Arranged Mafia Marriage

Michael

I stand facing forward, at the top of the aisle in the chapel. Aside from my residence, it’s the only other building on this inland.

Next to me, Luca shuffles his feet.

Sebastian stands next to him, his dark blonde hair a contrast to the darker looks of the rest of my siblings bringing up the rear. Massimo, Christian and Xander are all clad in black tuxes and black ties…similar to mine. Hair combed back and gelled, and with their similar scowling visages, broad shoulders and towering height, the three resemble a American football team. Our parents certainly bequeathed their best features to them. Too bad, my father is a fucking stronzo.

Adrian brings up the rear of the group.

From the other side of the aisle, the Don folds his arms across his chest. I meet his gaze, hold it. I slide my fingers to my side, and my fingertips brush the knife in its sheath that I have tucked into my cross draw sheath; even as I play the power game of who blinks first with my boss.

After a few seconds, he finally nods. “Good to see you finally settling down, son,” he murmurs. His voice, low and deep, echoes in the empty church. Yeah… There are no other invitees. Just family. Which, sadly, includes the Don.

“I didn’t invite you to hear your opinion on the matter, Father,” I growl. “You are here simply because-”

“Of her.” He nods. “I understand; you’ll never forgive me for what happened to her.”

“It’s your fault she’s dead.” I scowl. “Because you couldn’t control your temper,” I say in a hard voice. Not one of us had been spared being beaten by him growing up. As the oldest, I had taken it on myself to shield my brothers and my mother whenever I could. More often than not, though, he took it out on her behind closed doors… And my mother never protested. It was her burden to bear, she’d say. She’d borne the almost daily beatings silently.

The day I had turned eighteen, she’d called me into the kitchen. Had fed me my favorite lasagne al forno. Then, she’d told me how I was now the man of the family and she made me promise to take care of my siblings, including my stepbrothers, when she was gone. A week after that, she had dropped dead of a heart attack. And with that, any gentleness in my life had gone out of the window…

Until I’d caught sight of her. Why is it that seeing Karma had awakened the kind of protectiveness I had felt for my mother? Not that there is anything similar between the two of them. My mother had been blonde, slim, so tiny that seeing her boys all grown up and standing here today, it’s difficult to imagine them having come out of her.

The side door to the church opens, then an older woman steps inside the church. She wears her flowing mane of almost completely gray hair about her shoulders. She’s barely five-feet four-inches, but her erect posture makes her seem larger than life. She’s clad in a pale pink trouser suit and heels which, while fashionable, are also comfortable for walking. That’s my grandmother, who, at almost eighty is still agile, independent and doesn’t suffer nonsense from anyone. Not even my father.

I glance from her to him and my father raises his shoulder. “You know, I couldn’t have stopped her from coming, even if I had tried.”

I walk forward to meet her. “Nonna,” I bend and kiss her cheek, “you needn’t have come all the way here.”

“My oldest grandson is getting married, and you thought I’d stay away?” She scowls up at me. “How could you, Michelangelo?” She scolds me, “I have been hoping for you to get married and have grandkids since you turned eighteen. You finally oblige me, twenty-one years later, and you think I wouldn’t come to witness it with my own eyes?”

“I’d have brought my new bride to visit you,” I murmur.

“And when would that have been?” She glowers at me, “If, indeed, you did get around to doing it. You think I don’t how hard you work at building the business, that I am not aware of how ambitious you are, about succeeding,” she jerks her head to the side, “him.”

“I am still alive, Mother.” The Don growls, “I’d thank you to remember that.”

“What you haven’t learned, Byron,” she says without looking at him, “is that respect is earned, not demanded.”

“Who cares, how you get it. Respect is respect, Mother.” The Don folds his arms across his chest. “One way or the other, I’ll get it, even from my own sons.” He stares at me meaningfully.

I glare back at him. What a prick. How is it possible that he is my father? More to the point, how could he have come from someone as gracious and as caring as my Nonna?

She had been the one steady influence all through the turmoil of our growing years. And after our mother’s passing, she had insisted on being a part of our lives. And yet, not even that had stopped him from beating us up. If anything, after mother’s passing, his predilection to hit us had escalated. By then, I’d been strong enough to stop him. I’d managed to hold him back from hitting my younger brothers, though not even I could stop him fully.

When I had finally confessed to Nonna, she had been horrified. She had immediately moved us in with her…and confessed that she’d suspected but had no idea it had been so bad. I hadn’t been sure if I should forgive her, but she had intervened, and insisted that my father get help for his issues. Something my father had grudgingly agreed to do. I owed that much to her-that my siblings had been spared the torture of being around him. She had, at least, managed to salvage some of their growing up years.

Me, on the other hand… The damage had been done. Perhaps it’s the reason I’ve turned out so twisted, in my own way. Perhaps blood is thicker than water… Perhaps his violent tendencies were imprinted on me more than I realized. It is the only reason I can think of to explain my twisted needs when it comes to sex. Something I’d hope to keep in check with Karma, except every time I see her, my base instincts seem to emerge. Something inside of me insists that I claim her, that I show her what it means to be possessed by that darkness inside of me. My cock instantly thickens. Shit. That’s the last thing I need-sporting a hard-on while I am surrounded by family, and in church.

“Michelangelo,” Nonna’s voice intrudes in my thoughts. “I hope you’ll forgive me,” she says in a tone low enough that only I can hear.

I tip down my chin, gaze into her midnight-blue eyes, so like mine.

“If I had known, if I’d had even an inkling of how far he’d go with her, I would have stepped in,” she adds.

I set my jaw.

“So you have told me before, Nonna,” I say stiffly. “I understand you want to find a way of alleviating the guilt you are carrying inside, but you know, I can’t forgive you.”

She blanches.

“You had a ringside view of the marriage; you knew about your son’s temper; you must have known that she was being abused; you must have guessed, when we turned up with bruises, that he was hitting us. Yet you never asked any questions. Not once.”

A stricken look comes into her eyes before she wipes all emotion from her face. “I guess, much as I think I am moving with the times, perhaps in this, I am more old-fashioned than I realized.” She swallows, “It was their marriage and I didn’t want to interfere…” She glances away, then back at me, “Something I will never forgive myself for, Mika.” Her voice softens, “But perhaps your father was preparing you for your future. Look how you turned out after all that-”

“Nonna,” I say through gritted teeth, “is that what you think? That his abuse of me and my brothers was a way of building character? That just because his father beat him, he should also be allowed to hit us? Do you really think that this is the natural progression of things?”

She looks away

Silence stretches for a beat, then another.

“I..” she swallows, “I don’t condone what he did.” She looks in my eyes and says, “But you have to admit, it played a part in making you so driven to succeed.”

I step back from her, and her hand falls away.

“Mika,” she murmurs, “I was brought up never to question the man of the house. First, my husband, then,” she glances at the Don, “my son.” She folds her fingers together in front of herself, and I notice that they are trembling.

Nonna always comes across as so strong, I forget sometimes, what she has been through. My grandfather had not only abused my father, but also her. He had beaten her and she had borne it all without a complaint and emerged stronger. She had been through it first-hand-all the more reason that she could have done something to stop the abuse of my mother and us at the hands of our father. But she hadn’t… And here we are. An emotionally broken, facsimile of a family, trying to project a strong, unified front, lest our rivals find out just how tenuous the bond between us really is.

“Perhaps, if I had been less traditional, things would have been different. I have been trying to change, but it’s not easy.” She swallows, “I know I have my faults, but you have to believe me when I say that I did what I thought was best in the situation.”

“The scars he left on my skin may have healed, but there are others…more emotional ones that changed me in ways you can’t even recognize.”

“Mika-” Her chin wobbles, “Please, don’t block me out of your life.”

“I have never done so, Nonna, you know that.” I draw myself up to my full height. “But you will also never have my complete trust, either.” I hold my grandmother’s gaze. She tips up her chin, and I recognize the stubborn set to her features. That iron resolve is something I share with her.

Once I want something, I go after it-like her. From the moment I saw her, I knew that she would turn my life upside down. All the more reason to get through this ceremony, then get on with the plan I have in place to consolidate my position with the Seven.

“I understand.” Nonna, nods once, then steps back. She turns and walks slowly across the stone floor to the first pew. She sits down, and my father takes his place next to her.

The main church doors open just then.

I turn, watch her framed in the doorway.

“What the-” Luca exclaims next to me, “what the hell is she wearing?”