~ phoenix ~
I couldn't begin to fathom why my head felt like a brick. Releasing a shaky breath, I laid my forehead against the lapel of Giovanni's tux, shying away from the bright, stinging light.
Somehow, we'd found ourselves back, swaying slowly to the sound of the orchestra but now that I thought about it... I couldn't remember how. I clenched my eyes shut, trying to resurface the memories of the past hour. Why did it all seem like a distant blur?
"Too many to drink?" came the low, amused voice at my ear.
With a sigh, I raised my head, squinting up at him. "I can't... actually remember."
"Well, it's time," he murmured, too low for any ear other than mine.
I furrowed my brows. "For?"
"Your three o'clock. Your grandmother is storming towards us and she doesn't seem entirely pleased."
I glanced discreetly to my left and indeed, Babcia was fast approaching, lips thinned. Stifling an inward groan, I began to detach myself from the Italian.
"Wait," Giovanni whispered, urgently. His grip around my waist tightened. "Do you remember our..."
I inhaled another slow breath; why was the room so loud?
"Lyra!"
I jolted in his grip, before my grandmother snatched me to her side. I glanced back, vaguely remembering that he said something. Giovanni's eyes revealed nothing, despite pressing into mine. What had he said?
"Ty głupia, głupia dziewczyno!" [You stupid, stupid girl!]
I returned my attention to Babcia, who continued her tirade of incredulous scolding.
"Are you drunk?" she demanded, once we were out of earshot.
Shaking my head with frustration, I pulled my arm out of her grasp. "Of course not!" Why was she speaking so loud? For a brief second, there were two scowling faces hovering before me, before they merged back into one. I raised a hand to rub my eyes.
It was snatched back down.
"You will smudge your mascara—" She inhaled, exasperatedly. "What is wrong with you? Do you intend to ruin us? You gave the Bratva all of five minutes but found enough time to dance with the włoski drań [Italian bastard] twice! The rumours have already begun—"
"I don't care, Babcia!" I erupted, head pounding.
She glared, ferociously, wrenching my arm forward. "Don't you dare destroy everything your Dziadek [grandfather] built for us, you selfish child." She threw my hand back at my side, where it hung limply, bright red from her unkind grip. "It is time for the ceremony to begin. You will find it in you to sober up and you will address the Father with respect and you will behave."
I detested the damned ceremony which I had no choice but to accept. I rehearsed my lines and practised my movements with contempt for the sick irony that out of all people who could inaugurate me into to the Polish mafia, it would be a fucking priest.
Nonetheless, I smiled and I strutted elegantly up the gangway as the trumpet sounded and the voices hushed. My grandmother assumed her position beside the Father, who smiled encouragingly. In the absence of my Dza, it would be her to present me with the family heirloom, an obnoxiously large and ugly pendant.
Under the weight of every eye in this room, I forced my shoulders to not sag. The dizziness I felt rising thankfully stayed at bay until eventually, I was standing on the steps beneath the priest.
He leant down to embrace me, kiss my cheek, before enveloping my shoulders with a heavy, velvet cloak.
I grit my teeth, fighting to stand upright despite the rising queasiness.
Next, he splashed what I assumed to be holy water on my temple and my collarbone, reciting a self-proclaimed, sickening script. As instructed, I sipped on a dark red wine and chewed on a crust of sweet bread. My stomach turned in displeasure as I swallowed.
A silver platter was then raised to the Father. He pulled away the red cloth, revealing a gun, as black as the night. Beside it, a dagger, encrusted with a ruby as red as blood.
He took a breath, offering me the latter. "Place your hand on this dagger and vow your alliegance to this holy family."
This ritual was for newcomers in the mafia; tonight, I would be both initiated as a member as well as its leader.
"In this holy evening, in the silence of the night, under the light of the stars and under the splendour of the moon, I vow my loyalty and my honour to the holy chain, the holy society," I recited, just as I rehearsed. My voice was clear, ringing in the silent hall. My back was straight, against the scrutiny of every gaze.
However, inside, my heart was thundering, my head was pounding. I could feel a bead of sweat trickle down the side of my face.
Nodding with satisfaction, the priest held out the gun, flat in his palms. "Do you vow to abide by the oath of poison?"
Inhaling a sharp breath, I accepted the weapon. "In the presence of God and the holy Archangel Michael, I vow to protect this family at all costs, to endanger my own life if need be, to forever hold my peace with necessary evil," I gulped another breath of oxygen, "and should I fail, may I fall upon my own sword. I will take this gun, which shoots and there will always be a bullet in it reserved for me. May I... burn in hell if I betray this holy community."
There was a long, unnerving silence. I kept my head down turned to the floor, so I could clench my eyes in an attempt to expel the black spots.
Eventually, he spoke: "In the name of our creator and our protector, the Archangel, I declare Phoenix Lyra Stilinski Vale as your superior and your leader."
There was suddenly an explosion of sound, erupting from the crowd behind me. My grandmother stepped up, revealing the contents of a velvet box. Inside was a large, diamond encrusted pendant, engraved with the oath I took to protect my... people. I bowed my head once more, allowing her to slip the chain around my neck.
When finally I turned to acknowledge the guests, I was taken aback by a sea of smiling faces and applauding hands. I nodded once, signalling for silence.
In a matter of seconds, the room was once more quiet. I felt unusually breathless, and unbearably hot. But I was expected to address the guests after the ritual was complete and so I did.
"I'm honoured to have been granted this role. I only wish my grandfather and mother could have been here to celebrate such a momentous occasion."
There was a wave of low murmurings. Most people presents today had attended Dza's funeral but I was certain all had heard of my mother's sudden death in Italy a year ago.
"You all have my deepest gratitude for being here tonight and—"
Suddenly, I caught Giovanni's eye and I remembered.
"Do you remember... our announcement?"
I did remember: the pact we had been working on for months leading up to this day. It was initially a proposal for my grandfather to consider but in the circumstances of his death, it was now my call.
"—and I'd like to take this opportunity to make another announcement." I sucked in a sharp breath, feeling long lines of sweat dribble down the arch of my back. I needed to get this cloak off; I could barely breathe. "For decades, there has been a division in Europe; a longstanding dispute which seemed to have no solution."
Already, I could hear the nervous whispers. A number of eyes flittered sceptically between me and the Italians standing in the middle of the hall.
"Today, that comes to an end. Giovanni Castillo, the Don of the Sicilian Cosa Nostra, and I, Lyra Stilinski, have agreed upon an alliance—"
Now, the volume increased as members of the crowd began to voice their opinion to their neighbours. Despite it all, Giovanni nodded at me reassuringly.
I raised my voice, which required far more effort than I expected. "—an alliance which will heal the division. The Italians have made changes, which requires strength and integrity to carry forward. This, I greatly admire. With this new pact, comes great economic gain, better political stances and mor importantly, peace in the continent. It is time we stand as one."
Mostly silent, the crowd stared up at me. A hundred faces became a thousand as my eyes blurred.
Somewhere in the room, there was a crash of glass. I could barely make it out as the guests split into two to allow a group to move to the grand doors of the main entrance. They opened with a crash.
I had barely realised when my feet began to numb, and I wasn't sure anymore if I was standing or floating. I raised a hand to my head, my face scrunched up in anguish. All of a sudden, the ground beneath my feet shifted and I stumbled. I fell on my hands and knees, feeling something sharp and acidic rise in my throat.
I began to choke, my throat closing up. Something dribbled down my chin, a bright stain on my dress: red. My mouth began to froth; my vision blackened.
I heard footsteps approach, hard hands on my body.
Wrenching my eyes open, I was met by a pair of silver ones. My stomach tightened painfully. I writhed in his grasp.
"Ilya," I gasped.
The face distorted, now the eyes were hazel, wide and concerned.
Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, splashing onto cool marble. Before darkness swallowed the light, I saw those eyes, that face once more.
"...Ilya..."
NOTE:
Okay, I really should have done my homework except for writing this— but priorities.
Also fun fact: I actually did research for this chapter and shockingly, the ritual bit is not all made up. As dramatic as that shit sounds, mobs actually do initiate people in using those words and practices.
Hey, you learn something everyday!
Okay, now: homework.
xo, Rosavi