Not a Nobody

FIO OR VIO

The room was glowing with joy. People lined up to greet Fiona — some with warmth, others with admiration, and a few with awe, as though a hidden jewel had finally been revealed.

Just then, Jennie Dante — the beloved only daughter of the Dante family, often called "the apple of their eye" — broke through the crowd with her signature charm and confidence. Without hesitation, she wrapped Fiona in a tight, affectionate hug and planted a soft kiss on her cheek.

Fiona froze in place, stunned by the sudden affection. Her face flushed in surprise, heart thudding.

Then came Mr. and Mrs. Dante, smiling gracefully. Mrs. Dante took Fiona’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Welcome to the family, dear. We've heard only good things.”

Jennie beamed and said cheerfully, “From the very first moment I saw you, I knew we were going to be friends, Fiona.”

Something melted in Fiona’s chest. Her voice trembled slightly as she returned the hug and whispered, “You’re the first one to accept me as a friend… my whole life.”

The room filled with soft gasps, touched by the honesty in her words. Fiona’s genuine humility made everyone admire her more. Even those once loyal to Viola started seeing something new — and real — in this quiet, graceful girl.

Meanwhile…

Viola, across the room, was not handling it well.

Drink after drink, her emotions spiraled. Her eyes were locked on Fiona and Jennie, their blooming friendship gnawing at her pride like rust on steel.

In a drunken haze, Viola stumbled her way toward Gianna, sloshing her glass slightly. “H-hyy sisss,” she slurred, placing a heavy arm around Gianna, “you… you know we're gonna be fam’ly soon. So don’t ya think… you should respect me a little?”

Gianna, sharp and unimpressed, calmly removed Viola’s arm and gave her a deadpan look. “Respect is earned, sweetheart. Not poured into a wine glass.”

Viola blinked, confused, and laughed — but it sounded more like a broken attempt at pride than anything genuine.

Meanwhile,

Mr. and Mrs. Sicilian, Giovanni’s parents and rulers of the Sicilian Mafia, pulled Giovanni aside to a private corridor.

His father’s voice was low and firm. “Is she the one?” OR viola

Giovanni didn’t answer right away. He didn’t need to.

His mother touched his arm gently. “If she is, we’ll speak to Meera.. if its viola then we can start to talk about the engagement.. We know how much this moment means — for all our families.”

A few minutes later, both Sicilian heads walked with purpose toward Mrs. Meera Corsican, and mr and mrs.salvatore who was standing silently near the edge of the room, watching everything with calm authority.

The conversation that followed would be one the future would remember — because beneath the smiles and toasts, alliances were being woven… and power was quietly shifting.

Just before Mr. and Mrs. Sicilian could reach Meera Corsican, the Don of the Cosa Nostra family stepped forward with a commanding presence, greeting both Mr. Salvatore and the Sicilian couple with respectful nods.

“Ah, honored guests,” the Don said smoothly, eyes briefly flicking to Fiona who was warmly greeting everyone. “I’ve come to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage — for my grandson.”

A hush fell over the nearby crowd. The weight of this proposal was unmistakable, and many eyes turned toward Fiona, who stood quietly, still adjusting to this new world.

Mr. Salvatore, watching Fiona from a distance, stepped in calmly, “She is still settling in, greeting everyone and taking it all in. Let’s give her time to adjust. We can discuss the engagement later.”

The Don nodded, understanding the delicacy. “Of course. Business and family matters must be handled with care.”

As the formalities began to shift into lighter conversation, Mrs. Sicilian’s gaze drifted across the place and landed on Viola. The sight was jarring — Viola, in her drunken state, giggling uncontrollably and holding onto a flustered waitress’s arm for support.

Mrs. Sicilian’s expression softened with pity. “Poor Giovanni,” she muttered under her breath, sensing the strain this would cause him.

The Don of the Salvatore family, noticing her look, followed her gaze but chose not to comment.

When the Cosa Nostra Don left to greet other guests, Mrs. Sicilian leaned slightly closer to Mrs. Salvatore.

“When do you think we might talk about children’s engagement? "Families need time to prepare… and the young ones should know what’s expected.”

Mr. Salvatore sighed, a flicker of worry crossing his features. “Soon. Very soon. But tonight isn’t the night, because Fiona… she is still fragile. She has lost a lot and is just beginning to find her place.”

Mrs. The Sicilian nodded thoughtfully, “I understand. But the alliance must be strong. There can be no cracks.”

A slight pause hung in the air.

Mr. Salvatore glanced at the gathering crowd. “There are always cracks beneath the surface — secrets and old wounds. We just have to make sure they don’t break us apart.”

Mrs. Sicilian’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “And what about Viola?”

Mrs. Salvatore’s jaw tightened. “She is… complicated. Proud. She feels she’s losing everything.” I know how she is feeling right now I don't know how to console her.

Mrs. Sicilian smiled faintly. “Pride is dangerous, but it can be tamed. Sometimes with kindness, sometimes with a firm hand.”

Before Mr. Salvatore could respond, the Don of the Cosa nostra family returned, breaking the tension. “Enough talk of cracks and wounds — tonight is about unity. We will speak more on the engagement soon.”

As the conversation flowed, a guard approached Mr. Salvatore with urgency.

“Don Salvatore, the young second mistress—Viola—has fainted from too much alcohol. Should I escort her to her room?”

Mr. Salvatore sighed deeply but nodded. “Yes, take her upstairs. Make sure she’s safe and well looked after.”

As the guard moved away, Mr. Salvatore’s eyes caught a quiet moment between Giovanni and Fiona. Giovanni’s usually stern and unreadable face softened into a small, almost imperceptible smile — one Mr. Salvatore hadn’t seen since Giovanni was a child.

That tiny smile was a stark contrast to the cold, disdainful looks Giovanni often reserved for Viola.

Mr. Salvatore’s mind raced. His daughter Viola had been adamant—she would marry no one but Giovanni. Yet, observing this moment,

This marriage alliance... it’s meant to be.

Mr. Salvatore stood still, his mind swirling in a storm of conflicting thoughts.

Mr. Sicilian saw Giovanni’s small, genuine smile was a sight he hadn’t witnessed since his son’s childhood. It was warm, hopeful, completely different from the cold, dismissive glances Giovanni reserved for Viola.

And yet, Viola had been so adamant, so vocal about her determination to marry Giovanni. She had made it clear: she was the one who would be the true Salvatore heir’s bride.

Now, watching this tender moment, Mr. Salvatore felt the weight of uncertainty crushing down on him.

Which daughter will this marriage tie truly bind? He wondered.

Viola,

Or Fiona, the daughter they had kept hidden.

His heart ached with confusion, torn between duty, love, and the unknown future.

For the first time in years, he felt uncertain — and that uncertainty both frightened and humbled him.

Mr. Sicilian poured a drink and handed it to Mr. Salvatore. “What’s on your mind? You look more troubled than I’ve seen you in years.”

Mr. Salvatore sighed, taking a slow sip. “It’s this whole mess with Fiona and Viola. Fiona is the promised bride, but Viola—she’s been in her place all this time, protecting her, earning everyone’s love. Now Fiona’s back, and I don’t know how to choose without hurting someone.”

Mr. Sicilian nodded thoughtfully. “I see. You love both daughters deeply, but their positions are tangled. Have you talked to them about how they feel?”

Mr. Salvatore shook his head. “No, I’m afraid it might only make things worse.”

“Sometimes, honesty is the only way out of confusion,” Mr. Sicilian said gently. “You don’t have to make this decision alone. Listen to their hearts, and maybe they’ll help you find the right path.”

“But what if they both want the same thing? What if no choice can make everyone happy?” Mr. Salvatore’s voice cracked with worry.

“Then you take it one step at a time,” Mr. Sicilian replied with a small smile. “Love isn’t always about choosing perfectly—it’s about doing your best and trusting the people you care about to understand you. You’ve always been strong, Salvatore. This time, be patient with yourself, too.”

Mr. Salvatore looked up, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “Maybe... maybe I can find a way after all.”