A Marriage with the Mafia Prince

Chapter 10 - You should be grateful.

A L Y S S A

“If I were you, I would speak to me with more humility.”

He lets out without raising his voice, or stepping into my space aggressively... The restraint he shows makes his warning feel more threatening, as if he assumes I will understand my place without him having to spell it out. He stands a few feet away from me in the centre of the room, his hands resting casually in his pockets and jacket falling perfectly along his frame. His posture is relaxed, leading me to believe he has never once doubted his authority in this house. The same authority I will soon have to answer to if I am to marry him.

His head tilts slightly as he watches me, not in an angry way, not even particularly annoyed, just as if he's expecting something of me, or waiting for me to correct myself.

For a moment, I consider doing exactly that. Apologising would be easy, right? All of this will be so easy if I followed through with everything he says... or else the opportunity to save my mother's life will be gone as quickly as it came. I should drop my gaze, soften my tone and let him believe he has already won... But if I lower myself now, I already know what the next two years will look like... I can't let him just walk all over me and let him talk to me however he wants...

My heart is pounding hard enough that I can hear it in my ears, and I want to say something in response, something to defend myself... but the words never leave my lips...

“If it weren’t for me,” he continues, bringing my attention to what is happening in front of me.

“Who knows what would happen to your mother?” He suddenly says, and my shoulders immediately tense, my hands forming into fists at my sides as anger rushes through my body.

I see her hospital room in my mind without trying to. The pale walls, the faint smell of antiseptic and the way her hair has thinned over the last few months. I think of the way she squeezes my hand and tells me not to worry, even when she cannot sit up without help.

He does not get to use her like that; he doesn't get to dangle the power over my head like this. And so, I finally snap.

“And if it weren’t for me,” I reply, forcing my voice to stay calm and clear despite my entire body trembling as I confront him...“You wouldn’t be getting your inheritance either.”

I take a step toward him as I speak, not dramatically and not to challenge him physically, but enough to show that I am not retreating and I'm not some sort of pushover he can talk to however he wants. We are close enough now that I can see the faint crease between his brows and the tightening in his jaw that suggests I have said something he did not expect.

“So let’s not pretend this is charity...” I add, keeping my eyes on his. “Neither of us wants this...” I continue, my voice calmer now as I try to gain control of my emotions. “...but we both need it.”

He pauses, staring at me with surprise, before he lets out a short laugh, one that lacks any warmth. He then takes a step back this time, giving himself space as if to see me more clearly.

“You think I need you?” he asks, one eyebrow lifting slightly, his gaze moving over me slowly in assessment, and I hate that it makes me feel exposed despite the fact that I am fully dressed and standing tall...

“Some nobody with barely anything to her name and nothing to lose?” he continues. “You should consider yourself lucky. Meeting me is the best thing that has ever happened to you. Your life was going nowhere, and now it finally has direction. You should be grateful.” He suddenly says, and his words throw me off guard, because the worst part is... There is truth to some of what he's saying... that my life wasn't going anywhere... I found myself at a dead-end with no way to help my mother... and now I've been given a way out...

I feel the sting behind my eyes before I can stop it, and I despise that reaction. I will not cry in front of him. I will not give him that...

I realise that there is no reason for me to remain here and take his insults, and since we have already met, I should be free to go. Yet, I can't bring myself to ask if I can leave yet...

"You won’t last two years. I know you will give up before that time comes." He continues with no anger in his statement; he simply says it like a prediction, like he is stating something obvious about the weather.

“And I will not be surprised when you do.” He finally says, staring back at me with disappointment and at this point, tears pool in my eyes, blurring my vision.

He then turns slightly, as if dismissing the conversation, then looks back at me when he notices the tears I can no longer keep from forming.

“You’re free to leave,” he lets, as if he's putting me out of my misery. "Wear something white tomorrow. My mother will be pleased." He says even though he seems irritated by it.

"The same car that brought you here is most likely waiting for you.”

That's the last thing he says to me. He remains where he is, hands still in his pockets with his posture unchanged, as if nothing significant has just occurred. As if he has not just reduced me to a stepping stone in his path to power. The first tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it, and that is enough to make me turn away. I refuse to let him see more than that. I refuse to let him watch me break.

I walk toward the door, my heels echoing softly against the marble floors, my back straight, even though my chest feels tight and my body continues to tremble. Every step I take feels heavy as I make my way out of the room, feeling like his eyes are still on me, like he is probably still standing there, watching me leave without regret...

I make my way through the halls silently, tears streaming down my face profusely despite my efforts to hold them back. Never have I been made to feel so pathetic, so worthless...

I reach the front doors, and once they open, I feel the evening air fan my face, cool the hot tears streaming down my face. I glance forward and see that the driver is already there, standing beside the car as if he has been expecting me all along. His expression is neutral, professional, and as I approach him, he does not ask questions, and thankfully, doesn't look at my face for long enough to notice the tears.

He opens the door for me, and I slide into the back seat, smoothing my dress beneath me out of habit, even though my hands are still shaking. The door closes with a muted sound, sealing me inside the quiet interior of the car. As we pull away from the estate, I turn my head slightly and watch the gates close behind us, the mansion growing smaller in the distance, and that's when I let the tears fall completely...

His words replay in my mind, but instead of repeating them in full, I focus on the way he said them," the confidence, and the assumption that I am temporary. That I will retreat before it's time. For a brief moment, I consider proving him right. I imagine calling Mrs Valentino tonight and telling her I changed my mind. I imagine returning the money, apologising, stepping back into my old life with whatever pride I can salvage. But yet again, the image shifts quickly to my mother’s hospital bed. To the stack of bills on the kitchen table. To the quiet fear in her eyes when she thinks I am not looking.

This was never about pride. It's about helping her...

I press my palms together in my lap, forcing my breathing to slow, and I sit up straighter, even though there is no one here to witness it. The pain of his words lingers, and I will not pretend it does not, but beneath it there is something else, something clearer...

He believes I have nothing to lose. He believes I am desperate enough to be grateful for his cruelty.

He is wrong about at least one thing.

I do have something to lose. I have my mother. I have the reason I walked into that house in the first place. And that reason is larger than his arrogance, larger than his assumptions and larger than the humiliation I feel right now....

So Stephano doesn't know it yet, but no matter what happens, I'm seeing this through to the end.