Beneath the Mafia's Veil

Amelia Romano’s POV It all started with a scream. A woman’s voice rang out in the marble hall, sharp as a wineglass breaking on tile. The sound broke through the ballroom’s music, for a moment quieted the string quartet, hushed mid-sentence conversations, and froze glasses that had left the table. People looked around. Eyes that had strayed back to what caused the disturbance shot back to the dance floor. But a moment of quiet passed before the music came in strong again, stronger this time, as if what had interrupted it didn’t matter. As if the beat could outdo the noise. This was Venice. This was power. This was my life. Keep smiling, my stepmother said into my ear, her hand at my back, at my spine like a diamond-shaped knife. “You’re a Romano, not a scared little girl. I wasn’t scared. I was drowning. Velvet gowns, silk gloves, and masks which glimmered at each turn of the cheek that told tales with every smile. At the heart of it all. I, Amelia Romano. The daughter of Lorenzo Romano -- the Don of the Romano crime family and man who was the talk of the Italian streets. Today I was the capstone in his plan—a bride to be traded like a commodity. A peace offering. I may not have looked like a prisoner, but that’s what I was. The gown which clung to me was hand-sewn, a black tapestry of sequins as dark as broken glass that sparkled in all the wrong ways. A Venetian mask, feather plumes, and gold edges sat above my cheekbones, beautiful and oppressive. I glowed under the lights, my lipstick deep red, and my smile? Fake. Luca Marino, the man I was bothered by, was at the other end of the ballroom, tall and charming, his mask -- silver in color and shaped like a snake it played host to the chandelier’s light. He looked like power. I saw what lay behind that mask. Luca didn’t care for me. He didn’t need me. What he wanted from me was my father’s business. We were a union of empires, blood for blood, name for name. I was to that which was between us what a ribbon is to a gift. Pretty. Decorative. Replaceable. The announcement of our engagement was to be at the gala; instead, it felt like a wake. I was rooted at the top of the grand staircase, which in turn looked down on a stage that was set for the main act. My cue was now. I took a step forward. My heel beat out on the marble as if it were a countdown. "Smile. Smile. Don't trip. Don't break down." I said to myself, The air was thick with the smell of roses and champagne. Perfume hung in the air like secrets. I saw a woman in emerald green laughing too loud. A man with a gold-tipped cane whispered something to a passing server. Eyes were on me some out of curiosity, some out of envy, and others just cold. My world narrowed. Then — I felt it. A presence. A pull. Like a rope that ties around my chest. I looked up, instinct over thought, and there he was. He was by the back wall in semi-darkness under the balcony on which the orchestra performed. He didn’t wear bright colors or flashy jewels like the other guests. His suit was black, plain, and precise. His mask was simple -- black as night, shaped like a bird’s wing, which covered the upper half of his face. But those eyes, storm-grey, piercing. He didn't break into a smile. He didn’t lift a glass. He just stood there, still as a stone in the eye of a storm. And he was watching me. Our eyes locked. In a flash, the room spun. My heart rate dropped out of my body, and the sounds dulled. I was in a water world. I was barely breathing but alive in a way I hadn’t been in years. Between us, something happened. Recognition? Curiosity? Warning? I didn't know at the time, but I couldn't look. Then, someone touched my arm, bringing me back to reality. Amelia, Luca’s voice purred in my ear, which brought me back into the present. His hand glided to my waist like a leash. You look gorgeous. I flinched in fear. He leaned in. “Smile or I’ll force you to. I faked a wild smile to make sure everyone saw, but deep down, I was dying of pain. ****** I went back to the hall. He was gone. The outcast, The one in the mask and the eyes and the storm in his soul. Gone. "Had I imagined him?" I muttered to myself I did not have time to think through when the flash of cameras and outbreak of applause interrupted. An MC who was fluent in three languages proceeds to announce the union of Romano and Marino would change the future of Italy. Luca held up my hand, acting like our engagement made him the happiest man alive. I fake a smile, but deep down, I want to scream out loud and run away, but I dare not. ************* The evening turned into a series of cliches, insincere pleasantries, and coded threats. Luca introduced me to men that I found uninteresting and women who had my makeup under a microscope. We were all living in a fairy tale. No one inquired how I was doing. No one cared. At some point, I slipped away. I meandered through a more private section of the palazzo, heels silent against the centuries-old floors. My mask was askew now; my curls clung to the back of my neck. I came to a terrace that looked out over the canal, cool night air at my skin like freedom just out of reach. Then I felt it, the same familiar feeling I had a while ago. He was right behind me. I turned to scan the hallway then a figure walked out of the shadows. It's the man in the mask, but why is he following me? What does he want from me? He doesn't look familiar; if he gets caught, he'll be dead. “You shouldn’t be here,” I whispered. “Neither should you,” he replied. His voice. Low. Rough. Beautiful. “Who are you?” He turned his head. “Someone who has seen too many cages to be blind to which one. . I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Through me he saw right into the core, past the dress, the diamonds, and the mask, to the girl that is left in all that power and expectation. “You’ve been watching me,” I said. “Yes.” “Why?” “Because you don’t belong here.” I took a deep breath. "Where do I fit in? He was silent. Then came a little closer. My breath caught. “If Luca sees you....” “He won’t.” “How do you know?” “Because I’ve made sure of it.” "What?" I asked was, my voice a near silent. He drew near. Touching still didn’t enter into it. But he got close enough to feel like a fire in my chest. He said that, which is not what I want. “What I want for you.” I stared at him. Before I had time to speak, he brought out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and gave it to me. His fingers touched mine, and I felt strange but good, the kind of beautiful feeling I've never felt with Luca. “Read it later. When you’re alone,” he said. "Why should I trust you?" I asked. He paused. And when he responded, his voice had cooled. Trust him, and you die. Then out of sight. Disappeared into the shadows again. I stood there, trembling. And when a full hour had passed and I got to a secluded corner and opened the note, my hands were shaking as I did. I read four words written in sharp black ink. You’re not safe, princess. But I can fix that.