My Husband is a Mafia Boss

CHAPTER THREE

I pushed my steak around my plate, barely touching it. Each bite felt like sawdust, my throat tight with the effort of swallowing. Across the table, Giovanni's infuriatingly smug grin was directed squarely at me. His every glance, every subtle smirk, seemed designed to test my patience. My mother’s eyes were on me too, a silent reminder to behave. Retaliation wasn’t an option.

The private dining room was a cacophony of clinking cutlery and polite conversation. My parents, always the perfect hosts, chatted animatedly with their business partner, Mr. Caruso. The conversation flowed smoothly around me, but I felt like a stone in a stream, unmoved and disconnected.

Giovanni leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying himself. Every few minutes, he would glance my way, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. I clenched my fork tighter, imagining it was his neck. The image was a brief comfort.

I glared at the side of Giovanni's head, hoping he’d spontaneously combust. Of course, he didn’t. Instead, he caught my gaze and flashed another one of his infuriating grins. My stomach churned. My mother’s eyes bore into me, her silent command clear: smile, be pleasant, don’t cause a scene.

I dropped my gaze to my plate, cutting a small piece of steak, and forced myself to eat it. The flavor was lost on me, overshadowed by my irritation.

Mr. Caruso’s voice broke through my thoughts. “So, Ava— Ava, was it?”

“Yes, sir,” I politely replied.

“What do you think of my son Giovanni?” he asked, his tone cheery.

My heart skipped a beat. I looked up, caught off guard. Giovanni’s smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by a flicker of confusion. My mother’s gaze was even more intense now, willing me to say the right thing. I felt trapped between them all, my thoughts racing.

I glanced at Giovanni, hoping for some kind of cue, but his expression was unreadable. His usual cockiness had given way to genuine curiosity. I then turned to my mother. Her look was unmistakable: give the right answer, the answer they want to hear.

Taking a deep breath, I forced a smile. “Giovanni is... interesting,” I said carefully, choosing my words with precision. “He certainly knows how to make an impression.” My mother’s gaze softened slightly, a hint of approval in her eyes. Giovanni raised an eyebrow, a small smirk returning to his lips.

Mr. Caruso chuckled. “Interesting, huh? That’s one way to put it.”

I managed a small laugh, trying to appear more at ease than I felt. “Yes, he has a... unique way of making his presence known.”

Giovanni’s grin widened, and he leaned forward slightly. “I aim to please,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

I bit back a retort, feeling my mother’s gaze like a physical weight. Instead, I nodded politely. “And you certainly succeeded.”

Mr. Caruso’s delighted laughter rang in my ears, the sound grating against my nerves. “Ah, Ava, I’m so pleased to hear you say that about Giovanni,” he said, his eyes crinkling with genuine pleasure. “It’s a rare thing, hearing such positive feedback about him.”

I’m glad to know I’m not the only one who thinks he’s an absolute prick. I mean, sure, I did him wrong first but to kick me under the table at a formal dining setting? Oh, it’s on.

Giovanni shifted in his seat, his smirk faltering for a second. I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of satisfaction at his discomfort.

Mr. Caruso continued, “It’s important that you two get along, especially since you’ll be spending so much time together.”

I froze, my fork halfway to my mouth. What did he mean by that? Spending so much time together? Why? It’s not like I’m going to be the one running the family business. My mom already made that clear right from the start.

In front of me, Giovanni’s smirk had disappeared entirely now, replaced by a puzzled frown. I glanced at my mother, hoping for some clarification, but she was staring at me, her expression tight. She looked like she was holding her breath.

My gaze swept around the table. My father was avoiding eye contact, focusing intensely on his wine glass. My brother was oblivious, shoveling steak into his mouth like an unfed barbarian. No one was offering any answers.

Mr. Caruso noticed my confusion and chuckled again, though this time it was tinged with nervousness. “Oh dear, I thought she already knew about the arranged marriage?”

For a heartbeat, the dining room was silent. Then, in a clatter of silverware and a chorus of raised voices, everything erupted into chaos. Giovanni and I shot up from our seats simultaneously, our knives and forks clanking noisily against our plates.

“What?!” we yelled in unison, our voices blending into a single cry of outrage and disbelief.

My mother reached out, trying to calm me, but I shrugged off her hand, too stunned and furious to listen. My heart was pounding in my ears, my vision narrowing to the infuriating figure of Giovanni across the table.

“This has to be a joke,” I spat, glaring at my parents. “An arranged marriage? To him?”

Giovanni was equally appalled, his usual arrogance replaced by genuine horror. “I’m not marrying her!” he declared, pointing at me as if I were some repulsive creature.

Our parents looked mortified, their attempts to regain control of the situation failing miserably. Mr. Caruso, who had unleashed this bombshell, looked overwhelmed by the backlash.

“Calm down, both of you,” my father finally said, his voice stern but shaky. “This isn’t the place for this discussion.”

“Then when is the place?” I demanded, my voice trembling with anger. “How long were you planning to keep this from me?”

My mother tried to intervene, her tone soothing which meant that she no longer thinks that everything is still under her control. “Ava, we were going to tell you soon. We wanted to make sure you were ready to hear it.”

“Ready?” I echoed, my voice rising. “Ready for what? To be traded off like some business asset?”

Giovanni’s face was a mirror of my own fury. “I don’t want any part of this,” he snapped. “I’m not some pawn in your business deals.”

Our parents exchanged helpless looks, clearly at a loss for how to handle our outrage.

“Ava, Giovanni, please,” Mr. Caruso implored, trying to regain some semblance of control. “This arrangement is for the benefit of both our families. It’s not as bad as you think.”

“Not as bad?” I repeated, incredulous. “You’re deciding my entire future without even asking me! And I don’t even know you!”

The room was thick with tension, our voices echoing off the walls. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. An arranged marriage? In this day and age? And to Giovanni of all people?

Giovanni looked at me, his expression mirroring my own disgust. “I’m not marrying you,” he said again, his voice low and determined.

“Good,” I shot back. “Because I’m not marrying you either.”

The rest of dinner passed in an excruciatingly tense silence, interrupted only by the occasional clink of silverware and awkward coughs. I pushed food into my mouth mechanically, barely tasting it. My thoughts were a tangled mess, ricocheting between shock, anger, and betrayal. How could my parents spring something like this on me? And how could they expect me to just accept it?

Giovanni sat across from me, his expression stormy. He glared at everyone, but especially at his father, who had just dropped this on us so casually. His usual smugness was gone, replaced by a simmering rage that matched my own.

I glanced around the table, searching for answers in the faces of my family. My mother was focused intently on her plate, her cheeks flushed. She had always been the architect of our family’s social maneuvers, willing to do whatever it took to maintain our status and what was left of our business.

But this? An arranged marriage? It felt like a betrayal of everything I thought she stood for.

My father’s face was a mask of stoic resignation. He was a man of few words, but his silence now felt like a betrayal. He should have protected me, should have said something. Anything. And my brother, still chewing his steak like an oblivious ape, seemed utterly detached from the gravity of the situation. It was as if none of this affected him, as if my future being decided for me was just another business deal.

My head throbbed with the weight of it all. This was my last year of college. I had plans—plans that didn’t include being married off to Giovanni Caruso to secure a business alliance. I hadn’t even started my internship yet, and already my future was being dismantled and reshaped by forces beyond my control.

The rest of dinner blurred into a series of numb motions. I chewed, swallowed, and chewed again, all while my mind raced. How could my parents do this to me? Was I nothing more than a pawn in their business strategies? The thought made my chest tighten.

Giovanni’s glare was a constant presence, a reminder that he was just as trapped as I was. I caught his eye once, and for a moment, we shared a look of mutual disgust and helplessness. It didn’t make anything better, but at least I wasn’t alone in my outrage.

Finally, the meal came to an end. The silence lingered as we all rose from the table. My mother started to speak, but I couldn’t bear to hear her justifications. I needed air, needed space to think. Without a word, I turned and walked out of the dining room, the tension following me like a shadow.

As I stepped outside, the cool evening air hit my face, a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere inside. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing thoughts. What was I supposed to do now? How could I fight this? The weight of my family’s expectations and the future they had planned for me felt crushing.

I heard the door open behind me and turned to see Giovanni stepping out. His expression was still dark, but there was a hint of something else—uncertainty, maybe even fear. For a moment, we stood in silence, two unwilling players in a game we didn’t want to be a part of.

“I can’t believe this,” I said finally, my voice trembling with emotion. “I can’t believe they would do this to us.”

Giovanni nodded, his jaw tight. “Yeah. It’s a nightmare.”