The one that got away

The dining room always smelled of rosemary and garlic, the walls echoing with laughter that felt like music. My family was loud, warm, the kind of Italian household where everyone spoke with their hands and interrupted each other mid-sentence. It was chaos, but it was ours. Everyone assumed we were just an average tax paying family, but the truth is we owned half chicago. My dad wasn’t just a businessman, he was the Don of the most feared mafia. So it was no secret that I would one day be signed over to a man for business if i couldn’t find a suitable man myself as soon as I was 25. Growing up I hated the thought, I didn’t want to become a housewife who hid behind her husband and did nothing all day but cook and clean. I have a secret life, and I’m meant to be taking my father’s place when he retires there’s no way I’m marrying a man to control me. To the rest of the under world I am a small well mannered young lady, to our social group I am the only thing my father fears. I turnt 20 this year, which is why thought it not a secret, it was a shock to me when my father sat me down to tell me he was sending me off to be married with the only family that didn’t fear ours. Let me paint you a picture.. I sat at the long oak table, my sister Sofia beside me, her elbow nudging mine as she stole a forkful of pasta from my plate. Her sun-kissed skin caught the golden light of the chandelier, her dark eyes sparkling as she winked at me. She looked like our parents, like every photograph in the family album—bronzed, vibrant, alive. I didn’t. My hair was as black as spilled ink, my skin pale as porcelain. A shadow among flames. I’d always brushed it off when people whispered about it, when distant relatives raised brows and muttered that I looked like I didn’t belong. But tonight, under my father’s watchful gaze, I felt the difference more keenly than ever. Papa laughed at one of Mama’s stories, his wide shoulders shaking, his hand wrapped around hers on the table. They looked so effortlessly in love that it almost made me forget the whispers, the rumors that followed our family like smoke. We weren’t just any family—we were the family. The kind of name spoken in lowered voices, carrying both respect and fear. And yet here, in this house, they were just my parents. “Angelina,” Papa said suddenly, his voice cutting through the chatter. His dark eyes landed on me with a weight that stole the air from my lungs. “After dinner, I need to speak with you privately.” My fork stilled halfway to my lips. He never called me out like that. My stomach twisted, but I forced a smile, nodding as if it were nothing. Sofia nudged me again, whispering, “Relax. Probably about your uni grades. Or maybe he found out about that party you snuck off to.” I tried to laugh, but it came out hollow. I’ve always had a history with over partying and drug use, it wasn’t good i know but I got the help I needed and only indulged once in a while After dinner, I followed Papa into his study, the air thick with cigar smoke and leather. The door clicked shut behind me, and suddenly it was just the two of us. The man who had always been my protector, my hero, now looked at me with a seriousness that chilled my blood. “Angelina,” he began, leaning against his desk, hands clasped in front of him. “You are my eldest daughter. You know that everything I do, I do for this family.” I nodded slowly, my pulse quickening. “There comes a time,” he continued, “when duty must come before choice. Before love.” My breath caught. What is he talking about? “You’ve been promised,” he said at last. His words fell heavy, final, like a sentence. “To the son of the Romano family.” The name hit me like a slap. The Romanos—the rivals, the family whose name was venom in our house. Enemies dressed as kings. For a moment, I couldn’t speak. The room seemed to tilt, the shelves of books and photographs blurring around me. “Promised?” My voice cracked. “Papa, you… you mean—marriage?” He nodded once. I searched his face, desperate for some sign that this was a cruel joke. But his expression was carved from stone. All my life, I had trusted him without question. He was the man who taught me to ride a bike, who wiped my tears when I scraped my knees, who swore he would never let anyone hurt me. And now—he was the one placing me into the hands of our enemies. The walls of the study closed in, and for the first time in my life, I wasn’t sure if my father was my savior… or my betrayer. “but papa i’m not even 25 yet! You promised me more time!” I screamed “ANGELINA! Your inability to recover and rid yourself of drug use says enough. We have given up hours, spent thousands on your recovery. Don’t think that we didn’t know what you were really up to when you told us you had “piano lessons” but would come back worse than before! A husband will sort you out, keep you busy enough to stop this nonsense. I love you but this conversation ends here.”