1
VIVIANA
I’ve always been the good girl. The obedient one. The daughter who doesn’t cause trouble. The one who has hidden behind a mask her entire life.
I am nothing like my sister Chiara, who is brave.
She has been fighting all her life.
I have been adapting all my life.
The starkest difference between us is that I know I can’t change things. Accepting them seems a sensible thing to do.
Accept the fact that I am a Mafia princess.
Accept that someone else decides my life.
Accept.
Accept.
Accept.
Even though there’s an invisible collar strapped around my neck, reminding me I must behave, my good behavior ensured some freedom, as much freedom as a caged bird can have.
Don’t disgrace my family.
Don’t disobey my father.
Just don’t.
In exchange, I’ve received more love and leeway than my sister.
Chiara found freedom in her arranged marriage, which is the most ironic thing I have witnessed. Life has a way of threading irony like a skilled weaver—subtle yet inextricable.
Rain pours down the window, lashing at the glass as if wanting to crack it, just like I would like to escape my situation. I watch entranced, losing myself in the violent dance of elements. Whose determination will persevere? Who will give in? Just as in life, some people harden under harsh conditions, becoming unbeatable; some break under them, becoming a ghost of their former selves.
Me, I’m a survivor, I will bend but never break.
I sweep my eyes through the ample room, nothing special, but with all the amenities needed. The place I’ve been staying for the last three years offers me a modicum of comfort. It comes with the freedom of being away, postponing my duty to my family.
I share a room with my best friend, Evie, who lies sprawled on her belly, reading a romance novel.
She is a stunning redhead with the sweetest freckles painting her cheeks and the tip of her nose. She also has a fiery temperament to match. While my side is neat and bland, hers is colorful and chaotic.
I am stuck just like I have been since the day I was born, waiting for something to happen—always waiting.
Attending college used to be the best thing, getting a taste of life outside Boston. Now, it’s just a daily reminder that freedom is an illusion.
I will marry a man my family chooses. It’s just the way it is.
The men in my world are extremely entitled, so there’s no point in thinking my future husband will be any different.
There’s something inside me though, pummeling at my walls, trying to break free. Do something reckless for once. Live a bit before I’ll never escape the gilded cage again.
The need to rush through things as if someone will snatch the opportunity from me has been an ingrained fear, shadowing every waking moment. I’ve studied relentlessly for my early education and child psychology degree, spending every waking moment learning.
The fear of not finishing college, of being called to duty early, has diminished any joy, and I am feeling the exhaustion. Becoming a teacher is not only a dream but a calling. Something that is mine.
