Chapter Two
897 Words
One month later
The ballroom was big. Too big. Shiny and golden and full of music and people laughing like they were in some kind of movie.
But I just stood there, father was getting married. Again
Across the room, my father was smiling. So was she, his new wife.
I stayed near the wall, in this pale blue silk dress someone picked out for me. It was itchy. Tight in weird places. I hated it. I hated this whole place. I hated her.
His new wife smiled like everything was perfect. She was pretty, not as pretty as mom but she is and I hate her, I hate her for taking my mother's place, hated her for standing where my mother once stood, for wearing the ring that once sat on my mother's finger. I hated how she tilted her head when she laughed and how she looped her arm around Father's like she belonged.
He was smiling like everything was perfect. She looked stunning in her lace gown, her hair swept up in soft curls. The guests clapped and toasted as if they hadn’t known my mother. As if she’d never existed.
I can feel my anger bubbling within me as my first clenched at my side, my heartbeat thundering in my chest like it was trying to escape, I hated it.
I hated her.
Not because she was mean—she hadn’t said a single word to me yet. But because she was standing where Mom should’ve been. Wearing the dress, the ring, the title.
I hated how easily she fit into this world, like she belonged here more than we ever did.
Would she bake me cookies? Would she sing lullabies or braid my hair or call me sweetheart in the morning? Would she try to make me like her? Would she pretend to care—offer cookies, warm food that'll make me feel nice inside or show me fake affection? no, I doubt she would
I HATE HER, I HATE HER, I HATE HER.
Father won’t hit her. We left New York for Italy a year ago because Father wanted to expand his organization here. The woman he just married belongs to the Carlos family. They’re well-rooted in the mafia business. He’ll need her
Unlike Mother, who was just for decoration. His new wife was useful and could help him out of the trouble he caused. I was just a pawn. The silent, obedient daughter. The Valentino heir's perfect porcelain doll.
"Excuse me" a voice said behind me, It was smooth, self-assured. The kind of voice that didn’t get told no very often.
I turned and forced a polite smile, the one I always wore at these events.
"May I have this dance?" he asked holding out a hand
He was dressed in a sleek black tux, everything about him perfectly put together. Hazel hair, deep brown eyes, about sixteen or seventeen maybe, definitely older than me. He looked like Mafia money. The dangerous kind. No one invited in to this wedding would be of simple standing
“No,” I replied softly. “I can’t dance.”
I hoped he’d take the hint. I hoped he’d walk away.
But he only smiled like he didn’t believe me.
“Never heard of a Valentino girl who couldn’t.”
My heart skipped. I followed his gaze across the room—straight to my father.
He was staring at me.
Of course he was.
I took the stranger's hand.
People stepped aside for us, like this was something normal. Like a fourteen year-old dancing with a stranger at her father’s mafia wedding when she was supposed to be in bed sleeping was perfectly acceptable.
His hand went to my waist. Mine rested awkwardly on his shoulder. He took my other hand in his and lifted it just slightly, our fingers interlocked.
Then we started to move.
His left hand held my hands firmly, fingers intertwined as he raised our joined hands slightly, leading me into a smooth turn. I followed his lead effortlessly, my feet gliding across the floor As I spun, my body perfectly aligned with his, and his scent engulfed me—the smell of spice telling me how dangerous he was.
As the dance progressed, I began to lose rhythm. I wasn’t lying—I didn’t know how to dance. And he seemed to have noticed. I’d make a fool of myself. Father was going to punish me for ruining his perfect wedding.
His grip tightened slightly, steadying me. Before I could panic, he did something unexpected—he lifted me gently off the ground and placed my feet on top of his.
My breath caught. I looked up at him.
“Relax,” he said, almost teasing. “Just follow me.”
And I did...He guided me through the steps, lifting me down when I needed to spin and placing me back on his feet. It wasn’t bad.
I didn’t hate the dance. Not the way I thought I would.
When the music slowed, he looked down at me.
“Enzo Martinez,” he said casually.
My heart skipped.
Martinez. A Mafia family, I've heard the whispers of their name
"Seraphina Valentino,” I replied
He smiled like he already knew that.
The music ended. I stepped off his shoes. The guests clapped lightly. My father still hadn’t looked away.
- Writer
