11. Chiara
11
CHIARA
T he room is a flurry of activity as Mama and my sisters help me prepare. The dress they’ve chosen is a deep burgundy, form-fitting but elegant, with delicate lace sleeves and a modest neckline. It screams power and grace—perfect for the daughter of a Mob Boss, yet tasteful enough to not seem ostentatious.
The hair and makeup artist Mama hired has worked wonders, transforming me into a vision befitting a Marino daughter.
My long, dark hair has been styled into an elegant updo, with soft tendrils framing my face. The stylist has woven delicate, shimmering pins throughout, catching the light with every slight movement. It's sophisticated yet youthful, perfectly balancing the line between bride-to-be and Mafia princess.
The makeup is a masterpiece of subtlety. My skin looks flawless, with a dewy glow that suggests health and vitality rather than heavy cosmetics. My eyes are enhanced with a smoky blend of neutral shadows, making them appear larger and more luminous. A hint of blush adds a natural flush to my cheeks, and my lips are painted in a soft, rosy hue that complements the deep burgundy of my dress.
Bianca walks in with Baby Cara in her arms. Despite the knot of anxiety in my stomach, I can’t help but smile at my niece’s gurgling laughter.
“There’s my favorite little principessa ,” I coo, tickling Cara’s chin, grinning as Cara smiles at me. For a moment, the weight of what’s to come lifts slightly.
As the artist puts the finishing touches on my look, Mama approaches with the velvet box. “Chiara, Tesoro ,” she says softly, “I want you to wear these today.” She opens the box to reveal a stunning diamond necklace and matching earrings.
My breath catches as my sisters draw near. “Mama, aren’t these… ?”
She nods, her eyes misty. “The ones I wore the day I met your father. It seems fitting for you to wear them today.”
Overwhelmed by the gesture and its implications, I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
As Mama goes to fasten the necklace, her fingers brush against the locket Dante gave me. I’d forgotten I was still wearing it.
“Chiara, this locket—is it new? I don’t remember seeing it before,” Mama says, her voice curious.
I feel my heart skip a beat as Mama’s fingers touch the locket. Fumbling for words, I manage to stammer out, “Oh, this? It’s just a trinket I picked up at that antiques shop when we were out shopping recently. Nothing special.”
Mama nods, seemingly accepting my explanation. Mia, bless her, doesn’t contradict me, though I can see a flicker of confusion in her eyes.
“Well, it’s lovely,” Mama says, “but perhaps we should remove it for now. These diamonds deserve center stage today.”
I nod, my fingers trembling slightly as I unclasp the locket. As I place it in my jewelry box, I feel as though I’m locking away a piece of my heart. Dante’s face flashes in my mind, and I have to blink back sudden tears.
When I turn back, I catch Sofia and Bianca exchanging a look that makes my stomach churn. There’s a knowing gleam in their eyes that tells me they’ve seen right through my lie. I silently plead with them to keep quiet, not sure I can handle any more stress right now.
Bianca meets my gaze in the mirror, and for a moment, I think she might say something. But she just gives me a small, sad smile before turning away to fuss with my dress.
As Mama fastens her diamond necklace around my throat, I can’t help but feel like it’s a beautiful, glittering cage. The weight of it, the expectations it represents, seem to press down on me, making it hard to breathe.
I cast one last glance at my jewelry box, where Dante’s locket now lies hidden. It feels like I’m not just putting away a piece of jewelry but shutting away my dreams, my love, my future as I imagined it.
Taking a deep breath, I turn to face my family, forcing a smile onto my face. It’s time to meet my intended husband, even as my heart yearns for someone else entirely.
* * *
Half an hour later, I stand at the bottom of the steps, my heart pounding as we wait for the Avilov entourage to arrive. The entire family is assembled, a picture of Mafia royalty dressed in our finest. The household staff and a contingent of Papa’s men flank us, creating an impressive display of power and wealth.
I hear Rork grumble under his breath, “This is ridiculous. I’m a boss in my own right, not some welcoming committee.”
Bianca shoots him a glare. “Shut it, you big baby. At least you’re not the one being paraded around like a prized mare.”
Dominico snorts at this, and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Despite the tension, it’s a welcome moment of normalcy.
As I scan the assembled group, my eyes inevitably land on Dante. He’s standing tall and stoic by his father’s side, every inch the loyal soldier. I quickly look away, unable to bear the weight of his gaze, but not before I catch the flash of hurt in his eyes as he notices the absence of his locket.
The guilt threatens to overwhelm me. I want to explain, to tell him it meant nothing, that I had no choice. But I can’t. Not here, not now.
When I dare to look at him again, I see the struggle on his face as he fights to maintain his composure. It breaks my heart to see him like this, knowing I’m the cause of his pain.
The sound of approaching cars snaps me back to the present. The Avilovs have arrived. As the sleek black vehicles pull up, I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what’s to come.
I feel Mia’s hand squeeze mine briefly, a silent show of support. But as the car doors open and our guests emerge, all I can think about is Dante standing just feet away, watching as I meet the man I’m supposed to marry.
The irony of it all—being surrounded by family yet feeling utterly alone—is almost too much to bear.
The first to emerge is an older man with a stern demeanor. This must be Mykola Avilov, Pyotr’s father. He’s tall and imposing, with salt-and-pepper hair and piercing, icy blue eyes that seem to take in everything at once. His face is all sharp angles, weathered by time and, no doubt, the weight of his position. When he shakes Papa’s hand, there’s a shrewd look in his eyes that makes me shiver.
Next comes a woman who can only be Katerina Avilov. Her white-blonde hair is styled in an elegant updo, not a strand out of place. Her brown eyes, warm yet calculating, scan our assembled group as she exchanges air kisses with Mama. There’s an air of refined intelligence about her that’s both impressive and intimidating.
I feel Mia squeeze my hand gently. “Breathe, Chiara,” she whispers, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
And then, he steps out of the car. Pyotr Avilov.
I’m stunned. He’s… handsome. Incredibly so. Tall and well-built, with wavy dark blond hair and eyes that match his father’s icy blue. His jawline is strong, his features symmetrical and appealing. He moves with a grace that speaks of both confidence and good breeding.
As he approaches, I notice his impeccable manners. He greets Papa with respect, Mama with charm. And when he turns to me, there’s a gentleness in his smile that I wasn’t expecting.
“Miss Marino,” he says, his voice deep and pleasant, with just a hint of a Russian accent. “It’s truly a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”
I manage a smile, trying to ignore the way my heart is pounding. “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Avilov. Welcome to our home.”
He takes my hand, bowing slightly to brush his lips against my knuckles. The gesture is old-fashioned but somehow not out of place coming from him. “Please, call me Pyotr,” he says as he straightens, his accent adding a charming lilt to his words.
“Then you must call me Chiara,” I respond, surprised by how easy the words come.
Papa then begins to introduce Pyotr to the rest of the family. He turns to Mia first, who’s standing closest to me.
“This is my youngest daughter, Mia,” Papa says.
Pyotr’s smile is friendly as he greets her. “Ah, the scholar of the family, I’ve heard. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mia.”
Mia blushes slightly at his words, clearly charmed.
Next, he’s introduced to Bianca and Rork. “And this is my daughter Bianca and her husband, Rork O’Malley.”
Pyotr shakes Rork’s hand firmly, meeting his intimidating gaze without flinching. “Mr. O’Malley, your reputation precedes you. I look forward to discussing business with you.”
To Bianca, he says, “Mrs. O’Malley, I've heard you’re quite the equestrian. Perhaps you could give me some pointers during my stay?”
Bianca looks pleasantly surprised by his knowledge and offer.
Finally, he’s introduced to Sofia and Dominico. “And my eldest, Sofia, with her husband, Dominico Sicura.”
Pyotr greets them both warmly. “Mr. Sicura, I’ve long admired your family’s business acumen. And Mrs. Sicura, I understand you and your husband love to travel. I’d love to hear your thoughts of where you’ve been. My parents and I have been looking for a new travel destination.”
Throughout all of this, Pyotr is the perfect gentleman—friendly, interested, and respectful. He seems to know just the right thing to say to each person, putting everyone at ease.
As I watch him charm my family, I can't help but be impressed. He’s handling the introductions flawlessly, showing a level of social grace that speaks to his upbringing and intelligence.
But even as I admire his poise, I’m acutely aware of Dante’s presence nearby. I resist the urge to look at him, knowing that seeing his face right now would only complicate the swirl of emotions I’m feeling.
Pyotr turns back to me, his blue eyes warm. “Your family is lovely, Chiara. I’m looking forward to getting to know all of you better.”
I nod, smiling despite the conflict in my heart. “We’re looking forward to that as well, Pyotr.”
As the introductions wind down, Papa claps his hands together. “Now that we’re all acquainted, shall we head inside? We have lunch laid out in the dining room.”
As we begin to move, I overhear Katerina speaking to Mama. “I’ve heard you have a granddaughter. How lovely!”
Mama’s face lights up. “Oh, yes, little Cara is the sweetest thing. We must have her nanny bring her down so you can see her.”
Rork, never one to hide his displeasure, grumbles under his breath. “Great, now we’re putting on a baby show too?”
Bianca, quick as ever, whispers back, “Hush, you big oaf. At least the baby has better manners than you do.”
To my surprise, Pyotr, who’s walking beside me, overhears and lets out a choked laugh. The sound is rich and genuine, lighting up his face in a way that makes him even more handsome.
I find myself smiling in response, thinking that he has a beautiful laugh. It’s warm and infectious, the kind of laugh that makes you want to join in.
Pyotr leans in slightly. “Your sister has quite the sharp wit,” he says, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
I nod, feeling a bit more at ease. “That’s Bianca for you. Never afraid to speak her mind.”
“I like that,” Pyotr replies. “Honesty is refreshing in our world, don’t you think?”
I’m caught off guard by the perceptiveness of his comment. “Yes,” I agree. “It certainly is.”
“May I escort you inside, Chiara?” he asks, offering his arm.
I hesitate for just a moment before placing my hand on his arm. “Thank you, Pyotr. That’s very kind.”
As we start to move toward the house, I can’t help but glance back over my shoulder. My heart clenches as I catch sight of Dante. He’s no longer standing beside his father but instead turning away, his shoulders tense as he walks swiftly from the welcome party.
The pain in his posture is unmistakable, and I know without a doubt that he’s leaving because he can’t bear to watch this scene unfold. To watch me being escorted by another man, a man who’s here to potentially become my husband.
I want to call out to him, to explain, to do something— anything —to ease the hurt I know he must be feeling. But I can’t. Not here, not now, not with Pyotr’s arm under my hand and our families watching.
“Is everything alright?” Pyotr asks, noticing my distraction.
I force my attention back to him, pasting on a smile that feels brittle. “Yes, of course. Just… taking in the moment.”
As we cross the threshold into the house, I can’t shake the image of Dante walking away. It feels symbolic somehow, as if with each step I take into this new future, I’m stepping further away from the one I truly want.