Bloodline // Mafia Romance

I

I met evil when I was only a child. Echoed screams sang me to sleep and gunfire woke me each morning. I spent my childhood watching men enter my home and never leave, talking to their lost souls as my imaginary friends. I was forced to stare death in the face when I was only young, yet I soon learnt that there are worse fates. I have never feared darkness, but the shadows of my home serve something much more sinister.

With my father being the leader of one of the most notorious mafia's, my life has never belonged to me. I never knew whether I would be a weapon or a dove, but I have always been a chess piece, a pawn waiting to be played.

Today I am eighteen, of age, and my time has come. I am to marry, to form an alliance, or more accurately, to prevent a war.

The English and Italian mafias have been rivals for decades. The legend speaks of a duel, where both don's were killed. Since then, the bloodshed has never ended in a merciless pursuit of revenge that has long outlived our ancestors.

Christian Vitale, the man I am to marry, is the new Italian don, descending from the original mafia bloodline. I only know him from soldier's whispers. I know that he killed his father, and from that day on, no one ever referred to him as 'Cristiano' again. I know that he is so powerful, no government or royalty would dare stop him.

I stare at my reflection, wondering what will become of me. My mother showers my skin with rubies and gold, preparing me like a soldier would with his armour.

"Tell Edward she's ready," she commands. The soldier nods and leaves the two of us alone.

The second the door shuts, she hurries to a drawer, pulling out a gun. "Take this. Don't let anyone know I gave it to you," she whispers urgently, passing me the case. "Strap this around your thigh. Quickly, now."

"Why are you giving this to me?"

Her breath hitches, as though she dare not speak aloud. Her eyes lock on mine, filled with fear and warning.

"You may not be interested in this war, my child, but it is interested in you."

I do as she says, strapping the case around my leg and placing the gun in it. She takes her rosary from her pocket, clutching it tightly in her balled hands. Whispering a prayer, she kisses it, then takes my hand and wraps it around me.

"Trust no one."

Two soldiers re-enter the room and escort me out. My mother gives me a final look goodbye and I can tell she's wondering if she will ever see me again.

We walk down the cold hall, passing all the locked doors that I knew never to question. Reaching the end, we stand before two grand mahogany doors, muted voices coming from within. One of the soldiers knocks and my father's booming voice tells us to enter.

All my life I have never seen what lies behind these doors, until now. Weapons fills cabinets, contracts fill shelves and sparse drops of crimson fill the marble cracks.

My father sits at his desk, wearing the stench of blood and death like aftershave, adorning himself in the jewellery of men he's killed. As I watch him take a large gulp of his drink; he seems different. Usually he commands the space around him, but right now he's nervous, unsettled.

He notices me and narrows his eyes in a threatening glare. And then, I realise. He's afraid.

Whenever I've seen my father his words have been cruel and his heart has been ruthless. A part of me believed that he had killed off any emotions that existed within him. But seeing him like this, to know he can feel, is no relief. He has killed women, children, innocents and slept almost as deeply as them. So for fear to strike his heart makes mine feel as though it has stopped completely.