Salvatore

7

"I wasn't sure if you'd come," Sainte says, taking a sip from his wine.

"Why wouldn't I?" I ask. "I agreed to come, didn't I?"

"You did, but I've noticed you tend to do as you please, so in my mind, there was no guarantee."

"I wouldn't have agreed if I didn't want to come," I tell him, picking an asparagus up off my plate. The food is better this time. Not that it wasn't tasty last time, but there are a lot less carbs this time around.

"Is that why you're here, too?" he asks. "You wanted to come?"

"I did, yeah," I admit. "I was hesitant, but I always knew my time would come."

"Did that bother you—knowing you'd have an arranged marriage?"

"Not really. It's just my duty," I shrug. "If I wasn't meant to have an arranged marriage, I wouldn't have been born into a high ranking family."

"A lot of people don't see it that way. I've had more requests to marry outside the family this year than I ever had before."

"That doesn't surprise me. It's pretty outdated."

"It's not that important for the business, either. Just for myself and the department heads."

"How do you feel about it then?" I ask him.

"I'm not sure," he tells me. "I feel similar to you in that it's my duty, but I have never been exposed to a healthy marriage."

"I can't imagine that your father was such a great example."

"He was never good at commitment. Or caring about others, for that matter."

I doubt his upbringing was filled with love. That's not how mafia kids are raised. We're taught to be independent and strong. Vulnerability is always frowned up, even as a child.

"Did that bother you?" I ask.

"In a sense, yes," he nods. "He tossed my mother aside as soon as I was born, and just hopped from one woman to the next. That's not how it's supposed to work."

"No, it's not. You're supposed to love each other, even if you're not in love."

"Precisely."

"Is that what you're looking for?"

"Ideally, I'd be in love with the woman, too."

"That's the goal, isn't it?"

"I'd say so," he nods. "Would you consider that a possibility with me?"

I almost choke on my wine. Is he seriously asking that, or am I just misinterpreting it?

"Uhm," I hesitate. "I'm not sure. I haven't really... figured you out yet, I guess."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't really know why I'm here. I understand it's for marriage, but was I picked purely for business, or are you genuinely interested?" I ramble. "I can't figure out where you stand on this."

"Oh," he scowls, placing his cutlery down on his plate. "I thought you'd been made aware of this by now. I asked your father to inform you."

"My dad hasn't told me anything."

"Well, I brought you here because I was interested in you—not just because of your parents' role in the family, but because of who you are as a person."

"What do you mean?"

"We haven't had a regina here since my mother passed," he tells me. "That's 26 years without a female leader, and I'm sure you understand why that's a problem."

"Of course," I nod.

"Now, I already knew I didn't want to share my life with someone outside of the family. I wanted someone who had already been exposed to this life. Someone who was raised in it, just as I was."

Someone to share a struggle with. Knowing his father, Sainte's childhood would've been filled with abuse. There's no way around it. Not only is Roberto a raging asshole, but Sainte must've faced all kinds of torture just to complete his training.

He must have resentment over it. I know I do. My childhood was a disaster because of the family, but Sainte's was much, much worse. I doubt he'd ever admit it, but that must be why he wants to date someone in the family. They'd understand his struggle.

"There were a few candidates, and you were the obvious first choice," he continues. "But that isn't why I chose you. My father thought you'd be too weak physically, and yours thought you'd be too weak mentally. At first, what stopped me was your decision to leave the family. You had left, and I didn't want to drag you back here against your will. But there was no one else. You had built a life for yourself, made your own decisions, even created your own career. I admired that, and I was attracted to you."

I stay silent for a moment, trying to process his words. I can tell he's being genuine. His eyes aren't as dark as they usually are, but that doesn't mean I can take his words at face value.

"Is this your sideways way of telling me you have feelings for me?" I ask, only partially joking. He doesn't laugh, though. And he doesn't answer the question, either.

"I just wanted you to know that you weren't chosen out of convenience or necessity. I chose you because I am genuinely interested in you," he assures me. "If we had met in a bar, I would have been interested, too."

"But this is not a bar, Sainte. And your words aren't consistent with your actions," I tell him.

"I know my intentions may have seemed askew, and I apologise for that. I do not get challenged often and I do not take well to having my orders defied."

"I can tell," I stifle a laugh.

"But your assertiveness is part of your appeal, and I respect your determination."

"Do you respect me, too?"

"Of course I do. I'm just not used to being defied. I make the rules and we follow them. Simple."

"Alright, then make some new rules."

"Like what?"

"Rules for us specifically. Like not getting mad when I don't do what you tell me to." Or better yet, not telling me what to do in the first place. "Or me being more patient with you, not being as tenacious."

"I suppose that's something I could do," he nods.

"You're the boss, Sainte. You can change the rules if you want to."