Chapter 1 – Gabriella
Iwill not cry.
I will NOT fucking cry!
No one was going to see a mafia princess weep. It was forbidden. We did that in private. In the shower, where the water washed away the tears, and the heat hid the red in our cheeks. But my body didn’t listen. It was ready to fall apart.
Outside.
I needed to get the hell out of here!
Escape into the dark.
I didn’t want to risk going through the restaurant’s kitchen and having one of the cooks stop me. A rough laugh barked in my throat. The Made Men, whose day jobs were making some of the best food in the city, wouldn’t know what to do with a distraught, woeful woman. I was the tough-as-nails front of house manager. I didn’t break under the stress of a busy night. Customers didn’t walk all over me, and the waitstaff didn’t get away with shit. The don said he was losing his best employee? Damn straight he was!
Thankfully, no one was in the back hall. I passed the bathrooms, not wanting to be trapped in there where someone would probably catch me crying. I gripped the exterior door handle, ripped it open, and stumbled into the alley. Avoiding the single lamp on the building, I rushed into the dark and sagged against the wall. It might be summer, but the brick felt cool against my blazing skin.
An arranged marriage….
I’ve been sold.
Numbness seeped into my bones. I clutched the cornicello necklace I always wore for protection against the evil eye. But the malocchio had found me. Again. My bloodstained fingers trembled as I gripped the small horned shape pendant. There wasn’t actually blood coating my skin. It was a deep stain. One that blackened my soul. Something that would never wash away.
Being sold to the Irish mafia was exactly what a sinner like me deserved.
I always knew this would happen. It was what every Made Man’s daughter expected. Most of us dreaded it, and we hated the little idiots who dreamed of the day they would marry the man their father selected for them. An arranged marriage in the mob wasn’t a fairytale. Or at least, not the pretty, polished cartoon version with elegant yellow dresses, magical libraries, and monsters who turned into pretty, polished princes, with gaping shirts that reminded the viewer of a Fabio romance cover our moms hid in their nightstands.
An arranged marriage was a life sentence.
The best girls like me could hope was that our husbands didn’t beat us often and never gave us STDs from the whores they kept as side pieces. A loveless, terrible union, and it had finally happened to me.
It was a hard pill to swallow. Part of me couldn’t believe it. This wasn’t fair! Not when I was so close. My chest squeezed tight, making each heartbeat hurt.
The Made Men thought it was finally the solution for one of Deluca’s girls! Us poor, unmarried burdens. They didn’t bother to ask whatIwanted to do. Dio sopra! Those thick-skulled neanderthals. They would be dumbstruck if I told them I didn’t plan to stick around this city.
I didn’t have anything against Boston, per se. In fact, it was the only home I knew. My sisters and I had never been farther than the coast, and that was only because Don Morelli had a summer picnic out there once. One trip, one blissful day spent away from the rush and rumble of this place.
You could still escape.
The thought was a whisper. It came on the night breeze, tickling the hairs at the back of my neck. I latched onto the gossamer thread—and pulled. Could I do it? Run away? My plans didn’t have to change just because my last name did. There wouldn’t be time before the wedding. Plus, there would no doubt be extra focus on me because I was the bride. More eyes watching me, under the guise of helping me prepare for this marriage.
No, if I ran, it would have to be after.
“But….” If I stopped working my regular shifts, how would I come up with the funds I needed to start over?
Anger bubbled up inside me. I kicked the wall.
I let out a strangled gasp as I jarred my knee, pain radiating up my calf.
It felt good. Too fucking good.
I kicked and kicked the wall. My bones protested. The muscles screamed. Since I couldn’t yell and rage, I let the pain do it for me. My fists joined the fray, and I pummeled the brick.
It didn’t budge.
Indomitable, it represented my life. Trapped by traditions and obstacles that I could never escape.
“I’m not giving up,” I rasped.
