THE MAFIA DON'S PLAYTHING

Luca's POV I hated mafia weddings, for the simple reason that they were the epitome of pure hypocrisy. It was just a bunch of suits and silk dresses pretending they didn’t want to slit each other’s throats, all for a single day of forced smiles. If you look closer you would see people hiding their guns or knives which was more pathetic since at the beginning of the wedding, they asked everyone to turn in one weapon. That was what mafia life was about, spilling blood over old grudges or new betrayals. It was pathetic, a circus of power plays wrapped and I have seen enough of them to know the script by heart. But I knew they were all waiting for the morning after the wedding night, when they would present the bloody sheets. I internally gagged at the thought, become someone thinking my sweet older sister Sophia getting f****d by that i***t didn't exactly sit right with me. But if I was being honest, she made a pretty good bride. She had this way of lighting up the chaos, like she could turn a lie into something almost believable. She didn't deserve to be born into the mafia, and she didn't deserve marrying that low grade bastard. I stood on the sun-baked sidewalk, watching the whole wedding procession snake through Little Italy. The scent of roses and suffocating and paired with the gunpowder from the firecrackers some i***t kid set off too early, I wanted to gag. The only thing that grounded me was the cocktail in my hand but someone I couldn't shake the feeling of the bad omen I was feeling. Something terrible was going to happen… or something terrible was already happening with Sophia marrying the bastard. Kids ran through the crowd, their sneakers slapping the pavement, chasing red and gold balloons. Women gossiped about how Sophia has good childbearing hips, and if they weren't women I would walk into the conversation and smack them all. Old men in fedoras huddle under the sun protecto, sipping espresso from their chipped cups talking about deals that I was not supposed to hear, names like Vitale and De Luca tossed around. Sofia’s white dress was subtle, she never really liked attention and it showed, she picked the most unassuming dress which only buttressed the fact that she wasn't marrying for love. She was just twenty-three, radiant in a way that made my chest ache, her blonde hair pinned up with pearls that shinn like tiny stars. Her bright laughter literally cuts through the noise as she leans into Matteo Vitale, her arm looped through his. He is all sharp angles and sharper cunning smiles, a man who carries himself like he owns the world because he is a Vitale, one of New York’s mafia families. His charcoal gray suit was ailored to his lean frame, his dark hair was slicked back, and his eyes were cold and calculating, scanning the crowd like a predator sizing up prey. I hate him. Hate the way he smirks, hate the way his hand rests possessively on Sofia’s waist like she was his, hate the way she lets him. She claimed she loves him, but I have seen the way her smile falters when he turns away, the way her fingers tighten on her bouquet like she was holding onto something she wants to throw. I tugged at my too-tight suit collar, the fabric feeling too tight around my neck. I felt like a kid playing dress-up at eighteen and b wanted no part of this charade, so I stood a few feet from the procession, my hands shoved deep in my pockets, trying to look like I belonged here. My father, Marco, hovered nearby, his shoulders hunched like he was carrying the weight of every bad decision he has ever made. He was forty-five but looked sixty, his face lined with worry and doubt, his eyes looking around like he was waiting for a storm to break. He was just a low-level Vitale associate, a man who thinks saying “yes, boss” kept us safe, who believes groveling buys us a place at the table. But I know that It doesn’t and that makes me a better man than man father ever could be. I met his glance, and he gave me a weak nod, his lips trembling like he’s about to apologize for something he couldn't fix. I look away as my jaw involuntarily clenches. He was a coward, and I have known it since I was ten, since Mom died and he stopped fighting for us. Sofia stepped in then, raising me with a fierceness he never had, and now she’s chaining herself to this Vitale prick for his sake. I pulled a crumpled cigarette from my pocket, the paper stained with grease from the cannoli I stole earlier, and lit it with a shaky match. The first drag burnt my lungs, but it kept me grounded. I watched Sofia, her dress swaying as she moved, the train dragging slightly over the pavement, picking up dirt and petals. She is so beautiful, no question, and I can see why Matteo wants her, her skin glows with a soft tan, her eyes bright but it wasn't with love. I guess I wasn't sure. I had seen her with Matteo, the way he talks over her, the way he grabs her arm a little too hard when he thinks no one is looking. And the way she laughed it off, says it was just his way, but I have seen the flicker of doubt in her gaze, the way her lips press together when he is not around. I have been ready to destroy this sham of a marriage from the moment she told me about it, ready to drag her out of that church myself if she had just said the word. If she told me she didn’t love him, I would burn this whole damn wedding down, mash the cake, break the glasses, fight every Vitale thug until they let her go. I would do it for her, because she is the only family I have left, the only one who has ever believed in me. But my sister always makes excuses for people, she claims she loves him, and honestly, I can’t understand the appeal. What does she see in that smug bastard? Is it the money, the power, the promise of safety in a world that eats people like us alive? Or is it something deeper, something I am too young or too angry to see? I took in another drag as I shifted my focus on Matteo. He was laughing now, tossing his head back like he’s the king of this garbage heap, his teeth flashing white against his tanned skin. I really wanted to break his pretty face with a punch. I could see the bulge of a gun under his arm, a reminder that this is no ordinary wedding. The Vitales are here in force, their men scattered through the crowd, hands resting on hidden holsters, eyes scanning for trouble. I spotted a guy with a scar across his cheek leaning against a lamppost, his cap low, and another with a gold ring twisting a cigarette between his fingers. They are all waiting, all playing the game, and I hate them for it. This isn’t a celebration; it’s a truce, a temporary ceasefire in a war that’s been raging since before I was born. I discarded the cigarette and stepped closer to the procession. Sofia’s train caught on a loose cobblestone, and she stumbled slightly. See, another bad sign. Matteo held her with a grip that looks more possessive than gentle. Her bouquet trembles in her hands, and I see her glance my way. And I could swear that I saw her begging me, but before I could run towards her and ask her the million dollar question in front of everyone. Sofia? Do you really? Because if you don’t, I’ll tear this apart… she brought back her plastic fake smile. My fists clenched at my sides, the knuckles whitening, and I can feel the heat of my own anger rising. She said it was her choice and it wasn't the familiar that arranged it and that Matteo makes her happy, but I have seen the bruises she hides under long sleeves, the way she flinches when he raises his voice. I don’t buy it, not one bit. The violin became louder as I thought of a thousand different possibilities. Sofia was too smart, too strong to fall for a guy like Matte. Firstly he was a distant relative of the Vitale’s, meaning he had a very low ranking and also he was all flash, no substance, a puppet for the Vitale bosses who will use her to seal their alliances. I have heard the whispers, the deals my father been forced into, the way the Vitales see Sofia as a bargaining chip But she keeps insisting she loves him, and it drives me up the wall. What was the appeal? His money? His connections? The way he promises to protect her in a world that has already chewed her up? I just don’t get it, and it makes me want to shake her until she tells me the truth. I was about to push through the crowd, to get closer, when the first SUV roared around the corner, it was midnight black and the tires were screeching against the asphalt. The music stopped and the crowd froze and then scattered like roaches under a light. Another SUV follows, then a third. My heart slammed against my ribs as I shouted, “Sofia!” and shoved through the panic. Her eyes met mine, wide with fear, her bouquet fell to the ground as masked men came out from the vehicles, showing their guns. They are not Vitales, I don't know who the f**k they were, their movements were precise and their faces hidden behind black masks. All I could hear was gunshots as I could see Matteo staggering backwards clearly bleeding from his chest as he collapsed. They went for Sophia as she screamed my name, and I ran towards her as my heart was beating very fast. But it was already too late.