Married Off To The Devil

“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. This was me being given to Alexei Ivanov, second born son to Sergei Ivanov Pakhan to the Ivanov Russian bratva. My father, Vincenzo Conti, had his hard eyes set right on me, his jaw looking even more severely cut as he ground his teeth. Me questioning anything he did was an affront to him, an offense. Because I was nothing but a lowly daughter good for nothing but pawning off to secure my father’s power even more. His expression told me plenty even though he said nothing. “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. I’d come to accept that although I was his flesh and blood, he saw me as nothing more than a commodity. Something he owned. Something he could use to up his status as underboss. 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. Giovanna Conti was as much a prisoner and board game piece as I was. She, too, had been given to my father when she was barely eighteen, their marriage arranged, my mother forced to be with an older man who treated her like nothing but a vessel for his heirs. We were all just tools, bargaining chips to them. “Ptichka 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. My mother’s voice was soft, submissive, and I heard a hint of sympathy laced in that lone word. Although I knew she probably didn’t want this life for me, she didn’t say otherwise. “Mamma,” I choked out and covered my mouth with a hand, refusing to cry even though my eyes watered. I was an adult, an eighteen-year-old woman who was crying and rushing to her mother for comfort. And I felt no shame in that. “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 Christopher 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.” “Bella,” she said my name softly and my throat tightened. I knew that tone. It was the one she used when things were lost, when there was nothing to do but obey. I closed my eyes and felt more tears move down my cheeks. 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. **** I opened another article, getting pulled deeper and deeper into any and all things I could find on one of the Ivanov Bratva heirs. My heart started racing, my throat tight and my mouth dry the longer I stared at him. I’d never spoken to him, never seen him in person, yet I felt this intense apprehension just from a picture alone. In fact, this was the first time I’d seen him in any capacity. I shouldn’t find a man like him attractive, but I couldn’t help the fact I did. How would I feel once I was in the same room with him… alone with him? A knock on my bedroom door startled me and I slammed the laptop closed and pushed it under my pillow just as the door opened and my mother stepped inside. I could see by the exasperated expression on her face and the way she was moving a little too quickly that she was nervous about whatever had brought her into my room. “Is everything okay, mamma?” She immediately walked toward my closet without responding, and started rifling through the dresses that were hung up. I heard her mutter under her breath, “This won’t do” I stood and started twisting my hands together, but with each passing second I was growing more anxious about what was going on. “Mamma?” She stopped as if my voice had pierced through the muddled fog of her thoughts. She turned to face me and I felt my brows lower as I looked into her eyes. “What’s going on? Is Lilyana okay? Christopher..” She waved her hand again, cutting me off, as if brushing my concern away. “No, your brother and sister are fine. Everything’s fine. It’s just the plans have… changed a little.” I felt confusion fill me coupled with a good dose of apprehension. “Changed how?” As if my life wasn’t already a mess. “Your father just got off the phone with the Ivanov’s.” My heart sank into my belly and I felt a rolling tide of nausea settle into me. The only thing worse than being tied to a man I didn’t love and had never met a single day in my life, was if he called off the engagement. It would bring shame upon my father, on our whole entire family. I’d be seen as tainted, worthless… not good enough to even be sold off by my family. And I would be the sole reason for it all, even if I’d had nothing to do with it, even if I couldn’t have offended anyone aside from just simply breathing. “Pavel Ivanov called your father this afternoon, said he wants the engagement and wedding pushed up.” I swallowed roughly, not sure how to take that. I hadn't known when the wedding actually was, the only details I’d been told was that it was happening. For some reason I thought I'd have a long while before things went through, before everything was finalized. Weddings took a long time, right? Right? Seemed like I’d been wrong. “Alexei and Pavel Ivanov are flying in this weekend. We’re having dinner here.” My mother smoothed her hands down her perfectly pressed dress. “They want to discuss a firm date for the wedding in person, and I’m sure Mr. Ivanov wants to meet you officially.” I wasn’t fool enough to think Alexei cared anything about me, not about anything of importance. I’m sure he wanted to make sure I wasn’t a homely spinster, or had a disfigurement. Not that any of that would stop him from this marriage, not when it meant more power all around.I wanted to curse, wanted to deny it all and tell my mother I would not do this. But I was a good Italian girl. I had learned my place in this world, where I stood with my family. And so I pressed my lips together and kept all thoughts to myself. It was safer that way. Even if I trusted my mother, and knew she empathized with me, my disobedience--as my father would see it-- would no doubt get back to him. “Okay,” I finally said. My mother gave a firm nod and faced my closet once more. “You need to make yourself presentable,” she said without looking at me. “You need to look your best so Mr. Ivanov sees your worth.” My life wasn't my own. It never had been and it never would be, and that wouldn’t change because of who I married. And Alexei was no different than my father. In fact, I had a feeling he was even worse. The very devil himself.