love is a loosing game (dream x oc enemies to lovers fanfiction)

chapter one , a family travesty

C.W , mentions of blood and death

now before i'd like to get into this tragic little love story we call ours, i thought i'd start introductions with a little something about us: i'll start.

my name is mafalda isabella genovese (the middle name after my beautiful mother: may she rest in peace). i have just moved back to the region i grew up in- and hold very fond memories of- sicily, italy which is described to be just off the 'toe' of italy's literal 'boot' and it's largest island to date. if you were (or weren't) wondering what the 'just moved back' part was referring to, i'm back after travelling the world for just over a year. i got up and left not too long after my 18th birthday, not looking back once. the experience was surreal, you need to go if you ever get the chance.

but here i am, reunited with my amazing padre- james genovese- and my only family; hens the gargantuan ball of course. as much as we love to throw big parties for the fun of it, this one was a somewhat 'celebration' though i'm sure many people weren't too happy to hear i was back. 

one of them being clayton, or clay as he so likes to be called now.

clayton salvatore maranzano was the great, great-grandson of the infamous salvatore maranzano, a world-wide known italian-american mobster that went down in history as one of the greatest. clay's parents, stephanie and tony maranzano, have an ancient grudge with my father, though mainly tony (it has been going on for that long that i don't think either of them even remember what started it in the first place). being born into rivaling mafia families, clay and i never got along. him being almost and a very mere three years older makes him believe he's the superior out of the pair of us, but you already know that couldn't be farther from the truth. that boy was so infuriating! i suppose he isn't so much a boy, but a douchebag nonetheless. last time i had the displeasure of seeing him, he proved my belief in a number of ways that i'll spare you of just this once. i suppose you could say we were enemies. though saying that, my padre always had a soft spot for clay. and i was always oblivious as to why.

but i'm getting ahead of myself. let's stop babbling and get on with the story shall we?

.

i was stood at the top of the excruciatingly long staircase leading into my family home's grand ballroom where all the guests were awaiting my 'grand entrance'. it always had been my favourite part of our home- unusual as it was.

here i am procrastinating only because i couldn't think of anything worse than walking down the very stairs in front of me. imagine if i fell. oh my god, imagine if i fell.

"and last but not least, introducing the guest of honor," 'here we go' i thought "mafalda isabella genovese."

i make my way down the first section of the stairs. my wonderful father was there to greet me at the turn half way down the staircase.

"bella ciao! (hello beautiful)" he projects one of his warm smiles i missed so dearly.

"ciao papà come stai? (hi dad how are you?)" i ask, kindly wrapping my arm around his to  calm myself down.

"ci sono molte persone qui per vederti, alda. (there are many people here to see you, alda.)" he points out the obvious. he comes closer to my ear, "it's okay, beautiful." he assures before we gradually walk down the clear path hand-in-hand together and stopping once we reach the last turn.

all the guest who arrived started clapping upon our entrance with gleaming, familiar faces. out in the corner of my eye i spot him- bold of him to show up at all. stood in a suit at the bar with a whisky in his hand talking to a needy girl, who's swooning over him, practically drooling. typical clay. as i was gazing at him he turns around to see what the loud clapping was caused by. just then we link eyes for a brief second before my father and i continue to the bottom of the grand staircase.