I didn’t say anything to anyone for the rest of the day, and it was not an easy feat believe me. We stayed there until a little after two. Father said it was because he wanted to have dinner and celebrate with his men.

I had to deal with the women hounding me with congratulations and telling me all about the best stores to go to for the wedding preparations as well as them taking bets on how long it would take until I give birth.

To make it all worse, my supposed future husband left right after the announcement was made. He didn’t say a single word to me; he just walked out of the door and never returned. At least Alessandro had the decency to tell me goodbye. It was a sarcastic goodbye but a goodbye nonetheless.

I had to bide my time and nurse my anger through the lunch. I even managed to stay quiet through the entire ride back. It was just father and I in the limo but I refused to say a word. I wouldn’t make the mistake of lashing out in public.

The moment we stepped into his study though, all bets were off.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were selling me off to the enemy?” I couldn’t stop the words from leaving my throat in a rush, “You should have told me, or at least given me a heads up. You practically just threw me to the wolves.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” his voice was cold, “I am Capo, not you. You would do well to remember that.”

“But I don’t want to get married.” I finally screamed, “I’m perfectly happy being single and-,”

“And being a slut,” he offered casually and I forced my mouth shut, “Listen to me and listen to me well Isabella. I will do whatever I feel is right for the betterment of the Costa Nostra. As my daughter you are expected to marry well, and I have chosen the best for you. If you would shut up for five second then I can tell you why I picked him.”

I exhaled deeply and watched as he took off his jacket and tie and threw them on the arm of his char. He sat down and took out a stack of papers from his drawer. He rummaged through them and gestured for me to sit opposite me. My brows furrowed in confusion but I sat anyways.

He opened a map in front of me, “We control everything from New York down to the entire East; and the parts we don’t control- we have peace in.”

He looked over at me, and when he was certain that I was listening, he continued.

“The Famiglia controls a huge portion of the West. If you marry Lorenzo, that makes you the Queen of the Famiglia- you, a member of the Costa Nostra, ruling the Famiglia.”

“That sounds great and all,” I interrupted him, “But Lorenzo would be ruling, not me. I would have no control over the men, and I would have zero influence. This world isn’t favorable to women in high positions- you know that.”

He chuckled softly, “I thought about that,” he folded up the map, “As soon as you marry Lorenzo, you will do your wifely duties and provide him with an heir.”

“No,” I didn’t even wait for him to finish before I stood to my feet, “I don’t want to get married, what makes you think I want children now?”

I started towards the door but a knife flew by, grazing my ear and landing right in the middle of the door.

I froze mid step and raised my hand to the top of my ear that was throbbing. When my fingers came back, there was a smudge of blood on it. He nicked my ear to prove a point.

I turned to face my father and he had a calm look on his face. For a second, I almost thought there was someone else in the room with us that threw that knife because the ease in his expression and the ease at which he sat did not match someone who just nicked their daughter’s ear with a knife.

I walked over to the door, pulled out the knife and made my way back to him. I sat down and stabbed the knife harshly into the mahogany wood less than an inch from his hand.

“You dropped this,” I said in an almost whisper. He glanced at it, but didn’t bother to remove it. He just gave me a bored expression.

“Now that you’re done with your tantrum,” he sat up straighter, “You WILL give Lorenzo an heir, and when the child is born, you will kill him.”

“I’ll be killed for it.”

“Little drops of poison over a period of time works wonders, or insulin between the toes. You know what to do, don’t act stupid Isabella,” he chided, “Once he is dead, your son will be the next capo. Obviously his consigliere will rule until then; you and I will raise your son, and when he finally becomes Capo, he will do so in the name of the Costa Nostra, and we will rule everything.”

It’s confirmed, my father is crazy. This is the most absurd thing I have ever heard from his mouth. Not only would it take a lot of patience and planning, but it would take a literal miracle for it to work.

I would not only have to marry Lorenzo, I would have to birth his child and get close enough to him to kill him. Lorenzo Russo does not look like the kind of man who lets people get close enough to poison him or to administer insulin between his toes.

“It would take a lot to pull it off,” I said finally.

Father smiled, “You can do it,” he clasped my palms in his, “This is what you have been training for all these years- to bring glory to the Costa Nostra.” He squeezed my hands softly, “You are my daughter and there is no one else I would give this honor to.”

I swallowed and eyes hid hands holding mine. The last time my father held my hands like this, I was five. It feels- good. I glanced at his eyes, and the emotion behind them rocked me to my core. He was looking at me like he trusted me, like he was proud of me, and like he truly believed I could do anything.

I swallowed and after a moment of silence, I nodded.

Father broke into a smile, “I knew I could count on you.” He let go of my hands, “You will be getting married to Lorenzo in three months.”

“In that time, you will train with Laurent until you are perfect and flawless. He will not only teach you strength but also how to hide it so Lorenzo never has reason to be skeptical or worried about you.”

“Your engagement party is in two weeks. It will hold here in New York. After that, Lorenzo’s cousin will come here to stay with us and help you with the wedding planning as per their tradition. I will keep you updated as things happen.”

I stood to my feet and he handed me a tissue. When I looked at him confused, he gestured to my ear and I pressed it against the bleeding lobe.

I had gotten to the door when he spoke up, “I’m proud of you Isabella.”

It felt weird to finally hear those words from my father. All my life, I have wanted to hear them. I have trained for hours, dressed just like he asked, kept my mouth shut; I have even killed people just to hear him say those words to me. It is pretty ironic that he says it because I agreed to marry someone. Somehow, it makes the words feel sticky and wrong.

I got to the room and slid the straps of my dress off my shoulder so it would pool at my feet. Then I sat in front of my vanity in my thong and strapless bra, took a pack of wipes from one of the drawers and slowly started taking off my makeup.

It took longer than it should have because I was distracted, but when I was done, I stared at the cut on my cheek. I had almost forgotten it was there after everything that happened today.

I let my finger brush against it softly then rubbed an ointment on it. It isn’t deep enough to scar, but even if; I wouldn’t put a band aid on it. I don’t try to hide my scars because they make me who I am.

I don’t have a lot of them, but the few I have, are cherished and held with pride.

I changed into a pair of cotton shorts and a long white tee shirt that stopped around mid thigh, put my hair into a silk bonnet and made my way down to the kitchen. The maids weren’t even surprised to see me, I spend most of my free afternoons here.

It started when I was ten. I was overwhelmed from a long day at training, and I found myself sneaking into the kitchen to steal some pastries. The head chef Denise saw me and gestured for me to come in, then she taught me how to make a pie.

I started sneaking down at least once a week, and each time, she would teach me something new. I had to keep it a secret from my father because he would think it is beneath a Capo’s daughter to spend her time in the kitchen, and he would probably kill Denise for helping me cook.

I took an apple out of the fruit bowl and took a bite from it. Then I got a bowl and a knife and proceeded to chop up some fruits into it.

I was in the middle of cutting up a banana when I heard someone clear their throat from behind me.

“Is there something we can help you with Isabella?” I turned to see Denise. She had a smile on her face, “You haven’t come down here in a while, how are you?”

I shrugged, “I’m okay; I’ve been busy training and being a pain in my father’s ass.”

I whispered the last part and she chuckled then pulled me into a hug. I let myself relax in her embrace for a full minute before I forced myself to pull away.

“I heard about your wedding,” she said and my smile fell, “Don’t look so sad, he could have chosen worse.” I didn’t respond and went back to cutting my fruits, “I’m going to miss having you around to sneak into my kitchen.”

The corner of my lips tugged up at that statement, “I’ll have a new kitchen to sneak into.”

“You should eat something more than just fruits. I’m almost certain you didn’t eat when you went out.”

Her worry made me smile; it’s rare to see people who worry about you in this world. Their worry is either fake sympathy because of who you are, or they’re trying to find out your weaknesses. But with Denise, it’s real, she worries because she cares. I don’t know why, but she does.

At first it was annoying, my father had taught me that care and worry made us weak. I tried to make her stop, I was a bitch, I was rude, and I would even throw away food that she made for me. But slowly, she won me over. And I’m grateful that she did, because she taught me everything that I know. Not just about food, but about caring, and being a good person.

She balanced out the darkness I was being fed daily, and I think I’m a better person because of her. If I were to say, she is the closest thing I have to a mother.

“I’m not hungry,” she opened her mouth to protest, but I put a hand on her shoulder, “I’m really not. If I am, I will make something.”

She sighed and nodded. She didn’t look convinced, but she was willing to let it drop.

I started to leave but she stopped me. She walked over to me and dropped her voice to a whisper.

“I know you didn’t want this; but this is how life is for females in our world,” she began, “Just make the best of it. Who knows, he might not be as bad as you think he is.”