War of A Rose

War of A Rose • Chapter 3

Chapter Three
Rosaelia

When I was a girl, my father never permitted me to be around members of the opposite sex. He kept me away from public and private schooling. Instead, my education was focused on a set of elite tutors hired from around the globe to expand my knowledge and culture of the world around me. So having crushes on schoolboys was never an option.

The closest I got to a boy growing up was Gabriele, and he was my cousin, practically a brother. As a teenager, I often found myself crushing on my father's men, but only the young ones—sons of made men or family friends. Most of them were between the ages of sixteen to twenty, all blessed with attractive looks. They were tempting to my growing mind, but I was never allowed to do anything except face, sometimes not even that.

It was my virtue that my father was trying to protect. Even though there was no one to take it in the first place, some boys would look at me and how I had done them, but none dared to act on their impulses. They knew as I did; that their head would be served on my father's platter. Even when I turned eighteen, the only men I was allowed to be around shunned me. Legally- I was an adult, but legalities meant nothing to my father. He still owned me.

If he wanted to go through with the deal of an arranged marriage, he needed to have all offers on the table, including my virginity. When I was sixteen, he decided what my fate would be. He promised me to a man I had never met. A man I wouldn't meet until he wanted to meet me. Sick, I know, but it was the harsh reality of this world. One that I vowed to change when I claimed my rightful place at the top.

Traditionally, I should have been married on my eighteenth birthday. For whatever reason, I was allowed four extra years of what I knew as freedom. It was terrifying, living each day not knowing when the man I was promised to would come and take me. I spent those four years looking over my shoulder. Hoping—praying that I would be ready when he came, but knowing that no matter how hard I fought, I couldn't win.

Finally, the time had come. He had come. And going home would mean that I would probably never return to New York, at least without me in charge. If by some chance, I did return to the city. I would not be in control. I would be forced to succumb to the rest of the women in this life. Only that was not an option for me.

I refused to let this marriage end everything I had worked so hard for. Even if it meant washing my hands with the blood of my own husband, that was a sacrifice I was willing to make a thousand times over. No man would take my birthright from me. I refused to allow it.

A permanent stay in the U.S. was never an option, at least not while my father lived. I knew that, but it didn't mean that I would give up and allow him to write my fate for me. I knew one day he would send for me, and when he did, I'd return to Italy, where he and my mother waited. Where the man who would become my husband waited.

I never really allowed myself to wonder what he was like. The men in my world were all the same. Dirty. Greedy. Power hungry. When I was a teenager, I'd fantasize only about how he looked. Sometimes I'd let my imagination conjure with good intentions. Other times, I found myself grimacing at how he could be flawed. One thing I knew for sure was that he was an older man. I prayed he was just not as old as my father.

As I got older, I fantasized less about his looks and instead about how it would feel to rob the power from his unsuspecting hands. A job that would be everything but easy.

"The plane has landed." My cousin pulled me from my thoughts as he folded his newspaper into a square. I turned my head from the window and faced Gabriele.

"Home sweet home, huh?" I remarked sarcastically. Gabriele took the last sip of bourbon from his glass before standing to adjust his suit. I followed, standing to smooth over my blouse and pants.