12

Valentina

We arrive at The Ritz-Carlton in a snow-white stretch limousine. The bright lights of the passing cars are muted from the dark windows. Nightfall is beautiful here in the ever awake city; it’s my favorite time of day. When one’s darkness is hidden behind shadows and the ability to escape the world is around every corner.

Papa and Vito sit across from me, and neither has spoken a word since we all climbed in back at home. The tension between the two is palpable, the air so thick it’s suffocating. I keep eyeballing Vito, but he won’t even look at me. I get the sinking feeling that some deal he’s had to handle has not turned out how Papa had hoped.

You win some you lose some.

“What’s up with you two? One would think you’re getting sold off at the stockyards, not me.” I pull out a Marlboro and watch Papa as his eyes close for a moment.

“Now, Valentina? You need to smoke those fucking things now?” He leans forward to try to grab the cigarette out of my hands.

I see Vito twitch as Papa sits heavily back in his seat, defeated, unable to grasp the cigarette out of my hand.

“I do. It’s the only thing I have left.” I flick the lighter and drag in a lungful of the dense tobacco.

“It fucking stinks.” He climbs out of the car and slams the door shut.

“What the fuck is his problem?” I flick the ash at my feet.

Vito finally looks at me, his face wears the burdens of this family as well as mine. “He’s asked me to do something I don’t think I can.”

“What is it? Want me to do it?” I lean forward, fiercely protective of my brother. Ever since that night, I know I have lost all my morals, and the only person in this world who means anything to me is sitting right across from me. I know he’s pure to his core, even though he has killed many for Papa. He still wears his demons with a halo attached above his head.

“No, you go do your duties with this engagement and let me handle Papa’s shit.” He takes the cigarette out of my fingers and sucks in a deep drag. His eyebrows quirk up after he blows out the smoke.

“What?” I wink at him. “How else was I going to get through tonight?”

He takes one more drag and hands it back to me. “Are they all laced with pot?”

“Sure are.”

“Save some for me later.”

“Will do.” I put the cigarette out on the carpet. It’s gross, I know, but fuck it. Papa can pay for the cleaning bill.

Vito grabs my hand as I’m about to exit the limousine. “Mom would be so proud of the woman you have become.” His eyes turn glassy.

“She would be proud of you too.” I scoot forward and kiss him on the cheek. “Now, let’s get the hell out of here and go get me engaged.” I screw my face up in disgust.

Papa waits in the lobby, talking business no doubt, to someone I have never met. As Vito and I make our way to them, I spot Giovanni deep in discussion on his phone at the far end of the lobby, dressed impeccably in his signature tux. His ever-present moody face is plastered on for good measure. His gaze fixates on me and his features change from a scowl to one of astonishment, as if he has never seen a woman in a sparkly tight dress before.

From across the room, I feel his eyes drinking me in, from my Valentino shoes to the side part of my hair on top of my head. He cuts his phone call short and stalks toward me, never taking his eyes off the prize.

“Good to see your taste in dresses has improved,” he remarks.

I roll my eyes at him; it’s all I can do without flipping him off. “Good to see you’re the same. Boring as every other man in this place.”

His menacing gaze softens slightly, a small curve to the side of his lips hides his true desires. Desires, I’m positive are beyond my wildest fantasies. “Has tennis always been your favorite? You seem to rally like the best of them.” He holds out his arm for me to take.

“Was that a backhanded compliment?” I look at his bent arm and wonder what 1950s movie he stepped out of.

“Just take my fucking arm, Valentina,” he growls. “I know you have two legs and can walk by yourself and all that feminist shit. But, we’re here to make a spectacle, to give this dial-a-crowd what they want. A fucking fairy tale.”

“You could have just asked.” I wink at him and wrap my arm around his. Yes, I can act like a lady if and when I need to.

Papa and Vito watch me carefully, waiting for me to explode and cause a scene, but I know I just need to get through tonight and not draw too much attention to myself. The whirlwind of confusion settles in the deepest part of my heart. This is the beginning of the end, and it seems that I have no control of my life. My light is slowly dimming, and I hope it doesn’t get blown out from the mere presence of this man on my arm. I don’t know him from a bar of fucking soap yet here we are, about to tell the biggest lie to the world. He has fucking news reporters trying to snap pictures. They’re denied entry, but this does nothing to stop them from taking photos through the glass doors. The fuck has Papa signed me up for?

“We’ll see you in there.” Vito nods and follows Papa to the function room.

For someone always so cool, calm, and collected, Giovanni is sure having a hard time not being tense. His bicep bulges under my arm, and I’m afraid he’s going to rip through his expensive suit. “Just breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit your dress, Principessa.” He blows out a sharp breath.

So, we’re back to Principessa.

“Asshole suits yours,” I quip.

He doesn’t say another thing, instead simply dragging me after him until we’re facing the closed doors to the function room. “Last chance to run.”

“And get killed. I have business I need to take care of first. You lead the way, fiancé.” I shoot him a glare, my nerves almost getting the better of me. I contemplate running. I could escape out into the New York streets and get lost in the crowds. Only, they would hunt me down and drag me back to this world. There is no escape.

We enter and the room falls silent before erupting into the loudest wave of cheers and whistles.

Chandeliers seep from the ornate ceiling while the marble floor gleams and reflects the hundreds of tea light candles decorating the opulent room. The assault of florals, hints of vanilla mixed with sweet jasmine, topped with notes of citrus circle us as we meander to our table front and center. Carved golden chairs and crisp white tablecloths give the room a royal feel. Each table has the largest explosion of pastel florals I have ever seen.

If this wasn’t an arranged marriage, this would be every soon-to-be bride's wet dream. I draw the line at letting some man pull my chair out for me, and before Giovanni manages to touch my chair, I pull it out and seat myself. I hear him mutter something under his breath as he takes his seat next to me. At our table are our immediate family members and I mentally note that I’m at a table filled with men, when it dawns on me that only the men survive this life.

The crowd quiets down when the food is delivered. Straight into business, it seems. I’m not complaining; I’m starving. Spending the day getting dolled up has made me ravenous. I don’t even know what is on the menu. I had no part in organizing this event. Papa gave me his card and told me to find a dress and that’s where my part stopped. I just had to show up. I glance around at the other tables. Some guests I recognize, others look as though they are government officials.

I lean over to Vito. “Who are all these people?” I ask him, hoping he knows the answers.

“Mostly senators and heads of state. I don’t know half of them; I think they’re mostly business associates.” He shrugs.

I eye the baked salmon placed in front of me and pull a face. If anyone cared about me in this shitshow, they would know I’m allergic to seafood and shellfish.

“What, the food not up to your prissy standards?” Giovanni watches me, his eyes roaming over the glittering diamonds dripping down my cleavage.

“I’m allergic to seafood and shellfish,” I say and watch the humor drain from his face.

“Well, fuck. Here, have my steak.” He grabs my plate, just as I lean right away from it, and places his steak between my cutlery.

I see Papa out of the corner of my eye, watching our exchange, a look of panic plastered on his otherwise serene composure. He, too, is reliving the incident of my anaphylaxis years ago. I thought I was going to die, and he thought the same. I’d never seen my Papa turn so ghostly white before as when his shaking fingers dialed for the paramedics. Since that only episode, he has banned any type of seafood or seafood product in our house and no one is allowed to order a seafood dish when we're out at dinner.

I nod to Papa to let him know that I have my pen. He looks as though he wants to pick me up and whisk me away. Oh, Papa, don’t you see that the man you’re marrying me off to is far more dangerous than the seafood that can kill me?

“Thanks,” I say, turning back to Giovanni and relaxing.

“I didn’t know.” He looks genuinely apologetic.

“Why would you? I mean, we don’t know anything about one another.” I shrug him off. This isn’t his problem to deal with.

I see his hand grip the edge of the table before he stands and strides to the closest server. They pale in his presence but listen to his demands like an obedient puppy, nodding in agreement before they glance at me and back at Giovanni. He casually returns to our table and resumes drinking his champagne.

“What are you doing?” I brace my elbows on the table and look at him in confusion.

Just as he’s about to reply, a line of servers whisk around the dining room collecting all the fish dishes, apologizing as they go.

“Fixing my mistake,” he replies, nonchalantly sipping his champagne.

“You didn’t need to do that.” I huff in annoyance.

“I didn’t, but I just did. Learn to let people do things for you, Principessa. You don’t always have to look out for yourself. Not anymore.” He narrows his eyes at me, daring me to argue with him.

I gracefully take my knife and fork and slice off a huge chunk of steak, shoving it in my mouth, grinning at him as I chew the tender meat. “It’s good.” I nod.

Giovanni shakes his head at me as I stab a roast parsnip and bite it in half off the fork. His food arrives and I watch him eat like the gentleman I know he is not, placing small bitesize pieces in his mouth and chewing slowly.

He leans in close, hovering his lips at my ear, his warm breath tickling me. “Eat up, Principessa. You’ll need all your energy for what I have planned for later tonight.” He darts his tongue out and licks my ear.

I swallow my mouthful of food, unable to form a good comeback quick enough.

“Play your part now and I’ll play you like the monster everyone says I am. The knife was just foreplay.” His voice is so low and depraved, it makes my insides ignite.

I take my glass of champagne and throw it back, trying to cool myself down. I study his profile, noting the sharp angles and set jaw. He’s like an undiscovered island in a sea of volcanic lava. On one hand, he’s all smooth and blank expressions and on the other, he’s a firepit full of vipers.

“The knife incident was a one-off.” I bite the tip of the roasted carrot aggressively.

He licks his lips and watches me intently, his gaze fixated on my mouth as though he is going over all the ways he wants to punish it. “Don’t worry babycakes. Your fuck buddy will be invited. I don’t go back on my word.” He wipes his mouth with his napkin and places it on the table.

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want. You will not order me around. Got it?”

“You’ll submit willingly. Mark my words, Principessa.” He reaches under the table and runs the tip of his steak knife up my leg.

I grip his wrist before he tears my dress apart. “As I said, I’ll do as I please, Giovanni.” I take the knife out of his hand and place it back on the table, catching Vito’s gaze as I push Giovanni’s hand back to his lap.

Bless my brother’s cotton socks. He looks as though he’s about to jump over me and stab Giovanni in the throat. “Do you need anything?” Vito asks quietly, so only I can hear.

“All good.” I smile at him, trying to dissipate the sudden tension on either side of me. Vito takes this moment to get up and go to the bar, probably trying to calm himself before he makes a scene. I wouldn’t put it past him to start shit just for the sake of it. Not with the mood he’s in today.

Dinner seems to go on and on, course after course, when they finally bring out the desserts. An array of mini-sized cakes in all the standard flavors are displayed on a five-tier stand. I stare at it and know that if this was my real engagement party, and I wasn’t getting married to some crazy fucker, he would have made sure I had sprinkle pancakes and bubble gum rainbow ice cream. But this isn’t real, and I need to snap the fuck out of my moodiness.

After the plates are cleared, guests fill the dancefloor as the band starts up, playing a mixture of current and old-school hits. Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra seem to be the favorite of the night.

I grab my clutch and head outside to the balcony, dying for a cigarette. The cool evening air is a refreshing change from the stagnant company inside. I light up my weed laced Marlboro, drag in a lung full, and hold it for a few seconds before blowing out circular rings. The noise of the band echoes around me as someone opens the doors to join my solitude.

“Never thought I’d see the day.” A tuxedo-clad mobster comes to stand next to me.

“What day is that?” I puff on my cigarette and blow the smoke at him.

He pauses and snakes his dirty eyes over me, stopping at my diamond necklace for a moment, before continuing until his eyes reach mine. “The day I’d see you still alive.”

“Well, here I am.” I hold my arms out so he can get a better look.

“Here you are, looking just as ravishing as your mom did.” His cunning smirk tries to cut through me, but my skin is thicker than he realizes.

“Flattering someone young enough to be your granddaughter is fucking gross, old man.” I bare my straight white teeth at him.

“If you were my granddaughter, I’d teach you some fucking manners, you spoilt little bitch.” He spits at me, his face turning beetroot red. He looks like he’s about to burst a vein.

I flick my cigarette ash at him and give him my best fuck you grin. “Lucky you’re not my gramps, then.”

The bastard lunges for me, about to try to grab me by the throat when a familiar voice stops him in his tracks.

“I fucking dare you, cock sucker.” The lethality behind those words has the old mobster halting with his arm extended.