ℭ𝔥𝔦𝔞𝔯𝔞 𝔄𝔯𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔦:
She dreams of finding a heartwarming prince charming who'll cherish her like a princess. Someone who'll embrace her tightly with love and passion. But everything shatters when her parents set her up to marry a psychopath-A...
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I was casually perched on the couch, scrolling through my phone, the ambient hum of everyday life filling the room. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps disrupted me. Glancing up, I notice both my parents standing before me.
Without a word, my mother eased herself onto the couch, tenderly running her fingers through my hair. Blinking in confusion, I sensed an unusual gravity in the air. A sigh escaped my father, and he began to speak with an uncharacteristic solemnity.
"Chiara, we have something important to share with you," he uttered, the weight of his words hanging in the air. This unexpected seriousness heightened my skepticism. I nodded, silently urging him to proceed.
Surprisingly, it was my mother who broke the silence. "So, the Russian Bratva family has proposed an alliance," she disclosed, her words injecting an unexpected tension into the room.
The mention of the Bratva stirred a wave of bewilderment within me.
Why out of all the mafia organizations, would they consider the russians?
My father took up the narrative, "However, it comes with its own set of consequences."
A shared glance passed between my parents before they redirected their focus entirely onto me. Throughout their revelation, I remained silent, absorbing the gravity of the situation and attempting to gather all the information in my mind.
"And why am I being enlightened about this?" I question, because they never consider telling me anything about their illegal business.
"The leader of the mafia, he's got a son. AKA, the heir to the throne," my father continued, a sharp intake of breath betraying an underlying sense of guilt from him
My mother's demeanor was reflecting a shared remorse. "He wants you to marry his son. And we kind of consented to that idea."
Disbelief propelled me off the couch in haste. "No, no, no, no, no," I interjected, punctuating each "no" with a disbelieving chuckle. "As far as I know, this 'heir' could be some old geezer looking to take advantage of me," I declared, vehemently shaking my head. "So, no. I won't be marrying myself to someone I've neither laid eyes on nor harbored any affection for."
My mother rose from her seat, and approached me, gently resting both hands on my shoulders. "I'm sorry, piccolina. But the die is cast. There's no turning back now."
(Piccolina - Little one)
"Get some rest, my dear. Tomorrow holds a big day; Dmitri Sokolov wishes for you to meet his son," my father declared, his tone carrying the weight of an unavoidable stubbornness.
My parents have this infuriating habit of never backing away from the stuff they've planned, so I don't even try to argue. Instead, I storm off to my room, slamming the door shut behind myself.
. . .
The following day found me standing before the imposing entrance of a grand mansion. My parents had entrusted me with this encounter, they entrusted me with the task of embodying grace and courtesy.
As the door swung open abruptly, a youthful figure emerged- a boy likely in their teenage years.
"Hello, I'm supposed to-" I began, only to be swiftly interrupted by him.
"Oh, I know who you are. I just didn't expect you to be this beautiful," he remarked, catching me off guard with his candid compliment. It was an unexpected greeting, to say the least.
A sudden grunt from the boy drew my attention, revealing that he had received a smack to the head. "Mind your manners. This is a special guest," a stern voice, sliced through the air.
My attempts to articulate a response were futile; my lips parted, but no words emerged.
"I apologize on my son's behalf. He's just a bit of a womanizer," a mature voice spoke from behind the boy, revealing an older woman. Her appearance was gentle and a smile softened the edges of her lips.
"Oh no, It's alright", I attempted to smile, masking the growing anxiety within me.
"Please, come in," the woman welcomed me, ushering me inside while gently guiding the young boy aside to clear my path.
Stepping into the threshold, I closed the door behind me with a soft click, internally chastising myself for the visible nervousness I feared I displayed.
I shed my light-colored coat and then slipped off my shoes, trying to regain some composure
After that I turned around only to see the young boy. His smile carried a hint of mischief. I was taken aback when he extended his hand for a handshake.
Clearing my throat, I reciprocate the gesture.
"I'm Konstantin, nice to meet you. Yes, my name is Konstantin, but people mostly call me Konkie. I feel like everyone is trying to get on my nerves because who gives their son the name Konstantin and then let other people give them the worst nickna-" he abruptly halted, leaving me puzzled.
"I'm talking a lot, apologies miss...whoever you are", a surprised expression played itself on my face.
"No no. Please, no need to stop, I don't mind the talk". I assured him, not actually minding the talk at all. Observing people's expressions and emotions when they speak fascinated me; they conveyed volumes of information if one paid close attention to every detail.
Konstantin straightened himself, a glimmer of approval in his eyes. "I think I'm gonna like you," he declared, making a small smile stretch across my lips
"I'm Chiara, nice to meet you Konstantin", I greet, giving him a tender smile.
"See, now I know you have great parents just by the name they gave you", he says.
Yeah, very nice parents...
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Thank you for reading this chapter. I apologize for the long wait. While this chapter may be shorter than usual, rest assured that the upcoming ones will be longer. I hope you found it enjoyable nonetheless.
The love interest will be seen in the next chapter though. <3
Question of the day - What are you most afraid of?
