Lapor
"I sank deeper into the comfy chaise lounge, loving the feel of the velvety cushions against my skin. The only sounds were the quiet rustle of pages and the tick-tock of the old grandfather clock in the corner. It was so peaceful in the library, almost like my own heartbeat.
The reading lamp next to me creates lengthy shadows across the dark wooden furniture, enveloping my younger sister, Ava, in a personal cocoon of light. The walls were lined in rows of unspoiled volumes with leather-bound spines glinting in the faint light. I'd always connected the musty smell of old paper and polished wood - which permeated the air — with safety and comfort.
Ava's head rested cozily on my lap; her eyes closed, and her breathing was regular. I looked down at her calm face and started to smile a little. Her long lashes created soft shadows on her cheeks, and some black hair strands had dropped across her forehead. Our home lacked these quiet times; hence, I valued every second.
Running my fingers lightly through Ava's silky hair, I thought to myself, "These moments of peace are priceless." The serenity of the library almost made me forget the demands and expectations that were constantly hanging over us.
Ava stirred slightly; her eyes fluttered, matching my deep brown color inherited from our mother. She mumbled sleepily, "Read to me." Her voice was barely audible above a whisper.
I gently laughed, the sound hardly breaking the stillness around us. "Sure, pipsqueak. What do you want to hear?" I walked over to the side table, my fingertips gliding across the stack of books we had chosen earlier.
Before Ava could respond, a gentle but firm tap sounded in the library. My hand, which had been still in Ava's hair, froze at the sound, and I tensed. That knock sent a shiver down my spine as if it were the first blast of frigid air before a storm.
I carefully moved out from under Ava, gently resting her head on a fluffy cushion. She muttered in protest but did not wake; she only curled up closer on the chaise. Suddenly, very conscious of every wrinkle and flaw, I stood, smoothing down my silk top and wool skirt. Breathing deeply to slow down my suddenly pounding heart, I attempted to get ready for whatever was about to happen.
Our mother emerged behind the gently creaking, massive oak door. Her face looked pale and drawn, which made the black circles beneath her eyes particularly striking. Not one strand was out of place; her salt-and-pepper hair was pushed back so tightly that it looked painful. Her blue suit looked to hang a little looser on her frame than it had the last time I had seen her wear it. She modified it.
"Your father wants to see you," she whispered in a low, stern voice that barely carried across the room.
My stomach sank like a lead weight had been placed there. Trying to figure out what this could be about, I searched my mind, attempting to remember anything I might have done recently that was wrong. Had my grades slipped? Had I neglected some important household responsibilities? Drawing a blank on everything only made me more anxious. Being summoned to my father's office in our household was never a good sign.
"Right now?" I asked in a voice barely above a whisper. I hated how small and fearful I sounded, but I couldn't help it.
Mother nodded, and she nodded, eyes away from mine. Her hands were twitching at her jacket's hem — an unusual display of anxiety from her. "In his office," she said unnecessarily.
I nodded and tried hard to swallow. I took one last look at Ava's sleeping figure and then trailed Mother out of the library. Our heels clicked loudly on the polished wooden floor in the quiet corridor. Family photos stacked on the walls showed the austere faces of long-dead ancestors observing our development. Every step of the trek to my father's office felt like a march to the gallows, bringing me closer to some unidentified catastrophe.
Mother paused just outside Father's massive oak office door. The polished brass handle gleamed, and the glossy black wood exuded an imposing presence. She continued, "He's waiting for you," then turned and left without another word, leaving me alone in the hallway.
I stood there for a while, gathering my courage. Looking into a nearby mirror, I saw a pale face, wide eyes, and dark hair cascading in loose curls over my shoulders. I felt nothing like the confident heiress I was supposed to be; I looked young and terrified. Determinedly straightening my shoulders, I tried to muster some of the expected grace.
Then, I knocked on the thick door, took a deep breath, and tried to calm my nerves.
"Come in," my father's authoritative voice echoed from inside, sending shivers down my spine even through the thick wood.
I opened the door and cringed at the little hinge creak, then entered. The father's office always seemed stifling with its dark wood paneling and heavy furniture. The big mahogany desk dominated the room, its surface painstakingly arranged. A crystal decanter, probably scotch, sat on a silver plate to one side.
My father, in his high-backed leather armchair, sat behind the desk. He cut a striking shape, his broad shoulders accentuating his well-crafted suit. His steel-grey eyes locked on me with an intensity that made me want to shrink back, and his salt-and-pepper hair was well-brushed.
"Sit," he urged, pointing to one of the leather chairs before his desk.
I sank into the suggested chair, moving forward on wobbly legs. The leather chilled against my skin, and I fought the urge to fidget. Rather, I folded my hands on my lap, attempting to seem cool even as my heart hammered.
Father watched me silently for a minute, his sharp eyes apparently looking straight ahead. I battled the desire to wriggle under his inspection.
"Finally," he began, his strong voice filling the room. "Kylie, we need to discuss something important."
I nodded, not trusting my voice to remain steady if I spoke. There was obvious tension in the room, weighing me down physically.
Leaning forward with his elbows resting on the desk, the father asked, "You are aware of our family's commercial interests, I assume?"
Once again, I nodded. I was aware, of course. Although we never discussed it explicitly, it was an open secret in our household. Generations of our family have been involved in organized crime. I chose to focus on my schoolwork and my hopes for a normal life; it was not something I enjoyed contemplating.
"Very well," Father said insistently. "You must understand the importance of alliances in our line of work."
I furrowed my brow in confusion. Why was he telling me this? Father never talked about business with us - the young ones, especially not with me.
His tone serious, he said, "The Syndicate and the Vipers are moving into our territory. We are at risk of losing everything we've built over the years." "Good," Father said on and on. "Then you should know the value of alliances in our line of work."
His voice solemn, he remarked, "The Syndicate and the Vipers are encroaching on our territory." "We run the danger of losing all we have created over decades."
At his words, a cold crawled down my spine. I understood these competing companies were hazardous and had heard rumors about them. But I would never have guessed they could endanger us this much.
"I... I don't understand," I replied, my voice almost above a whisper. "Why are you showing me this?"
Father's eyes sharpened. "Because you have a responsibility to help safeguard our family's future, Kylie."
My gut turned over with anxiety. I knew I wouldn't like whatever was coming.
"We have to put an end to our feud with the New York Familia and join forces," Father said, his tone matter-of-fact, as if he were discussing the weather rather than the fate of our family. "This is the only way we will survive this threat."
Still unsure about how this involved me, I nodded slowly. "Okay," I answered cautiously. "So, we are making peace with them?"
Father replied, "It's more than that." He paused, looking directly at me. "We are bringing our families together."
My heart has missed a beat. "What do you mean?" Still, a part of me knew and hated the response already.
Father said, his voice devoid of debate, "You will marry his oldest son, Lysander."
The words strike me as a physical blow. With my hands tightly holding the chair's armrests, I felt the blood drain from my face and my knuckles grow white. "What?" I gasped, hardly able to shape the word.
Father said, "You will marry Lysander Vincenzo," his tone unaltered. "The participation has already been set."
I became numb, cut off from my body. It can't be happening this way. It must be some kind of cruel joke. "Father," I said, my voice shaking. "Please don't force me to marry that man. I hardly know him at all."
Father continued, unimpressed by my argument. "I shook hands on it with his father. You will make a wonderful wife to Lysander. You owe this family this much."
I tried to hold back tears as I blinked rapidly. Crying wouldn't change anything. "What?" I managed to ask weakly.
"There will be an engagement party in August," Father said as if he were discussing a regular meal plan rather than the end of my freedom.
August? That was only two months away. My mind raced, trying to comprehend this sudden, drastic change in my life.
So, can I still continue going to classes? I desperately clung to any sense of normalcy.
The father nodded. "For now. You will complete your degree. The woman of the future should be well educated."
I nodded weakly, not really understanding his words. My ideas were a disorganized swirl. The hard reality of my circumstances now shatters the romantic illusions I once held.
As Father spoke, outlining the specifics of my new life, I felt myself withdrawing inside. The environment seemed to vanish around me, the weight of my doom pressing down on me until I could hardly breathe.
This was it. The imminent end of my life as I knew it. I would be engaged to a stranger, bound to a life I never desired, just two months from now. And there was nothing I could do about it.
One thought kept me going as I left Father's office on unsteady legs: How would I ever tell Ava?
Komen