Nastasia, a girl adopted into the Valentino Mafia, knows nothing about her past. All she knows is her future is already set in stone, with her impending marriage to the Mafia Boss's son. It was what she adopted for, to continue the Valentino lineage...
It seemed as if my birthday passed in a blur after my conversation with my father. I'm still in disbelief at his compromise. The day after my birthday, full of cake and ice cream, father informed me he had made all of the preparations. I would be attending NYU Grossman School of Medicine, founded in 1841 right here in the city. It is an elite private school specializing in medical teachings, and from what I gathered from research it has led to many advancements in the world of medicine. My excitement has been growing the more I learn about the school.
I have gone through my closet numerous times trying to find the best outfit I own for my first day, now only two sleeps away. If I count in sleeps it makes it feel shorter in my head. Of course, there's always the downside of Junior having to be there as well. I guess my father will never let the marriage go, I wasn't really expecting him to. Still there is an unease knowing he will probably be bedding every girl he sees, rubbing it in my face to spite me.
I push away thoughts of Junior, determined to focus on the lovely building that holds my future. It's so big, even bigger than the mansion, and has huge rectangular windows with giant pillars. I think about all the women who's history the building holds, waiting to enrich me even further on how to save lives. I did an assignment on woman suffrage a while ago, something that is still new to America. It was only in the 1920's that the Seneca Falls convention took place right here in New York. Women were finally granted the right to vote, a short twenty years ago. Though the fight was long and hard, as it initially started in 1848, long before I was born. When I think of what women had to endure in the past, it makes me feel guilty for ever complaining about my four walls.
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Despite all the progress in this country, we are still at war over senseless men. I can't understand the idea that someone's appearance warrants full genocide. My father has told me very little about the war, and yet I understand that my olive skin and black hair would have me killed across the world. Maybe my mother feels the same way I do, if she's alive. I hope she thinks about me as much as I think about her, and wonders if I'm safe in this world of chaos. Perhaps my real father is out there in the front lines, fighting for the world. That's the only good thing about my solitude, I will never be the woman trembling in fear wondering if my father will be a casualty, or my brother, or husband.
I could never picture Junior, sweaty and dirty, holding a gun at a man he doesn't know. The only thought in his head, "it's me or him," and with that he pulls the trigger. He'd probably faint at the sight of the man's lifeless body, surrounded by his own blood. Or he would be the one to fall, and I'm not sure I would be sad about it. It would mean I wouldn't have to marry him or carry his children. Children, something I'm not sure I even want. What do I really have to offer to a child when I have no idea where I've come from myself. How would conversations go when they ask about how I met their father? Or when they are curious about their grandparents, or their culture? Would I even be able to love them properly since they would be a part of a man I hate so much?
My father, Junior's father, seems to think my hatred will slowly dwindle away. Yet with each new woman I see him with, it only grows more. Tonight is no different. After spending most of the day researching my new school, reading book after book on its history, I sneak down the maid's stairwell. The path is so used to my footsteps, I swear the stone is worn to shape my feet. Slowly, I approach my pillar and hide, waiting for Junior and his inevitable whore. I strain my ears for voices that never come. I wait, and wait some more, yet nothing. After some time, I'm not sure how much, only that my eyes begin to feel heavy, I hear a door open.
I peak around my pillar and see Junior, alone, as he slides his back down his door. He places his hands in his light brown hair, almost as if he's ready to pull it all out. I can see his muscles flex under his black t-shirt, and realize he's in his underwear. Something is bothering him, maybe he was rejected tonight by the woman he attempted to seduce. As much as I hate him, I doubt other women do. He's too handsome, even now as he sits in melancholy. I can't help but to feel a pull to him when he's like this, especially since it doesn't happen often. The only time I've seen him cry was when he found my father's gun in his office and decided to parade around with it. When father caught him, I could hear the scream after each hit of his belt. I found Junior later huddled in the maids stairwell, tears running down his childish face. I tried to console him, wrapping my arms around his already broad shoulders at only ten years old.
I rested my arms around him and tried to pull him close, but he pushed me away so hard I fell down a couple stairs. He screamed at me, rage contorting his features, boiling in his hazel eyes.
"Get away from me," he yelled, "I don't need you, I will never need you!" I remember the sting my eyes held as I tried not to cry. I stood there staring at him, my little body filled with so much hurt. I wanted to run away, but I just stood there watching his sobs turn quiet, and his body slowly stopped shaking. I approached him again, this time on my knees in case he tried to push me further.
"I don't need you either," I told him, "but you're all I have," I whispered as the tears I held began to spill. I wrapped my arms around him again, waiting for his rejection. To my surprise, he slowly wrapped his arms around me too, and we just sat there, no longer talking. I don't remember what happened after that, just that he never cried in front of me again, or showed any other emotion aside from disdain. My father also never left a gun in such an accessible place again either.
My memories bring tears to my eyes, just like that day when I cried and he held me. I stare back at him, sitting against his door, and realize he's looking straight at me. It's not how he normally looks at me though, there's something different, warmer. He stands up slowly so I can see all of him and I can't help when my eyes travel down to his crotch. I stand up quickly, prepared for anything as he starts to walk towards me, a smirk playing on his lips. Against my wishes, my heart starts to race, and I can feel my cheeks getting hot.
"Are you lost again Nastasia, you know you're not supposed to be down here." His words are slow and drawn out as he looks me up and down also, lingering at my chest covered only by my black lace nightgown. I want to be angry at him for staring, but I was doing the same to him. After all, my courtship to him has officially started, so why not look at each other.
"Junior, you're alone tonight? What happened, couldn't find some poor sleazy girl to bring to your bed?" I counter in the most condescending tone I can muster, ignoring his question all together.
"Nah, I just didn't feel like going out tonight, it's too cold. Not that it would lessen the amount of half-dressed girls I could choose from. Plus, I wasn't really in the mood, though that might be changing slowly," he says in a deep, sultry rumble. Before I can even process what he means, he picks me up so that my legs wrap around his waist and we are eye to eye.
"Junior," I shriek, "what the hell are you doing, put me down you fuck!" He doesn't even flinch, just begins walking towards the stairs.
"Fuck? Well at least I'm a good one," he chuckles as he bounds up the stairs towards my floor, ignoring my protests. He carries me as if I weigh nothing at all, and when we reach my door he balances me in one hand to open it, letting himself in. Finally he places me down on my bed and I rub at my arms, sore from holding on to him so tight,
"I am capable of walking you know, and I don't want you in here, so kindly get out!" I shout. Still he just stands there and stares at me until he slowly gets on his knees right in front of me. I debate kicking him in his head, but he's too quick and grabs my ankles, pulling me to the very edge of my burgundy sheets.
"I'll leave when I'm ready to," he replies as he brings his lips to my ankle, then my knee, then my thigh. I feel the wet kisses he leaves on my skin, and my brain goes numb. I want to scream at him to stop, but my mouth won't move to form the words. Instead, my head rolls back and a moan escapes my lips. My body is on autopilot as I reach my arms out to grab his hair, willing him to keep going, but he stops right there, right at my thigh where the end of my nightgown lays. He looks up at me, and there's a switch I wasn't ready for. What was once desire in his eyes is now a steely coldness as he gets up, turns around, and walks out my door leaving me heaving for breath.
I'm still just sitting where he left me, confused on the entire exchange. I think back on everything that just happened; why it happened and most importantly why he left the way he did. What the hell was I thinking? I should've pushed him away instead of letting him treat me like every other girl he brings home. But I couldn't, it felt too good.
