Nonna never agreed with what her son, my papa, did to the company. The maids always whispered that she died of a broken heart when papa entered the drug trade. Often, I wonder if they're right.
Even though it's been over a decade, my hand still goes up to my neck to touch the golden chain with nonna's wedding band that is no longer there.
I wonder what Adrian did with it. Whether he still has it, whether he even still remembers me. Word of my marriage will surely reach the Bernardis. Will he be bothered, knowing I'm marrying the boy who picked on him when we were children?
No, surely he's forgotten all about that now. He won't give a damn about the bambina he spent the afternoon with at the docks. He won't be bothered about this at all. He'll probably be getting married himself soon... after all, he's only a year younger than my groom, Vitto.
The thought fills me with dread and jealousy. Finally, a lone tear escapes my eyes, and I angrily wipe it away, tearing myself away from the window.
Eleven years, and Adrian never bothered to see me - not even to return my necklace.
I need to give up on the hopes that he'll be my prince charming, rescuing me from a fate I cannot escape. This is my life, and Vitto is my future.
And yet, as I lay my head down on my pillow that night, I find myself wishing for one thing, and one thing only as I cross myself after whispering a prayer.
Please, oh please, let Adrian Bernardi save me from this marriage. Let him remember the promise we made to one another. Let him steal me away.
Because despite what my parents want, I will never want Vitto Donati. The only boy I've ever wanted was the rowdy kid from the docks who promised me a favor... I can only hope he remembers it.
3
Adrian
"Adrian?"
I look up from the papers in front of me toward the sound of my brother's voice. Julian is standing in the doorframe.
"Father wants to see you."
I nod, putting down the printed images of the oil painting we've just bought during an auction in Nice. I'll have to decide who to sell it to later. When father wants to speak to one of us, he expects our presence right away, and I know better than to defy him.
Following Julian down the stairs, I enter father's study, where the rest of my brothers are already waiting. Father is sitting behind his desk, a glass of grappa in one of his hands and a pen in the other. My stomach tightens when I see the warm amber liquid in his glass, just like it always does.
Everyone in Palermo drinks De Luca grappa. It's tradition here to honor the family that made their fortune selling the grape liquor - along with some other, not as innocent things. But we do not speak of that. Not in this house, where everything illegal is waved off as insignificant. We sweep the bad shit under the rug without a second thought. After all, we got a reputation to uphold.
"You wanted to see me?" I speak up from the entrance to the room. Father lifts his gaze, nodding as he waves a card printed on embossed, thick gold paper in my direction.
"Thought you'd want to see this," he says. "It's from De Lucas."
The name sends shivers down my spine, making my hands form fists at my sides. De Luca is a name I will never forget, just like those bastard Donatis. They are the two families whom I've sworn vengeance to, and some day, father promised he will let me enact my revenge. Some day soon, I hope.
"What is it?" I hiss, striding forward and snatching the thick paper from my father's hands. My eyes scan the embossed words, not quite believing what they're seeing. "Is this bullshit for real?"
"Afraid so," Santino speaks up from behind me. "I still can't believe those bastards sent us the invitation. It's like they're asking for a goddamn war."
"Figlio," Father cuts in strictly. "Remember what I always tell you."
"Mi dispiace," Santino mutters, averting his gaze. Father isn't very traditional, but religion has always been present in his life, and he hates it when we take the Lord's name in vain. Out of respect, the five of us watch our mouths when we speak to him, but even Santino's pissed by this news. Nowhere near as much as I am, though.
"Is this a fucking joke?" I mutter, tossing the invitation on father's desk. "They can't be serious. They're making her marry that Donati bastard?"
"It's an alliance that makes sense for them," father mutters, crushing the invitation in his right hand. I take pleasure in watching it burn as he tosses it into the fireplace. I watch the flames engulf the piece of paper, my nails digging painfully into the palms of my hands as I wait for the paper to turn into ash. Just like this marriage will, because I'm going to stop it, no matter the cost.
"They will want control of the docks," father goes on. "Marrying Marzia to Vitto is the only way they can do that. We knew this was coming, Adrian. I can't say I'm surprised myself."
"That doesn't mean it's over," I grunt. "Just because they announced the marriage doesn't mean it's too late to stop them."
I lean my palms against father's desk, and he raises his eyes to meet mine. He's told me no one too many a time. Every time I beg him to take revenge on De Lucas for turning down his marriage proposal over a decade ago, father tells me it's too soon. But surely he won't say that this time. Surely, he will let me make things right before it's too late for Marzia. For me. For us.
"Please, father." This is the first time I've pleaded with my father. It's fucking humiliating, but must be endured. I cannot go up against De Lucas without father's support. He could disown me for my disobedience. Not that I care about that. But I care about my father's respect for me. "Please, tell me now is finally the time to have our revenge."
Father's intelligent eyes bore into mine. I know he's contemplating the answer, and that fact alone pisses me off because the answer should be clear. We need to punish De Lucas for their insolent behavior. It's been eleven years since that fateful day at the docks, and plenty of things have changed.
For starters, our family name holds meaning and power now. If my father asked for Marzia's hand for me now, they would never turn him down. The Bernardis have grown too powerful, and the thought of our rage when they turned us down would make Marzia's parents too afraid to say no to us. But I don't need their approval anymore. All I need is my father's permission to destroy them.
"I need to think about it," father mutters, making me growl out loud in frustration.
"Think about what?" I grind out through gritted teeth. "They need to be taught a lesson. Sending this invitation here is the last fucking straw. They think they've got you by the balls, father. You can't let them treat you this way."
"Figlio," father sighs. "What do I always tell you?"
"That doesn't matter right now," I hiss. "All that matters is-"
"Tell me." His tone is insistent, and I groan out loud, running a hand through my hair.
"Revenge is a dish best served cold," I manage despite the rage unfurling in the pit of my stomach. Father nods at my words.
"It's true," he says simply. "So be patient while we figure this out."