Married Off To The Devil

BELLADORA “But I don’t love him, papa,” I whispered as I stared at my father, knowing my words fell on deaf ears but I said them anyway. And to be honest, I wasn’t sure why I was so shocked that this was happening. “I don’t know him.” In our world—the dark and gritty, ugly and brutal one that was ruled by the mafia—arranged marriages were common. The women didn’t have to know the men they were to marry. They didn’t have to love them or even like them. They just had to obey because this was all done to strengthen ties between families. But this wasn’t a marriage to a fellow Italian mafia house, which had always been the norm. “He’s crazy, papa,” I said low, my tone desperate, not knowing anything about Alexei, but I didn't have to know him to understand the type of male he was and where he came from. “He’s a Russian.” Those three words seemed like the most logical explanation for him being a lunatic. I knew enough of our world that it wasn’t as if the Cosa Nostra was friendly with the Bratva, certainly not close that they’d pawn daughters off to sons. Yet here we were. Here I was. “You’ll do what I say, girl, and thank me afterward,” he clipped out in Italian. His tone said that was the end of it and there would be no other questions asked. My father wasn’t an affectionate man, in fact, he’d never told me he loved me, hadn’t hugged me, shown me any kind of caring or nurturing touch in my eighteen years. He was the king and I was a pawn in his game of chess. My father flicked his hand toward the door, a silent, “get out”. I felt my shoulders sag forward, and hated myself for showing any kind of weakness in front of him. I left and shut his office door behind me and leaned against it, feeling my mother’s gaze on me. I lifted my head and stared at her. She stood down the hall wringing her hands together, a horrified look on her face. “Ptchka Moya.” Little bird. It was the nickname my mother and brother had given me when I was a child because they said I fluttered around constantly, little wings taking me from one place to another. “Mamma,” I choked out and covered my mouth with a hand, refusing to cry even though my eyes watered. “Come, darling” she said softly and held her hand out to me. I slipped my palm in hers and let her lead me down the hallway, around the corner, and followed her as we descended the stairs. She took me to the gardens, a place I knew was where she found her solitude, where she felt safe and free. I felt the tears start to fall as we sat on the wrought iron bench and stared at the blooming roses. “Mamma,” I whispered her name again and felt her hand cover mine, which rested on my lap. As I sat beside my mother I felt like a little girl again. I felt as vulnerable as one. “He's the bratva.” My mother knew this, yet I said it again, as if it would make a difference, change my fate. She didn’t speak, but her silence was comforting in itself. “Does Chris know? Lilyana?” They’d know eventually, sooner rather than later. “Chris was told.” She shifted beside me. “He wasn’t pleased with your father’s decision, but there wasn’t anything to be done. The deal had already been made.” The deal had already been made. I looked at my very traditional Italian mother and waited until she glanced at me. “In life we have to make sacrifices.” She swallowed. “We have to do things we don’t want for things to stay positive.” She lifted her hand and cupped the side of my face. She smoothed her thumb over my cheek and dropped her hand back to her lap, glancing at the gardens once more. I did the same. “Belladora,” she said my name softly and my throat tightened. I knew the man I was to marry would be cruel. He’d be like my father… he’d be like all the men in our world. And there was nothing I could do. Running wasn’t an option. I had security with me constantly, a precaution my father took because there were men, bad men like him, who would use me to get to him. I had no money, no real friends to turn to for help. I had nothing to my name aside from what was in the home behind me. So here I was, knowing my life was in the hands of others, knowing I had no choice but to go along and hope for the best. Because as soon as I said “I do” to Alexei Ivanov, I’d be nothing but a vessel for his s****l depravity, and the babies he’d make me have for him.