Chapter 3 Leticia
LETICIA
THE PRINCESS IN THE TOWER
“I’m, for one, super excited to graduate.” Brittany sighs. She’s staring at the engagement ring on her hand like it’s bigger than a one-carat stone.
I know it’s not right to judge, but she likes to talk a big game about money, and I know the truth.
Brittany’s family is in big debt to mine.
I shouldn’t know that, women aren’t meant to know family business, but I overheard Dad talking too loudly to Berto.
And two days later, Berto asked me why I was hanging around with ‘the undesirables.’
It’s three heiresses: Kiersten, Ashton, and Brittany. Berto was happy to see I was buddying up to Ashton, but not so much Brittany and Kiersten. When I asked for more information, all he said was that it was business and I shouldn’t worry about it beyond becoming friends with Ashton.
They’re nice to me. Probably only because they know I come from money.
“You’re excited to be married.” Kiersten corrects.
“Well, I did say ring by spring.” Brittany waggles her fingers back and forth, the small stone catching the light. “Finals, another boring semester, finals, graduation, and then a June wedding.”
Ashton catches my attention and rolls her eyes. It draws a smile from my lips, but only at the drama of Brittany’s fake swoon.
“Are you walking for graduation, Leticia?” Brittany directs her question to me, but it’s clearly not graduation we’re talking about. Even more evident when she says, “You seem to be in the same place when we started the semester. Waiting on Mr. Right?”
“I’m not waiting for Mr. Right.” I shrug and dismiss the question entirely because how do you tell your acquaintances that you’re waiting for your father to marry you off like some princess in a fairytale? “I don’t think I’m walking at graduation either. We normally go to the villa in the spring.”
Ashton rests her head on top of her hands, supported by her elbows on her desk. “Okay, but seriously, there are tons of guys who would love a date with the infamously unavailable Leticia D’Medici. Or girls, if that’s your thing.”
With a sigh, I stop the nonsense the best I can. “Stop being silly. We don’t have long to work on this project.”
We’re seated midway up the lecture hall, and groups all around us are wrapping up their projects, while I feel like we’ve gotten nothing done on ours. It isn’t even that complex of a project.
“Don’t worry. I’m tackling it this weekend.” Kiersten yawns. “I’ve got a date with Addy.”
Addy, as in Adderall. If I didn’t hate this class so much, I might argue that we should all work on it together, but Kiersten is the best at statistics. It might be easier to let her do the work and accept taking the credit.
It’s not like I’m in this class because I’ll be using it someday.
I was stalling the inevitable: being married off to the highest bidder or for the most influence.
It just so happens that I made an argument that I’m more valuable with a degree.
Ridiculous, but it worked. A degree in communications can’t hurt when it comes to cooking and cleaning someone else’s mansion .
. . and being shown off on someone’s arm as their ‘adoring’ and ‘grateful’ wife .
. . but the analytics behind the communications won’t matter.
Not that I’d ever let myself dream of working for some big fancy brand or doing social media for a cause I believe in. It can’t happen, so I don’t waste hope.
I hate that I’m so immune to the crushing weight of Mafia life and the expectations of my future. But since I was old enough to understand how our world works, it’s become a fact of life and one I don’t argue about anymore.
Sometimes, though, like right now, everything starts to feel pointless. Why bother trying for good grades? They only matter to me, and no one wants my opinion anyway.
“Alright, next class is here in five minutes. Everyone out,” the professor shouts from the lectern.
I slip my laptop into its plush green sleeve before tucking it into my sleek brown leather tote bag.
I probably have a dozen different colors and patterns that I coordinate with my outfits.
But it makes me smile to control something, and this, coordinating my accessories to my outfit, is about as good as it gets.
The group of us mosey slowly, mixing with the others out the door and into the foyer of the business building. I’m shrugging on my thigh-length trench coat when we reach the large open atrium, which is practically a glass fishbowl out to the streets of Chicago.
“Did you want to go grab coffee?” Ashton offers as we both take a moment to feel the brightness of the sun on our faces.
The early morning, two-hour lecture and winter weather leave much to be desired in the way of seeing daylight.
“That’d be nice, but I’ll have to check with the bodyguard. I don’t think we’re due home right away.” I dig through my bag, looking for the durable fern-colored phone case I slipped it into this morning.
“I thought my parents were strict about having me go with an armed driver, but your family is so intense.” Ashton sighs. “Are we doing the Christmas market this year?”
“Uhhh.” I don’t know how to let her down politely.
It’s not that I don’t want to do these things with her, but I’m trying to save all my good graces and asks to do things to see Antonella and get out of going to Italy for Christmas. Asking to go to the Christmas market right now would foil those plans.
“Leticia,” a guy says as he approaches.
I vaguely recognize him as one from the front row of our statistics class.
“See, told you,” Ashton murmurs, bumping me with her shoulder before taking a respectful step away for the illusion of privacy.
“New bodyguard?” Brittany gestures in the opposite direction as she nudges me away from the doors and closer to the guy who said my name.
The man she’s gesturing to is dressed in what they’re always dressed in. Black suit, black tie, and a scowl. Except it’s not a bodyguard.
“Worse,” I huff, adjusting my tote bag on my shoulder. “Older brother.”
I’m torn between obediently following the daily protocol of going home with my bodyguard or being polite and hearing what the guy from the front of class has to say.
“Oh damn.” She hums, keeping her voice down, but wags her eyebrows suggestively. “And what exactly is the family fortune in . . . you know, and is he single?”
The guy from the first row walks between Berto and me as he talks at me rather than to me. “Leticia, I was wondering if you’d maybe like to go out and get some coffee before my next class.”
Berto steps to the side, back into my line of sight, and taps on his watch, rushing me along.
I focus back on the man talking to me. He’s cute, young looking for his age, nearly boyish. In a world where I could pick a partner for myself, this guy wouldn’t be in the running. Just . . . not my type. Luckily for him, it’s not personal.
I start delivering the tried and true rejection lines. “I’m sure you’re really nice, but I —”
“Move.” Berto positions himself to stand next to me, wrapping his arm around me.
The guy from the first row looks between us, jaw going slack. “Oh, I didn’t realize you had a boyfrie —”
“Don’t be gross. I’m her brother. Now beat it.” Berto opens up the side of his suit jacket, and I don’t need to look to know he’s flashing a look at the pearl handle of his gun in a chest holster.
To be polite, I give the well-intentioned guy a small wave and let Berto redirect me to the doors.
“Wait! Did you want to go get coffee?” Ashton calls, repeating the request from before. Maybe it’s her attempt to get me out of the brisk removal from campus.
“Sorry, he’s in a rush. I have to go, see you in class.” I can’t hear what she says as I get herded out into the vestibule first and then outside.
No students are milling around, only four of Dad’s best and most loyal men. They stand shoulder to shoulder, blocking a clear path straight to the blacked-out SUV.
“What’s going on?” I seethe, looking between Berto and his darkly dressed henchmen.
I look like a beacon of brightness in the tan coat and fern-green scarf I chose this morning.
“It’s not for you to worry about,” Berto snaps.
He grabs hold of my wrist, and I’m led to the SUV waiting for us. My heels click on the pavement as I descend the four stairs to the street level.
The driver opens the door, and I’m pushed in first, climbing all the way across to let Berto in behind me.
“Berto, what’s going on?” I rub where Berto held my wrist and hope that in the enclosed space, he’ll be more forthcoming with answers.
“You need to be secured. Someone threatened your safety. That’s all you need to know,” Berto grumbles, tapping his phone screen furiously.
Of course it’s all I need to know. What’s new? Damn, I wish Antonella was here. He’d tell her.
For a while, it was easy to believe Antonella would be back.
Maybe she’d work on Dad and Berto so that they’d tell me things.
Slowly and single-handedly, she’d take down the misogynistic bullshit, and I’d get to know things and be more than a glorified pawn in this game.
But no sooner had she gotten home and started with her life than she was ripped away from me again.
Arranged marriage, family business, and I only know half the details because she told me.
I’m back to being in the dark, again, and alone.
Antonella calling the truce was what was best for the families but the worst thing for me.
I can’t believe it’s only been a week since she did, ending a billion-year-old war between the Cavanaghs and the D’Medicis. Our world moves so fast that she’s been married off and completely moved on with her new life.
Meanwhile, I’m stuck being told nothing, as usual, by my older brother. I’m carted around like an inconvenience. I know siblings are supposed to have some tension between them, but honestly, I think Berto would prefer I not exist at all.
It feels like a crapshoot. But I pull my phone out and send a message.
Leticia:
Toni, if you’re getting this. Just know how much I love you and miss you.