CHAPTER 5

FRANCESCA

"Which dress do you choose, ma'am?" Mrs. De Luca asks me.

I feel dazed and completely overwhelmed. Yesterday, I meant nothing. No one paid attention to me or asked me anything. Today, I am being polished, prepped, and dressed for an engagement party.

My engagement party.

A celebration the whole Mafia is going to celebrate. The marriage of the future Don. I cannot help but be dryly amused at my own unrelenting bad luck. 

It was bad enough that I was going to marry a Made Man who would be exactly like my father. But now, I would be marrying a Don.

I can't imagine how much worse it will be. And to think he caught me crying, and I told him to leave the room. A Don! I am sure he will be planning my punishment.

I look back at Mrs. De Luca and the dresses she has displayed for me. They have come from my soon-to-be-in-laws, and I am to pick one to wear tonight.

"They are all so beautiful, but so revealing," I frown.

The necklines are all plunging, and the slits are too high. The thought of hundreds of people looking at me in one of these dresses is so nerve-wracking.

"Well, you must pick one, child; Donna has personally sent them over," she says, looking at them as if assessing the truth of my statement.

The least revealing one is a dark red corset dress with a strapless neckline. The slit isn't too high, and it looks like the most modest option. Not modest by my standards, but perhaps this is what is appropriate to wear to one's own engagement. 

I wouldn't know. I have never even attended someone else's engagement.

I heave a sigh.

"Is this one alright?" I ask her, and she smiles.

"Sí, looks beautiful. Your bust will fill Zis out nicely," she says casually, making me flush red. I have a bigger chest than most. I mean, it is only a C cup, but seeing others around me, I would agree that it is larger. 

The day goes on with me being pulled and prodded by stylists and makeup artists as they style me into the perfect bride for the perfect wedding. 

Except none of this was perfect. This isn't what a marriage was supposed to be. I did not even know my husband's name. 

I wish I could slip away into my own mind's world. My mind paints the most beautiful pictures when I read words on a page. It is heartbreaking to know that the romances written in books are just that—words on paper.

Sighing, I look at myself in the mirror, trying to find any trace of happiness in my eyes. All I find is the excruciating pain that had been there as long as I could remember. 

"You look absolutely gorgeous, ma'am," Elena gushes, looking at me with admiration. I smile at her, looking back into the mirror. 

My hair is curled, and some pieces frame my face in the front. My makeup looks beautiful; it is just enough, nothing obnoxious.

I usually wear a little concealing powder at all times, just around the bridge of my nose. It is because I have these small freckles there that I am told are ugly, so I like to keep them covered. 

My shoes are tall heels, and I am very afraid I will fall and embarrass myself, but it is a risk I have to take. 

Mrs. De Luca knocks and enters the room, then gasps. 

"Ah, bellissima, bellissima ragazza," she squeals, patting my cheek. "Your father has told me to tell you that Donna has sent for you. The car awaits outside, cara; the rest of your family will reach soon after you," she informs. 

(Beautiful, beautiful girl.) 

I feel a pit form in my stomach, and panic begins to rise in me. 

"But I have to go alone? I couldn't possibly; I do not even know anyone there!" I say to her, but she shakes her head.

The thought that I do not know anyone here either, and that I always feel alone, enters my head.

"Oh, you will be fine, dolcezza. Now come on, affrettarsi," she rushes me. Soon, I am sitting in a big, black car with an identical one following behind and two armed men in the front. 

(Sweetheart—Hurry up.) 

I nervously play with my hands as I look around the space. I never leave the house. I am not allowed to go anywhere unless Father says otherwise. Celeste and Stepmother go out shopping, but I am not allowed to either.

Ever since I was little, she told me that I shouldn't waste money on clothes since I am fat and they would not look good anyway. It's true; my dresses all get specially made, and I get three every month.

I once said how I do not look much bigger than Celeste, which resulted in me being locked away in the old room. The stepmother told me that Celeste is taller, so she cannot look fat like I do.

I am broken out of my thoughts when the car stops at a checkpoint in front of huge, black gates. I remember reading about the Iron Curtain. This is how I imagined it.

The gates soon open to reveal a huge palace-like structure. The moldings are all old; they undeniably belong to ancient Roman designs and look like something out of a fairy tale. The building is a light color but intimidating nonetheless.

I had heard tales of the House of the Godfather. The estates have been built over centuries; they have existed as long as the Cosa Nostra itself. The house is where the Moretti Don presides.

The estates are designed to be impenetrable. Nothing has ever hurt a Moretti within these boundaries.

The car soon stops, and the men climb out. One of them opens my door just as a woman comes forward to help me out.

"Benvenuto a Casa Del Padrino, Mrs. Moretti," she says, making me stare at her open mouth. She gives me an incredulous look, making me quickly regain my composure and nod, fixing my dress to brush off my embarrassment.

(Welcome to the House of the Godfather, Mrs. Moretti.)

Mrs. Moretti.

That's me.

Oh, God.

Dio, Francesca. Pull it together.

The woman leads me inside and through a maze of beautiful and intricate hallways, then stops before a heavy-looking mahogany door and knocks.

It is only a wonder what surprises await me on the other side.