Sold to Mr. Giordano

Arielle

On our private plane, I sit next to Angelo while Luca talks with Father about business and Mother sleeps. Angelo looks antsy, shaking his leg and fiddling with his thumbs. Angelo has always been the more handsome brother, girls in my class always used to gush over him. Even though it was a girl’s only school, they had more freedom than I did. Girls in my class got to go to parties and that’s where they’ve seen Angelo. I’ve unfortunately heard many cringe-worthy stories a sister shouldn’t hear about her brother.

Angelo, like me, has golden blond hair and blue eyes. His tan skin, white teeth and tall stature makes all the girls drool. Luca on the other hand with dark brown hair and brown eyes is handsome, but his cold features scare the crap out of everyone. He became a Made Man at thirteen, Angelo a Made Man at fifteen-what a disappointment to my father that was, but all he could say was thank God Angelo wasn’t his heir. He is the spare, and Angelo has always been angry being thought about like that.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him.

“Do you know what the death of Lorenzo and his best men means?”

I shake my head.

“It means Chicago is weak at the moment. They’ll need soldiers because the Russians are sure to strike again. After the funeral some of Father’s men are going to stay to help the them fight.”

“And you’re staying,” I search for his eyes which are now looking out the plane window. His jaw ticks.Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

“Yes. I’m staying to fight.”

He doesn’t want to, I know he doesn’t. Angelo isn’t a fighter, he’ll pretend to be the cold murderer Father expects of him, but just like me-he doesn’t want to be a part of this lifestyle.

I cross my arms over my chest rubbing my arms from how cold I am in the planes air conditioning. My breast aren’t small, but they aren’t large either, I’ve always liked how average they look. The one thing I did feel self-conscious about was my figure. I feel like a stick, I have no hips, no butt, not to mention I’m short-barely over five foot. I make up for it with my thick, wavy blonde hair that cascades down my shoulders, the length ending near my belly-button. I always prided myself on eyes, they’re my secret weapon. Bright baby blue eyes with long dark lashes that only looked even longer with mascara. The occasional freckles are scattered on my nose and cheeks, I’ve never been a fan of them, but Gia-my best friend-has always said how much she loves them. She said it makes me look cuter, but I don’t want to look cuter. I want to be called gorgeous, hot, beautiful. I’m nineteen, I don’t need to be called cute like a child. I want more than anything to not get mistaken for a young girl, I am a woman.

***

We landed in Chicago and took the car straight to the penthouse. It was just past midnight and Father rushed me off to bed, probably so he could talk business with my brothers.

I sit on the stairs and eavesdrop instead.

“I don’t like this,” Angelo says.

“It doesn’t matter what you like. It’s what will benefit the mafia,” my father barks through what sounds like gritted teeth.

“You should let her decide!” Angelo continues to argue.

“I won’t hear another word about this. You will learn your place, Angelo!” Father yells. “Do you see your brother complaining? No, because he knows this will be a beneficial union. I will hear no more arguments, and no more back talk!”

After a few seconds of no talking I’m startled by Angelo turning the corner looking pissed off.

“You should be in bed. Go,” he sounds cold and distant.

I nod my head and decide not to get myself into further trouble. Besides I am getting tired.

Her. Angelo said, ‘let her decide.’ I lay awake in my room staring at the ceiling trying to decipher who her is. Could it be me? Why wouldn’t Father tell me whatever he’s hiding?

Maybe it’s about Mother?

I wake up to sound of my alarm beeping. I guess I was so exhausted that I passed out. I don’t even remember falling asleep. I do remember what I was pondering over though. Her.

I head down the stairs but stop at the top when I see Luca sitting alone eating cereal, I’m surprised Mother isn’t up. Usually she will keep herself busy by cooking. Since it’s short notice our maid and cook won’t be at the penthouse, so in situations like this Mother will cook. For breakfast she always makes pancakes, eggs, and bacon.

I turn around and head towards my parents room to see if maybe Mother is sick. I stop in front of the door and lift my hand to knock when I hear sobbing coming from inside.

“I don’t want her to!” My mother weeps.

“Get a hold of yourself, Valentina! You know it is her duty!”

“He might say no! There’s still a chance!”

“He will not say no to my offer. Not when the Outfit has been weakened like this.”

“But-”

“Stop crying!” Father screams and Mother shrieks.

I rush away from the door and want to cry for being such a coward. I should’ve rushed in and stopped my father from hitting my mother. I should’ve stopped it so many times.

“Eavesdropping again?” Angelo taps on my shoulder from behind.

“You scared the crap out of me!” I hold my rapid beating heart.

“Leave it alone. It’s none of our business.”

“Isn’t it? Isn’t it at least my business?”

Angelo clenched his fists.

You should let her decide.

I am her.

“I know what you’re thinking, that you can save Mother. Father is much stronger, he’d hurt you too if you got in the way of his business. Let it go.”

“Doesn’t it hurt you knowing our Mother is his personal punching bag!” I shout.

“Arielle. Go take a shower and start getting ready.” Luca says from down the hall. He looks angry. “Angelo, a word.”

“But-”

“That is enough out of you, Arielle! You need to stop acting like a nosey brat. Angelo is right, it’s none of your business,” Luca growls. He gives me a warning look as if to say he dares me to talk back to him. I press my lips into a thin line and push past them to go to my room.

I start the shower in my en suite bathroom and gather the clothes I’m going to wear to the funeral. The last time I saw the Giordano family was when I was sixteen. Lorenzo from what I remember has two sons, Antonio and Rocco. Both of them were older, Antonio is around Luca’s age at twenty-five and Rocco only a few years younger. For what I remember I’ve never saw Antonio. They say he is way much tyrant and handsome than Rocco and for what I’ve heard, Antonio was in a mission for years.

The Giordano brothers had just lost their mother three years ago, from what I heard she was sick-cancer. It must be hard to lose the last of their parents, but then again if their father was anything like mine…

I’m hungry by the time I finish readying myself. My blonde hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, my makeup minimal only wearing mascara. My black dress falls to my knees, the sleeves are three-quarters and the neckline goes to my collarbones. My ballet flats are plain and black, nothing about me looks exquisite, I look dull and bleak. Aside from my vibrant golden hair and eyes such a piercing blue color you could make them out from afar.

Downstairs everyone seems to be waiting for me. All of them already dressed in black and wearing stoic faces.

“Do you mind if I grab something to eat?” I walk toward the pantry.

“Yes, I do mind. We are leaving. Now.” Father says heading out the door and the rest follow him.

Slumping my shoulders and fantasizing about food, I groan and my father gives me a dark look daring me to complain again.

“Could’ve ate something if you didn’t spend your morning listening in on things that aren’t your business to begin with,” Luca says before ducking his head to get into the car. I wanted to scold him but there isn’t a point when I know Father will take his side in any battle.

***

The church is huge, it is the church my grandparents got married in. My mother is originally from the Chicago Outfit, her father was consigliere and married her off to the New York Capo’s son, Domenico Marco Ricci-my father.

My father went straight to the Giordano brothers and expressed his condolences. Rocco eyed me looking stunned while Father whispered something in the new Outfit Capo’s ear. But for our own astonishment we saw Alexander-my father’s assistant. He was standing next to Rocco. Today he has the look of a not fake Capo and I can’t misunderstand someone by their look.

Alexander ‘s brows furrowed and then his face goes blank. He nods his head simply.

“Luca, Angelo, good to see you again,” Rocco says.

Angelo pulls him into a hug and claps his back. “Sorry about your father. Looks like I’ll be staying longer than the duration of the rest of my family to help.”

“You’re a good soldier, were glad to temporarily keep you,” Rocco nods. He turns his gaze down to me. “Arielle, it’s been a long time.”

“Three years,” I gulp suddenly nervous.

“So it has.”

“Come, let’s sit down.” Father pulls me away from Rocco’s lingering gaze.

My father looks frustrated. Eventually he just found out his right hand man was betraying him for years. But thankfully he will not be able to stand against him because they have a contract merged between the Ricci’s and Giordano. My doubt was correct, Alexander was a mafia man known as Antonio Giordano!

We sit in the row directly behind the brothers. Listening to the priest was hard, especially when Antonio and Rocco would whisper to each other and I could’ve sworn they were looking at me out of the corner of their eyes. I squirm uncomfortably hoping it’s just my imagination.

The rest of the service seemed to go quick and suddenly I found myself watching them lower Lorenzo’s casket into the ground. There are women crying and some men even tearing up, but when I look at Antonio and Rocco their faces are stone. Antonio as the new mob boss can’t show any weakness to his men, crying is a weakness and a part of me wonders how sad he really was. I mean from a psychology class I took in high school we learned bottling up is bad for you.

So who was I going to be, his therapist?

The rainy Chicago weather was fitting for the funeral, I stood next to my father and he holds up the umbrella to cover the both of us. My father hasn’t said two words to me today since before we left the penthouse. By now, I’m starving. My stomach growling and I pray no one can hear. My father would beat me into next week if I embarrass him.