my gut churns at the ominous tone. He shuts the door behind him and settles at my vanity. He’s a big man, sturdy. One of the oldest Bosses in the city. “There’s something I need you to understand,” he starts. “This life comes with certain rules, with alliances that need to be formed.”
With every word he utters, the more my heart sinks. I’m pretty sure I know where this is going. At eighteen, I’m nearly an adult. And that means I’m eligible for my parents to send me off to live with a family and marry their son. It’s well-known around the clans.
“What kind of rules, Father?”
“You know about the decision I had to make about your future.” And there it is, the fact that I’m not a person, I’m a bargaining chip. I’m nothing more than a chess piece on the board.
“I-I don’t?—”
“You will be married on your nineteenth birthday,” he tells me suddenly. “They wanted to do this when you turned eighteen, but I fought for you, Lelia,” my dad tells me as if that’s supposed to make it all right. It’s not okay.
“What about school?”
“You can still attend classes.” His insistence is accompanied by a wave of his hand. “It’s not as if you’ll need to bear his children immediately.”
My mouth pops open in shock. My father is seriously telling me he expects me to get married in a couple of years, to focus on having children when I’m barely old enough to make my own decisions. Granted, eighteen doesn’t make you an adult; intelligence and maturity do. And most men in the clan aren’t anywhere near that, even if they have twenty or even thirty years on me.
“And who is this man I’m supposed to marry?” I sneer. Silently, I admonish myself for allowing my anger to show. Most times, I’m able to control it, to school my features so he doesn’t know he’s getting to me, but after this bombshell, I’m struggling to keep my composure.
“You’ll learn his name at the party,” Father tells me as if the surprise will be anything but frightening. My mind scans through my dad’s associates, all of them old, fat, and ugly. I’m not judgmental, but if I had to allow someone my father’s age to touch me, I’d be sick.
“Why not tell me now?” I ask as my fingers twist the material of the dress I’m still holding. My father’s gaze drops to my hands. He notices everything. It’s as if he’s reading me like a book. I wish I were blank pages instead of wild, bold letters telling him exactly what I’m feeling.
Without answering, he pushes to his feet and smiles. “Get dressed. The party is starting soon.” He leaves me with only that command. Even though I was looking forward to celebrating my mother’s birthday tonight, I’m anxious as to what my father has planned.
If he crashes Mom’s party, she’ll lose her mind. More so than she already has. It’s no secret that she’s allowed the stress of this world to get to her, but since she works as my father’s accountant, she’s seen and heard more than I ever have.
Violence rings like a beacon in the night within our lives.
It’s normal to see bloodshed and torture every day.
And that’s why I prayed I would be able to study abroad the moment I turned eighteen. But now, it seems my life is about to take another turn. One I’m certainly not ready for.
I change quickly, then pin my long blond hair into a messy bun, allowing strands to hang loosely to frame my face.
Most of my father’s men have hit on me over the years. Since I turned fifteen, they’ve asked me to go on dates, some even trying to kiss me on my sixteenth birthday. Most fathers would kill; mine only chuckled.
Granted, I did kick a couple of them in the crotch. Watching a man fall to his knees in agony brought me some sick satisfaction. I enjoyed it. Perhaps I’m more like my dad than I gave myself credit for.
When I think I’m ready to go downstairs, I pull my bedroom door closed and head to where the music filters from the living room. I can hear the faint whispering of the guests who have already arrived.
“Ally,” my cousin calls to me when I reach the entrance hall. Cassio is a few years older than me, and yet he acts like he’s still a teenager. At twenty-five, you’d think he would be more mature, but sadly, he hasn’t reached that level of adulthood yet.
“Hello, Cassio,” I greet him with a smile. As my father’s Underboss, he’s taken it upon himself to act like my guardian. I’m an only child, and since my father will not allow me to take over the clan, it was Cassio who was chosen as the golden boy.
“How is my little principessa?” He chuckles before pulling me in to kiss my left cheek, then my right. He’s usually over-the-top. But there’s an underlying violence to him that makes me shiver.
“I’m well, thank you,” I answer, keeping my voice monotone so he leaves me to talk to others. If I encourage him, I’ll only have him tailing me all night and I can’t deal with that right now. I’m still reeling from the thought that I’m supposed to marry some man in a couple of years.
“Lighten up,” he tells me. “It’s a party.” Thankfully, he’s dragged away by a couple of his friends. When boys try to be men, they fail miserably. I watch them laugh at something, drinks are being swallowed, and yet I can’t cheer up.
Moving through the guests, I smile and greet those who look my way. But I don’t feel happiness. It’s as if the emotion has taken a vacation and I’m left on the shore, waiting for it to reach me.
When I reach the patio, I smile because it’s the only area of the house that’s not as busy. Stepping out onto the cobblestones that pave their way through the lush green grass, I leave the noise behind me and make my way to the middle of the maze my father built when I was a child.
It was one of my favorite places to go. Deep laughs capture my attention, and I turn to see three young men, possibly Cassio’s age, all standing out on the grass. One of them is smoking, while the other two look on at the party inside.
As people spill out of the house, the breeze picks up, causing the outdoor fire to dance as if it’s listening to the rhythm of the music. But the three young men steal my attention once again.
One of them is silent, while the other two shove at each other, laughing out loud. The quiet one turns to me, his eyes locking on mine as if we’re magnets and he needs to find his polar opposite.
Dark hair falls to his eyes. From here, they look as dark as night. His angular jaw is shaped with care as if a sculptor fell in love and created the most beautiful face he could. Full lips seem to pout as if he’s not happy to be here.
There is a deep-seated ache in my chest to go to him and learn his name. But I don’t. Instead, I’m frozen to the spot, staring at a stranger who looks like a Greek god in the flesh. His friends continue their raucous behavior, but he’s different.
He still has my attention, just like the first time I saw him. When the song changes, the moment is broken, and I turn and race into the maze. It’s a beautiful rose-filled sanctuary and when I reach the middle, I settle on the cold concrete bench that has my name scrawled on the back.
I tilt my head up, my eyes finding constellations I’ve come to learn over the years. I’ve always loved the sky at night. A magical myriad of glowing promises that there is beauty in the world.
“Polaris.” A deep, soothing voice startles me. “The North Star.”
I snap my gaze to the stranger with the messy dark hair. The curls tease his forehead, one of them fallen into his left eye, making him look younger than I expect he is. When the corners of his lips tilt into a smirk, I notice the two dimples that form in either cheek.
He looks like one of those guys who can steal your heart, break it, and you’d still thank him for the pleasure.
“You know the stars?”
“I know of them,” he tells me, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He moves closer, and the way he walks is controlled, his back straight, and his shoulders broad in a dark button-up. He doesn’t look like one of Cassio’s friends. They’re all dressed in bright colors and obnoxious patterns.
“How does one know of them and not know the constellations?”
He shrugs one shoulder, his head tips to the side, and his smirk turns to a genuine smile. “There are some things that not even experts know.”
I ponder this for a little while as I watch the stranger move in the darkness. In the center of the maze, there aren’t any lights on; the only illumination is from the moon that hangs heavily above us.
“I suppose,” I answer. I’m not proud of my response. I could have found something more intelligent to say, but this boy, this man, has my mind racing with thoughts I should not be having.
“Do you like the stars? Do you believe they seal our fate?”
My brows furrow, but I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lips. “Are you talking about destiny?”
“Perhaps.”
“No,” I answer. “Destiny is for those who believe in fairy tales and happy ever afters.” I may sound far too negative for my age, but after what my father told me, I doubt I’ll ever be able to follow my destiny. Even if I were banging my head against the wall, I’ll always be fated to end up where my father wants me to be.
“That’s quite a sad outlook for such a pretty girl,” the stranger remarks. I wish he’d come closer, but he stays at a distance.
I smile this time. “Perhaps it is only a sad outlook that this life has afforded me.” And that’s when he approaches me.