Arranged Mafia Marriage

Aurora

Famous last words. I stare at the two-story villa that Christian had dropped me off at. He had refused to come in. He had walked me to the door, knocked on it, then, with a look that told me I was crazy to be walking into the lioness’ den voluntarily, he had told me that he’d be back in an hour to collect me-then he had pivoted and left.

I run my sweaty palms down the fabric of my dress. I chose my most conservative outfit-a high-collared, long-sleeved dress which ends somewhere below my knees. It’s the dress I wear to church with my family, and as such, it seems appropriate to wear to meet someone who’s the equivalent of the Almighty when it comes to the Sovrano family. The seconds stretch by, and I shift my weight from foot to foot. Despite the weather being relatively mild, a bead of sweat slithers down my spine. I close the distance to the door and raise my hand to knock on it again, when it’s flung open.

A wizened man, clad in a dark suit, scowls at me. He looks me up and down and sniffs. What the hell? “I’m here to see Nonna.” I tip up my chin. “My name is Aurora Garibaldi.”

He scowls at me, then steps back and jerks his chin. I brush past him, and he shuts the door behind me before indicating that I should follow him. He walks down the hallway and into a beautiful living room that has furniture that must, surely, be antique. I glance up to find paintings on the ceiling-honest-to-goodness frescoes. I take in the beautiful mirror that takes up most of one wall, the comfortable yet beautiful sofa set that is pushed against the opposite wall, and even more gorgeous paintings on the walls. All, clearly, originals, though I can’t really identify who the artists are.

“This way,” the butler, or whoever he is, urges me from the doorway that leads into the next room. I follow him into what seems to be the library. Books line the walls, there’s a fire burning in the hearth, and opposite it is a coffee table, on either side of which are two armchairs facing each other. Nonna is seated in one. She glances up as the old man approaches her.

“You didn’t tell me you were expecting guests,” he fumes.

Nonna arches an eyebrow. “I don’t have to tell you everything.”

“I’m the one who has to cook and serve your meals, so yes, I do need to know when you’re expecting someone to visit.”

“Uh, if it’s that much of a bother, I don’t need anything to eat or drink-”

Both Nonna and the old man raise their hands at the same time. “Basta.” Enough, they say in unison.

I blink and purse my lips, as the two of them are engaged in some kind of a face off.

“Go on,” Nonna points in the direction of the other doorway, “fetch us the coffee, please.”

He sniffs, seems like he’s going to refuse, then turns and marches away.

“Don’t forget my brioche,” she calls after him, “and my cannoli.”

He raises his fist with the index and little finger extended and makes a jabbing motion with it over his shoulder as he marches away. What the- Did he just do what I think he did? I turn to Nonna, who beckons me over.

I walk over to stand in front of her. “Is that your…”

“Butler, companion, friend, servant.” Nonna raises a shoulder. “Gino has been with me for more than fifty years. His father served my father, and Gino joined my household when I was ten-years-old. He came with me to my husband’s house after I got married and helped raise my son. He even came with me to LA when I moved there with my grandsons.”

“So, you’ve known each other for a long time then.”

“Maybe too long.” Nonna blows out a breath. “He’s getting cranky in his old age, and clearly, he doesn’t have the patience he once had. But,” she shrugs, “he’s part of my past, and it seems cruel to let go of him when we’re both nearing the ends of our journeys.”

“You’re hardly nearing the end, Nonna,” I murmur. “From what I can see, you are very much in charge of your destiny.”

“But appearances can be deceptive, can they not?” She tilts her head.

I frown, open my mouth to ask a question, but she nods toward the armchair in front of her. “Sit down, you’re giving me a crick in the neck,” she commands.

I walk over and sink into the armchair, and place my bag by my side.

“So, you wanted to see me about the Christmas getaway?”

I glance up at her. “Uh, how did you guess?”

“Why else would my future granddaughter-in-law want to see me?”

“Maybe I just wanted to spend time with you?” I blink rapidly.

She snorts. “Not even Gino, here, would want to spend time with me of his own volition. And I count him among my closest friends… Or enemies, as the case may be. There is only a small line dividing friendship from enmity after all, don’t you agree?”

“Um…” How the hell do I react to that statement, anyway? Before I can speak, Gino enters with a tray bearing an espresso maker and two tiny espresso cups in their saucers. Whew! Saved by the coffee, as it were. Gino places the tray on the coffee table. On it, there are also two tiny shot glasses filled with a cloudy liquid, a bowl of sugar, a plate of brioches, another of cannoli, and a third filled with what looks like biscotti. “Don’t expect me to pour it for you,” he snaps.

I gape. Did he just say that? Surely, Nonna will put him in his place now? But she simply points at the doorway. “You may leave now, old man.”

“You’re no spring chicken yourself.” He snorts as he heads out of the room.

“Wow,” I breathe, “the two of you sure do keep each other entertained.”

She arches an eyebrow at me. “We’re both of an age where our shared past outweighs the fact that we actually cannot stand the sight of each other. Overfamiliarity,” she thrusts out her chin in a very Italian gesture, “it’s the bane of most families, and not even I have been spared from it.”

“He’s more than just a servant?”

“He’s family, I suppose … but not really. There’s still a line that separates us, for he does come from a background that has been devoted to serving the Sovranos for generations. After his wife and my husband died, we became reluctant companions to each other. Now. I tolerate him because, well, it’s hard to find good hired help these days.”

“So, he’s a servant?”

“Sometimes, and sometimes he’s my companion, but you’re not here to talk about that, are you?”

Nonna pours the espresso.

I reach for my cup and sip from it. “I wanted to talk to you about the upcoming Christmas getaway,” I remind her.

“Hmm…” She reaches for her own cup of espresso and takes a sip.

The silence stretches for a minute, then another.

“Well?” she says impatiently. “Out with it, girl; I don’t have all day.”

“I want to stay with you,” I burst out.

“What?”

“I want to stay here with you, so I can … keep my chastity.”

“Keep your chastity?” She stares at me. “You mean to say, you are-”

“Yes,” I say hastily, ” I am, and we haven’t yet … you know…” Color sears my cheeks, and I glance away, then back at her.Content rights belong to NôvelDrama.Org.

“You mean Christian wants to marry you without even having-”

I nod. “Yes, exactly.” I wring my fingers together. “And I want to keep it that way. I mean, we aren’t yet married, and I’m a firm believer in consummating my marriage only on the wedding night.”

“Does he know that you are going to ask me for this?” She raises her hand. “Don’t answer that. Of course, he doesn’t. If he did, he wouldn’t have brought you here, would he?”

I shake my head. “So, you’ll help me?”

“Even if I did agree to your staying here with me, and that’s a big if, it’s no guarantee that he will stay away from you.”

“It will be an effective deterrent.”

“Hmph….” She purses her lips together. “You do realize this will make my grandson hate me even more than he does now.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“Maybe hate is too strong a word,” she agrees, “but none of them have forgiven me for not intervening earlier to take them away from their father. If I had, they may have turned out to be different, not as hurt or broken, not so in touch with the darkness inside of them. They may have turned out to be more normal.”

“You’re being too harsh on yourself. He was their biological father. You thought it made more sense to keep them with their father.”

“Well, I was wrong. I knew I should have put my foot down for how he treated his wife and children, but I was too caught up in convention. I preferred to turn a blind eye to what was happening, and by the time I decided to get involved, it was too late.”

“It’s never too late-”

“The only person who loved me unconditionally was Xander, and I never did try to understand him fully either. I was too blinded by the fact that he was unconventional in who he tried to love. I didn’t try to comprehend why he was so unorthodox in his relationships. And still, Xander forgave me and loved me… Only, I didn’t reciprocate his affection. Not really. I took him for granted and now … now he’s gone.”

A tear runs down her cheek. She pulls out a handkerchief, pats her cheek, and glances into the distance. The silence stretches as she composes herself. Then she glances back at me. “I’ll do it,” she declares, “for Xander, I’ll do this. I’ll help you.”

“You will?”

She nods, “I can’t guarantee that Christian will follow the rules I set, but hopefully, you’ll figure out a solution to whatever is going on between the two of you by then?”

“Hopefully.” I purse my lips. Somehow, I don’t think whatever is between me and Christian will have been resolved by then, but yeah, I’ll take the time it’s going to buy me.