I was up as early as 4 a.m. but I refused to move an inch from my bed. Did I know I was being childish? Yes, Did I know I was being unreasonable? Yes, Did I also know that I would get punished for it? Damn right I did- but I didn’t care.

Around 7 a.m. a maid walked into my room at the request of my father.

“Your father asked me to get you for breakfast.” She kept her eyes cast down to the ground.

I waited a full five minutes before making any effort to throw my blanket off my body. I then took an ungodly amount of time getting out of bed and slipping on my fuzzy pink slippers.

I was at the door when she cleared her throat. “Can I help you with something?”

“Yes- I mean no.”

“Good,” I said as I threw open the door to my room.

I had barely taken a step out when she cleared her throat again. I turned to her with a raised brow and she swallowed deeply before speaking.

“Wouldn’t you like to change first?” she asked and I shook my head.

“Not really, I am perfectly comfortable.”

“Your father has guests over.”

“Well I didn’t know about any guests, so I think I look good.” I looked down at my pink pyjama shorts and white tank top with the illustration of piglet from Winnie The Pooh, “Don’t you think I look good? What’s your name again?”

“My name is Ella, and I think you look beautiful Isabella.”

I flashed her a smile, “Perfect then; take me to breakfast.”

I made my way down to the living room. Giovanni, my father’s consigliere saw me first. He is the only one amongst the three who isn’t graying faster than they should. He was wearing a tailored black suit with a matching tie and I can bet that he is wearing a new pair of shiny black shoes. He is as vain as they come when it comes to his appearance.

He shook his head and I saw him mutter something under his breath. I can bet my kidneys that he is praying that this breakfast does not end in bloodshed.

Mario, the enforcer saw me next and I didn’t miss the way his eyes raked over my legs and my breasts. He was also in a suit but nothing as nice as what Giovanni was wearing. I suppressed a shiver, he is almost my father’s age, not to mention he is married, smells like a sewer, and has a belly that can rival a pregnant woman’s.

Okay, maybe I am overreacting about the belly thing, but he does look like he is entering his second pregnancy trimester. That would be a good excuse for why he is always in a terrible mood and acts like a horny bitch.

“How nice of you to join us Isabella,” Mario drawled and that is when my father saw me. His eyes darkened with anger and irritation. “Although; you don’t seem to be dressed for the occasion, weren’t you aware?”

“I wasn’t aware that there was an occasion,” I said, “I would like to say that you all look dashing in your tailored suits and ties, but I was under the impression that we were having a simple family dinner, like always.” I said the last part with a hard look at my father. “The person sent to inform me must have forgotten to add that part. It won’t happen again.”

“Always be prepared,” my father shrugged. “But seeing as you’re already here; sit down so we can have breakfast.”

I sat at my usual spot next to my father, which was unfortunately opposite Mario, and on the other side of the room. As I sat down, his foot came in contact with mine and I stepped on it as hard as I could- although I knew it would do very little harm considering I was wearing fuzzy pink slippers. Next time, I’ll wear heels.

The maids brought in various dishes filled with food. I have never understood why my father insists that they do this. The food never ends up being eaten, it is a waste if you ask me, but I know that just like everything else in life, it is a power play. It is a way for him to show that he have it and can afford to waste it, even though there are people out there dying because they have nothing to eat.

There was a variety of breakfast dishes; from sandwiches, to pancakes, waffles, muffins and even fruits.

I put pancakes on my plate with a side of bacon and eggs, and gave one of the maids a smile when she brought my usual glass of hot chocolate.

“Isn’t that too much for the morning?” Mario asked obnoxiously.

“Don’t waste your time implying things; you might as well just say what you want to.”

“There is only so much that exercise can do to a person,” he said with a shrug, “Most made men don’t just want a woman of high standing; they also want a woman who looks good.”

He had a look in his eye, one that said he was itching for a fight, but I chose not to give him that satisfaction and instead took a long sip of my drink.

“How’s your wife?” I asked instead, “Is she the second or third; I lost count a while back since they always seem to drop dead.”

“It’s an unfortunate coincidence.”

Mario gave me a thin smile and I let the corner of my lips lift slightly. Father shot me a look that was clear, ‘don’t annoy my guests’. Too bad I’m not in the mood to listen to him.

The rest of breakfast went relatively well. Mario didn’t open his big mouth again and father turned his attention to Giovanni- they discussed business in Italian so I wouldn’t hear.

“Get changed Isabella,” father said as soon as I was done eating, “We have to leave by 10.”

“Where are we going?”

“That’s not important; do as I say.”

“If you don’t tell me where we’re going, then I wouldn’t know how to dress.”

“Dress like una puttana del cazzo for all I care; just get dressed.”

I didn’t need to understand Italian to know what he said. I’ve heard that phrase used a million times over, sometimes in relation to the workers at the club and sometimes when he is talking to me, but never in front of other people. I saw Mario smile subtly which only added to my irritation.

“I’ll dress like a whore then, since it seems to please you,” I put emphasis on the word whore as I rose to my feet. “It might take a while though; it’s not an easy look to master.”

As I walked past Mario, his hand subtly brushed my ass and I heard him mutter the word ‘puttana’ under his breath.

That was enough to make me snap; I turned around and slammed his head into the glass dish in front of him. It shattered on impact and I saw red bleed onto the dish and the white table cloth beneath it.

“Don’t ever call me a whore again,” I spat, “Your little bitch wife might take it, but if you try that again, I will mount your head on a fucking spike and put it on display for everyone to see.” I pushed his head further into the table, “And keep your eyes and your hands off my body.”

I finally let go and he lifted his head from the table. He had a piece of glass embedded above his brow and he was bleeding from his forehead and temple.

“Mio Signore,” Giovanni muttered, “I’ll call the paramedic.”

“I swear, I will put you in your place,” Mario began but my father cleared his throat.

“Careful how you speak about my daughter Mario,” He said in a warning tone, “You disrespected her and she put you in your place. Have some shame, sei stato picchiato da una ragazza.”

Mario flared his nostrils but otherwise stayed quiet, then my father turned to me.

“Come,” he said, and then he turned around and left the kitchen.

I shot one last dark look at Mario for good measure then followed my father up the stairs and into his study.

He left the door open for me. I got there and stood at the door but he gestured for me to come inside. When I stepped in, he gestured for me to close the door.

I had barely turned around after closing the door when I felt the impact of his hand against my cheek.

“Have you lost your mind?” he growled, “How dare you insult me like that in front of my enforcer?”

“He called me a whore, or a bitch. I don’t know the exact translation.”

“You were acting like a bitch.” He spat.

“I was defending myself; just like you taught me to.”

“You didn’t remember your defensive lessons when the man in the club had you in a chokehold,” he exclaimed, “Tell me, did you fuck him? Is that why you claim he wouldn’t have hurt you?”

I didn’t answer; I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. Not only is it not his business, but he also doesn’t deserve it. Especially not after the way he phrased the question, as if he believed I did. As if he believed I was nothing more than a common whore.

“Of course you did,” he scoffed, “I defended you for one reason only, you are mine and no one gets to disrespect you except me. The next time you overstep your boundaries I will put you in your place. Are we clear?”

I didn’t answer so he grabbed my chin in a bruising grip, “I said, are we clear?”

“Yes sir,” I answered and he roughly pushed me away, I slammed my back against the door.

“Go to your room and get dressed. I don’t want any funny business at all, I want a decent outfit; one deserving of the Costa Nostra princess.”

I left his study and made sure to slam the door hard on my way out.

A maid passed me on the way to my room and I saw her offer me a sympathetic look. It wasn’t until I got to my room that I realized why she had done that. When my father hit me, one of his rings cut the corner of my face and it was bleeding.

After taking a bath, I took my time to disinfect it and made sure to cover it up with makeup. The makeup was subtle and all natural from my eye shadow down to my lips which was just lined and glossed.

When I was done, I settled for a sleeveless pink floor length dress. It is one of the few long dresses that I actually like and that is because of the way it hugs my features in a way that looks both innocent and seductive. It was made of the softest silk, and I paired it with a pair of silver heels and tied my braids into a half up and half down look.

I got a white coat and draped it over my shoulders to look decent and also so my father wouldn’t have a heart attack. Then I grabbed a pink clutch, threw in my phone, lip gloss and mascara along with a pack of gum and made my way downstairs.

The dining table had already been cleaned but the reminder of Mario’s blood dripping on the white tablecloth brought me extreme joy. My father must have seen the look on my face because he shot me a warning glare.

I made my way towards him and he raked his eyes over my outfit with obvious disapproval.

“You could have done better,” he said simply and I shrugged.

“I don’t know what the occasion is, I couldn’t have possibly known how to dress.”

He hummed but didn’t say anything and instead turned on his feet and made his way outside.

Mario left soon after, but before he left, he turned to me with a crude smile, “sembri proprio la fattrice che sei.”

I didn’t know what he said but the smile he had on his face after told me that it was nothing nice.

A part of me wanted to pummel his face in, but he left before I could act on my violent thoughts.

It was just me and Giovanni. I started to leave but he cleared his throat and I stopped in my tracks.

“I know Mario is an asshole,” he began, “But try not to pick any fights with him while we are out. Today is an important day for your father.”

“I would probably care if he told me himself.”

I saw the corner of Giovanni’s lips lift ever so slightly, “Just be nice Isabella, please.”

“Where are we going?” it was my last attempt to find out my fate.

He gave me a sad smile. He wanted to tell me, but he couldn’t. With that he walked off, leaving me all alone in the dining room.

I took a breath to steady myself and looked over my outfit through the mirror once again. When I was fairly certain that there was nothing wrong with my outfit and let out a deep exhale.

My father can play his games; I’ll just have to beat him at it.