We've been in the car for over an hour. Other than a few ominous phone calls -- "Get it done" -- "You know what to do" -- Vitale sits in silence, eyes always looking straight ahead.
The driver keeps glancing back at me with a pitiful look. I try to ignore it, keeping my own gaze on the window.
We pull into a driveway leading to an antique mansion. My home costs tens of millions, but it's nothing compared to this.
Two men his age come outside, both dressed in expensive black suits. One is clearly American whilst the other has the same Italian tan skin as Vitale.
"I trust it went well," the American says, glancing over at me. I assume he's the consigliere - the only member of a mafia who is not born or married into it. "I'm Will," he turns to me. "This is Rocco, Christian's cousin and the underboss."
Rocco gives me a dirty side glance, looking me up and down with disdain. He mumbles something in Italian before rolling his eyes and walking away.
Vitale begins to walk towards the house, Will gesturing for me to follow.
Entering inside, we are surrounded by people. Men are dotted around the house drinking whiskey and smoking cigars. The older men are dressed in black suits whilst the younger men wear leather jackets and black jeans. Women, or 'whores' as father called them, weave between the men holding expensive, silver trays. Some hold bottles of whiskey and cigars, whilst others have white lines of powder.
But, the second they notice Vitale's entrance, everything stops.
The crowd falls into a suffocating silence as he enters the house. Pure power ripples from him in waves as the masses part, as if pushed aside by invisible forces. His presence consumes every corner of the room, air surging with an energy so dark even the older men seem to cower in his shadow. His walk is quiet, dominating the space as he makes his way to the grand stairs.
I realise he has no guns, no knives on show like the others - he doesn't need them. Because this is not a man. This is a monster.
He says something in Italian with fierce fervour - something that causes the room to fill with cautious murmurs.
And then the crowd turns to me.
But, my own glance remains on Christian. The way the looks at me - I can't decipher it. In a room of criminals, killers, it is only him that unnerves me.
I can feel the men undress me with their eyes. Their stares are animalistic, like predators who have spotted their prey. Not noticing or caring, Vitale makes his way upstairs, grabbing a whiskey from one of the girl's trays as he goes.
"Don't worry," Will whispers from behind. "They won't touch you. Not with that entrance."
"What do you mean?"
"Christian just marked you as his territory. They'll be terrified to even say hello."
Despite his words, I'm thankful for the gun hidden beneath my dress. Tuning in to the feel of the cool metal against my thigh, my heart rate begins to calm. I never thought a gun would be my greatest comfort.
Will shows me around the house, then guides me upstairs. My attention is instantly caught by the grand mahogany door that stands out from the rest. As I look in, I see Christian standing in the centre of the room.
A lady in lingerie wraps her arms around him, her hands travelling along the curves of his torso whilst she kisses his neck. He seems bored by her affections, almost irritated, throwing back his glass of whiskey in one go. His face doesn't cringe at the hard liquor, but remains still, as though he didn't feel it at all.
As he finishes his drink, my eyes catch his. His face does not change. Keeping his stare on me, he whispers into the woman's ear. She turns around and notices me. Walking to the door, she closes it slowly - tauntingly, smirking proudly as she does so. Only as it finally shuts does mine and Vitale's gaze break.
It's nothing other than what I expected. Yet, I realise my throat has dried up. I swallow and look away, erasing the thoughts of him from my mind.
"This is your room," Will smiles, not having noticed Vitale. He gestures to the door opposite. "We'll be staying in England until the engagement ceremonies are complete, then you will return with us to Italy."
I walk inside. The walls are covered in painted white, classic, wood panels, intrinsic gold sketching climbing the edges like vines. The four poster bed is dressed with a champagne silk, the curtains a translucent white.
I run my hand along the wall, my fingers rising and falling against the gold imprints. It's so different to Vitale's room, which is bathed in deep, red velvet and dark leather.
"This room was designed by Caravaggio himself," Will smiles, noticing my admiration. "This is the Italian mafia, after all."
I open the double doors out onto a private balcony. The last bit of sun peaks over the horizon, bleeding its bronze on the cobalt sky. The towering trees cut the sunlight in gold fragments, whilst the silhouettes of leaves dance on a warm breeze. The flecks of golden sunshine mingle with the few wispy clouds in the sky and bounce off a pond like diamonds.
I could stay on this balcony with this view forever if it were not for the hundreds of guards that scattered the grounds, all with a watchful eye on my every move.
I rest my fingers on the black, vine-like railing of the balcony. I shut my eyes for a moment, trying to ground myself. It doesn't feel real, none of it.
"I got you something."
From behind, I hear the click of a lighter. Coming to my side, Will brings his arm from behind his back, revealing a small cupcake with a single, lit candle.
"Happy birthday."
He offers it for me to take. Realisation suddenly strikes his face and he quickly takes out the candle. "Sorry, protocol," he smiles sheepishly before placing the cake in my hands.
I look down at the cupcake, not noticing how long I've been staring at it.
"Go on. Try it," he encourages, nodding to the cake.
I tear a bit off before placing it in my mouth. The sweetness of the icing shocks me at first, before melting in my mouth.
"It's good, isn't it?" he grins. "Christian has the best chefs crime can buy."
I look up at him. I look at the wrinkles already apparent at the corners of his eyes from smiling. The cheeks flushed with colour. The hair so messy that it makes clear his disinterest in vanity. I look up at a man that seems the opposite of anyone I have ever encountered.
As if reading my mind, he smiles. "My mum is a dentist and my dad tailors suits for the Vitale family. That's how I met Christian. My world is different to his or Rocco's or any of them. They've spent their lives training for the mafia whilst I was drawing rainbows and learning how to ride a bike," he chuckles. "I may not be able to throw knives or tackle people to the ground as well as them, but I hope to be someone you can call a friend - this world is far too lonely."
"Thank you," are the only words I can muster, my mind focused on holding back tears. No one has ever been this kind to me. Not anyone.
He nods, understanding all the words I cannot find to say.
"Why did you choose to join this world?" I ask. If I had the choice, I would run. Sprint as far away as possible. And never look back.
"For Christian. He and I would hang out whilst his father was being fitted. I think I was the only boy he knew that was his own age - other than Rocco, of course. After all these years, I've never considered leaving his side. Not for some... 'notion' of normality."
"What was he like as a child?"
Will pauses, choosing his words carefully. "Angry, cold - even as a kid."
I look down to the cupcake.
"I'm sorry, I know that's not what you wanted to hear."
I pause for a moment, contemplating whether I dare speak my next words. I'm not sure if I'm more fearful of getting in trouble for speaking them, or just terrified to admit them to myself.
"I know he killed his father."
Will is slightly taken aback, but there is no anger in his expression.
"I want to know why."
"That's not my story to tell." He looks down to the ground, clearly wanting to hide the emotion that he cannot conceal on his face. "Goodnight, Aria."