THE MAFIA BILLIONAIRE'S ARRANGED WIFE

Abigail Bernardi lived a life many could only dream of, filled with opulent balls, exclusive shopping trips, and a prestigious education. Her home, a sprawling estate tucked away in the more secluded parts of Westchester, New York, was more akin to a European palace than a typical American home. Gardens that mimicked the grandeur of Versailles surrounded the property, and inside, every piece of furniture spoke of centuries-old luxury and wealth. Her father, Anderson Bernardi, was a figure of respect and mystery. To Abigail, he was simply her loving father who managed a successful "import-export business." He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a calming presence that could make anyone feel secure, yet a sternness that few dared to question. Her mother, Marianne, was the epitome of grace and poise. She spent her days organizing charity events and managing their large household with a gentle yet efficient hand. Despite the luxury, there was an unspoken rule in the Bernardi household: certain topics were off-limits. Abigail had learned early on not to inquire about her father’s business dealings, the late-night meetings, or the guests who bore hard, unreadable faces. Her questions about such matters were always met with a change of topic or, more often, a dismissive kiss on the forehead and a reminder that she was loved and protected. Abigail's days were filled with lessons in French, piano classes, and preparations for her debutante ball—an event that promised to be the talk of the social elite. Her closest friends were daughters of similarly affluent families, none of whom had any connections to the world her father navigated. To them, Abigail was the lucky girl in a fairy tale, untouched by hardships. But there were moments, fleeting and disturbing, that hinted at something more beneath the surface of her charmed life. Phone calls that dropped the moment she entered a room, the sudden trips her father took without much explanation, and the ever-present guards who masqueraded as gardeners or drivers. Abigail, however, remained blissfully unaware of the strings that pulled at the fabric of her existence. As her eighteenth birthday approached, a grand celebration was planned. It was to be held at their estate, with invitations sent to the crème de la crème of society. Little did Abigail know, this birthday would mark more than just her passage into adulthood—it would be the beginning of a revelation that would unravel everything she knew about her life. As the sun dipped below the horizon on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, Abigail stood before her bedroom mirror, draped in a gown that shimmered with every movement. Tonight was not just a celebration of her coming of age but also a debut into society, where she would be officially introduced as an adult. The Bernardi estate buzzed with activity, its staff moving with a precise choreography honed by years of hosting high society. Yet, amidst the excitement, there was an unusual tension in the air, a heaviness that Abigail couldn't quite place. Her parents had been more distracted than usual, their smiles a bit too forced. Her father, especially, seemed preoccupied, often retreating to his study for "urgent business calls" that seemed to have increased in frequency as the day approached. As guests began to arrive, the estate transformed into a spectacle of lights and music. The garden was lit with hundreds of fairy lights, casting a magical glow over the assembled guests. A live orchestra played soft classical music, adding to the ethereal ambience. Abigail, descending the grand staircase, felt like a princess in a fairy tale as every eye turned to admire her. Her father greeted her at the bottom of the stairs, his proud smile not quite reaching his eyes. "You look beautiful, my darling," Anderson whispered, kissing her cheek. "Tonight is your night. Enjoy it." But his words were tinged with a somberness that puzzled Abigail. The evening unfolded like a dream. Abigail danced with friends and acquaintances, laughing and spinning under the stars. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. Her father was visibly tense, exchanging hushed conversations with men who seemed out of place among the glamorous guests. These men were sterner, their suits sharper, and their eyes harder than those of the typical gala attendee. Midway through the evening, her father approached her, his expression grave. "Abigail, there's someone I need you to meet," he said, leading her away from the dance floor toward a secluded part of the garden. There, a man awaited, his presence commanding yet distinctly menacing. He was older, perhaps in his late thirties, with a sharpness to his gaze that seemed to weigh her very soul. "Abigail, this is Fabian Russo," her father introduced. "Fabian, my daughter." Fabian's eyes appraised her with an unsettling intensity. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Bernardi," he said, his voice smooth but cold. "Your father and I have much to discuss about our families' future." Confused and increasingly uncomfortable, Abigail looked to her father for an explanation, but he only offered her a pained look that said more was at stake than she could understand. The night air, once filled with the lightness of celebration, now felt thick with unsaid promises and unspoken threats. It was then, as the clock chimed midnight, marking the beginning of her eighteenth year, that Abigail's life as she knew it began to unravel. Her father took her aside, away from the curious eyes of the partygoers. With a heavy heart, he revealed the truth about her family, their connections to the Mafia, and the role she was expected to play—a role that went far beyond the simple pleasures of high society. Underneath the canopy of twinkling lights, the soft strains of the orchestra fading into the background, Anderson Bernardi was about to reveal a truth that would upend his daughter’s world. "Abigail, what I’m about to tell you will change everything," he began, his voice heavy with a burden he had long carried. "Our wealth, our comfort... much of it isn’t derived from just legitimate businesses. We are deeply intertwined with the Mafia, and our survival hinges on maintaining certain... alliances." Abigail's heart pounded, her festive mood dissipating as her father’s words sank in. Her privileged life, once so filled with joy and carefree moments, now seemed a carefully constructed facade. "Why are you telling me this now?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Because, my dear, it's time for you to take an active role in securing our family’s future," Anderson replied, glancing around the shadowy garden as if worried about prying ears. "Fabian Russo, whom you met tonight, isn't just a business associate. He’s the new head of the Russo family, one of the most powerful Mafia families in New York. And you, Abigail, are to marry him." The words struck Abigail like a cold wave. "Marry him?" she echoed, disbelief clouding her expression. "But, Dad, I... I have plans. I have dreams. And I have Thomas..." Her voice cracked as she mentioned her boyfriend, the young man she truly loved. Anderson’s face hardened at the mention of Thomas. "I know about Thomas, and I understand this isn't easy. But we don't always get to follow our hearts. Not in our world. I promised I’d keep you out of arranged marriages, but circumstances have forced my hand. This is about more than just our family—it’s about survival." Abigail felt trapped, her dreams dissolving before her eyes. "Is there really no other way?" she pleaded, searching her father’s face for any sign of flexibility. "What about love, choice—what about my life?" "In our world, love is a luxury we cannot always afford, and choice is often an illusion," Anderson said sternly. "You've been shielded from our harsher realities for a long time, but you must face them now. This marriage to Fabian is not just a union between man and wife; it's an alliance that will ensure our continued influence and safety." As the reality of her situation sank in, Abigail realized that arguing was futile. Her father, the family's consigliere, had never broken a promise to her before, which underscored the gravity of the situation. The festive atmosphere of her birthday party felt like a distant memory as she processed the weight of her father’s revelations. For the rest of the evening, Abigail moved among her guests mechanically, her smiles empty, her laughter forced. When the last guest left and the estate quieted down, she escaped to the solitude of her room, where the magnitude of her predicament fully hit her.