Mafia Arranged Marriage

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Aiyana Vasquez

Feeling a knock on my bedroom's door, I let out a faint 'come in' and the door opens revealing Katie, one of the servants.

"Morning, miss Aiyana. Your dad has requested your immediate presence in his office" She says with a tight lipped smile.

"Ok, thanks for letting me know Katie, I'll be right down after freshening up" I get up from my bed and scurry my way towards the bathroom.

As the warm water dribbles down my back, I think of what might he need me for. Was something wrong? Was I being sent away again? Did something happen?

I let the thoughts eat away at my brain as I dry myself off with a towel and put on some decent clothes to go meet him downstairs.

After my usual knock, comes his usual gruff 'come in', and I push the door open.
His sleepless eyes lift from all the documents scattered in front of him and hold mine in a tense gaze. He motions for me to take a seat and I gladly oblige.

"Your asked for me?" His eyes shoot out to mine, examining me while his palms are clasped together in a tight clutch.

His assessing eyes send alarming jolts to the rest of my body and my back straightens out spontaneously.

As if on cue, he brings out an expensive Cuban cigar from his drawer, slowly lighting it up and taking small whiffs.

Although the smell of smoke teases my nostrils, not in a good way, I decide to hold my discomfort and just silently wait for the wretched announcement to dawn onto me.

"As you can see, a war is on the verge of breaking out. Everyone is suspicious and on high alert and ready to pounce on at the tiniest provocation.
We, on the other hand cannot afford a war at the moment. And I take it that you wouldn't like us to take part in that as well, given all the bloodshed and lives lost in the process" I nod in agreement.

I've always hated gang wars. It always broke out due to the stupidest of reasons and I don't think anyone deserves to die over a minuscule matter that could've been solved just fine with a bit of conversation and rationality.

"Well, I just got off the phone with Ivan Volkov. He said he has a proposal" Shit. That's the Russian mafia for you. Nothing good ever comes out of a deal with Ivan.

From what I've heard, Ivan is a devil in disguise, he's been the don of his mafia for over 10 years now. That making him in his mid thirties at the least.

He killed, raped and shed blood of the innocent like it all was just a sick game for his own pleasure. His name alone sends shrilled shivers down my spine.

"What is it?" I ask, secretly the fear gnawing away at my brain. A simple reminder; nothing good can ever come out of this.

"Well, he's agreed to step back for exchange in your hand in marriage" The words shoot out of his mouth straight to the center of my heart like daggers.

This had to be the worst news I've come across to hear, ever since I've been told of my mother's death, seven years ago.

I remember how that tore me apart, for a completely different reason. Back then, I was sad over the fact that she'd been taken away from us forever. I was overwhelmed with sadness and grief.

Right now, I'm feeling more of sickness and disgust ripple through me. The churning of my stomach clearly proving that.

"What? You said no, right?" I ask with a crack in my tone, matching that in my heart.
If he said yes then I'll have to go through with this. Father never turns back on his word.

"Well, he only just now proposed that and of course I said I needed time to dwell on the conditions" shit. He didn't say he flat out refused him while hanging up the phone like a good father would do.

That's because he wasn't thinking as a father, he was rather thinking like a reasonable mafia boss. And that sadly means, the deal and its benefits come above my free will and happiness.

Ughh. I sense a headache forming at the center of my brain, sprawling out to the rest of my body, I could never recover from this hit of misfortune.

No amount of sleep and rest could possibly wash out the idea of that monster being tied to me forever.

I gulp, swallowing a big lump in my throat. Well, let's hope I choke on that before I can skip the altar merrily to my sure definite death.

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A/n:

My recipe for disaster
is cooking on gentle fire... ;)

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