Bloodline // Mafia Romance

I

"Don Vitale, this is my daughter," he announces. I follow his line of eye.

Christian Vitale stands by the window staring out at the view, weaving a cigarette throughout his fingers. He wears a tailored, black suit, taut enough to show the defined muscles that lie beneath. Intricate tattoos crawl up the back of his neck from beneath his collar. A thick signet ring wraps around his middle finger, another band around his thumb. Like a statuesque figure, he stands tall with strong, lowered shoulders.

He's beautiful. Terrifyingly perfect.

He walks to my father's desk and puts out his cigarette directly on the table. My father gulps, painfully watching the embers burn into the priceless wood.

"What is your name?" he demands, his velvet voice hard and threatening. He doesn't bother to face me, keeping his stare on the cigarette.

"Dev-" Father begins to answer.

"-You don't speak for her anymore," Vitale silences, his anger unsettlingly close to the surface. Shockingly, Father obeys.

He turns to me and, for the first time, I see them. His eyes are a mixture of electricity and gunmetal, astonishingly brutal in their beauty. They are not honey or golden but night dark, pools of ink, devouring light in their intensity; billowing clouds of volcanic ash - burying obsidian and jet in their depth. Nebulous eyes that reflect the heavens, so dark celestial bodies must reside in them. They stare at me with an unusual intensity.

His heels sound on the stone floor, echoing through the silent room as he approaches me, halting only inches away.

"She belongs to me now."

His words ignite shivers down my spine, his menacing eyes not leaving mine for a second.

"Aria," I answer. "My name is Aria."

"Do you know who I am, Aria?"

Something about my name on his lips sounds euphoric through his silk voice.

"Yes," I reply, the word coming out like a breath.

"Do you know what I've done?"

I inhale, steadying my breath. "I'm not afraid of you."

He pauses for a moment, unwavering in his fiery glare. "Yes, you are."

Walking back to my father's desk, he takes a pen from his inner jacket pocket and signs his name on the contract in a beautiful Italian cursive. Only when he turns away do I remember to breathe again.

One of the soldiers comes forward, presenting a glass box that holds a thin, silver dagger. Vitale takes it and slices his palm, not evening wincing as blood begins to draw. Squeezing his hand in a fist, he hovers over the contract, allowing two drops to fall on the paper. He then presses his thumb into the blood, leaving a fingerprint.

My father proceeds to do the same, but a blank face is much more difficult to conjure as the blade slashes his skin.

"My father arranged this alliance," Vitale starts, taking the silk handkerchief folded in his front jacket pocket and wrapping it around his bloodied hand, "if you ever wrong my family again, do not expect me to be as merciful."

"Of course. I can assure you of my loyalty. You will not be crossed," he smiles. Beneath the desk, I see his hands balled into fists so tight his knuckles have turned white.

"One last thing." Vitale turns back to me, eyes quickly glancing to the rosary. "Salvation has no place in my home. Drop it."

I squeeze it tighter.

"I'm not used to disobedience," he says with a warning tone.

"Please," I ask, my voice tight.

There is no slip of sympathy in his face. It remains cold, hard and heartless.

My fingers reluctantly relax and the rosary slides through them, falling to the ground.

He walks over to me, standing so close I can feel his breath on my skin. Without meaning to, I breathe in. A scent of leather and smoke suffocates me.

As I hear the beads crush beneath his foot, he stares directly into my eyes. I look straight ahead, determined to not let a single emotion slip. Yet, where he can't see, my fingers flex, cold with nerves.

"May God have mercy on your soul," he says, so quietly only I can hear. "This world won't."

He walks out the room, a casual wave of his hand instructing the soldiers to escort me out behind him.

Just before I'm led out the room, Father calls my name.

I look at him in shock. He has never addressed me directly before. I didn't think he cared enough to say goodbye.

"If you fuck this up and he doesn't kill you, I will."

And with that, his men shut the door.