Bound to Love

Chapter 1: The Start of New Beginnings

   I've grown up in the same four walls my whole life, well since I was two years old. The closest thing I've had to a father, Rubio, made sure I had everything I needed. Clothes, education, food, shelter. Even the man I am supposed to marry, his son Rubio Valentino II has been arranged. Rubio, who everyone calls Junior, a boy when we first met, now a man and a stranger. It makes sense, us not being raised together. If we were to see each other as siblings, it would surely complicate our planned future together as husband and wife.

    Don Rubio, my adopted father, chose me after being found in the streets of New York sixteen years ago, well fifteen and ten months ago, to be the wife of his son who was five at the time. When his wife Maria lay dying of cancer, her last wish was for her lineage to continue. She made father promise her that one day her son would be happily married with a family, the same way she was. Rubio took this to heart, and the next day adopted me. Of course, he couldn't adopt me himself, or me and Junior could never marry. Instead, I was adopted into the Family and set in a huge room all alone far away from the dangers of the Mafia world, and the real world.

    I've always wanted to ask my father why he chose me that day at the orphanage. A dirty two-year-old girl with a tear-stricken face and snot running from her nose. But I don't want to seem ungrateful for everything he's done for me. With the constant danger of the outside world, especially for a young girl, I'm not sure where I'd have ended up. Now that the entire world is at war for the second time, these four walls feel safer than ever. Though I must admit, I am very lonely.

    I live mostly in solitude, except for my daily encounters with our maid Sarah, and my fathers diminishing visits. I can't really remember even having friends aside from a blond haired kid who plagues my dreams occasionally. If I close my eyes I can almost make out his face, though in my dreams all I can see are his tears and dirt ridden clothing. We must have been close in age, his frame was small and lanky. Sometimes we are running around, playing with each other. Other times we are huddled together under a bed, his tears melding with mine, crying for our unknown futures. I can't distinguish my dreams from reality though, all I know is that I wasn't at the orphanage long enough for all of these memories to be true. Now all I have is my father, Junior, and Sarah.

    Before the war started, father would make an effort to spend time with me, to make sure I was on the right path to being the best wife to his son. He is untraditional in his methods, especially when it comes to my education. He would always say,

   "Where the world sees you as inferior, you must prevail. Do not let men control your knowledge, or you will never be an equal. They will continuously look down on you and think of you as weak." Afterwards he would spend hours testing me on all things my private tutor was teaching me. Latin, French, Calculus, Astronomy, Medicine, and most importantly, Reading. He explained that words have a literal meaning defined by the dictionary, but always have an underlying meaning as well.

   "Nastasia, your words are your weapon in this world. Most people will hear what you say, but not listen, thus only understanding the superficial message. Those who understand what you are actually saying, will listen and respect you all the more." It took a while for me to understand this, even with his examples.

   "Father, I don't understand what you mean. I am listening to you, but I am not understanding" I would say to him.

   "Then you are hearing me, and not listening" he would respond time after time, the same answer to the same question. Though it finally clicked when I saw the loyalty he possesses of those he has control over, the Family. Whatever Don Rubio commanded was done without any hesitation. It wasn't because he was feared, but because he was respected and listened to. His morals came through clearly, and only those that held the same morals held his trust. These sessions of ours diminished with each passing month. As the war escalated, Father was pulled more and more into his duties, those of which I am unsure of. Instead, I am subjected to my room and personal dining hall. In two more months this will all change though, when I turn eighteen my courtship to Junior will begin.