Property

I couldn't sleep a wink, even when my mother begged me to. Emilio was dead, but the peace treaty stated I was property of the Armani family. His death didn't change that. I would go live as his widow in his home, which was absolutely insane because we were never married.

"Gia?" My mother called from the other side of the door.

I carefully got up from the bed, my body aching horribly from dire exhaustion. I opened the door to see my mother's pale face.

"You didn't sleep did you?" She sighed heavily.

I stepped aside to let her in. "How could I? Emilio is dead. What does this mean for me mamma?" I asked with teary eyes.

She shook her head. "I wish I could tell you the answer...but I don't know. Everybody is waiting to see you downstairs, teroso. Come greet them."

I nodded woefully and I trudged downstairs with mamma behind me. I looked over the stairway rails. Everyone was sitting in the lounge; my aunts, my uncles, cousins. They had all traveled from afar to attend the engagement party, only for the groom to die suddenly.

Everybody offered me their condolences, but I knew it had nothing to do with Emilio. Their eyes were full of pity. They felt sorry because no one knew what was going to happen to me now that my fiance was dead. The Armanis could kill me if they wanted and my father wouldn't be able to do anything about it because they owned me.

I went to the garden behind the house where my father was expecting me. He was balding now, with a pepper and salt beard, perfectly groomed. My father had just turned 63 years old, but my mother was only 38, having had me at 18. I understood that my parents weren't in love. Most members of the mafia didn't fall in love. They got suitable wives who could handle the precarious lifestyle.

"Gia," papà smiled at me as I approached him.

He had bodyguards at his side always, even in his own home. I forced a smile as I hugged him.

"Papà, how are you?" I asked as I stepped back.

"I'm afraid, for the first time in my entire life," he confessed. "They can do whatever they want to do to you and I'll just stand there and watch."

I shook my head. "Papà, they're not going to do anything to me."

I tried to sound certain and confident.

"You don't know the Armanis. They're fucking ruthless," he spat.

I was about to answer when a deep voice interrupted me.

"Boss."

We turned to see another bodyguard coming from the house.

"The Armanis are here," he announced.

My eyes widened in shock and fear. Already?

"Papà..." I whispered, taking his arm.

Papà squeezed my hand reassuringly. "Come."

I walked behind papà into the house. The Armanis were waiting in his office. I said a quick prayer before my father opened the door and pulled me in behind him.

Giovanni Armani, Emilio's father sat in my father's chair. The Armani family was the mafia. They were the umbrella, and the families under the umbrella did their bidding. My family was also under the umbrella. I trembled as I stood next to my father.

"Mr Rizzo," Giovanni nodded.

"Giovanni," papà stepped forward to shake his hand. "I wish we were meeting under happpier circumstances.  I am very sorry for your loss. "

Giovanni raised his brows. "People come and go. What can you do? He did his part and he served his people well. Besides, it is your loss too."

Papà nodded in agreement.

"Gia is your name, no?"

I hesitantly looked uo at Giovanni. For a man of his age, he was still strong looking, with a good built and a good rigid frame. His pale blue-grey eyes landed on me.

"Y-Yes sir," I nodded.

He softened. "Call me Giovanni, child. You are still our child, regardless of the unfortunate passing of Emilio.

I nodded.

"Are you ready to leave?" Giovanni questioned.

I eyed him, confused.

"Your wedding is in three days but we still have to attend the funeral tomorrow and sort out Emilio's property affairs."

I look down at Giovanni with furrowed brows. "I don't understand. My wedding...to who? Emilio is—"

"Your wedding to Vito. You will marry my youngest son."

My jaw dropped in shock. I turned to my father who seemed just as surprised.

"Giovanni...what...are you talking about?" papà asked, carefully picking his words.

"The peace treaty says your daughter will marry one of my sons," Giovanni explained calmly. "The treaty may say which daughter of yours, but it doesn't say which son of mine. Gia still belongs to us. She was never married to Emilio and he's gone, so she'll marry Vito."

I opened my mouth to protest but nothing came out. I was raised to become Emilio's wife, even if I only met him for the first time when I was eighteen. For ten years, before I met Emilio, my mother had drilled the fact that I was going to marry him into my head. How could just toss me to his younger brother so fast? He wasn't even buried yet for Pete's sakes!

"Do any of you have a problem?" Giovanni asked as if if was a casual every-day conversation.

I slowly shook my head.

"Go pack, cara," papà whispered to me. (go pack dear)

I slowly turned to leave and I passed through the lounge, hurrying to my room. Everyone immediately bombarded me with questions of what had happened but I ignored them, rushing upstairs. My mother came running behind me and followed me into my room along with Brunella.

"What happened?" Mamma asked. "What did he say?"

I took my suitcase and placed it on the bed. "I'm going to marry his youngest son. The treaty doesn't specifically state which son I will marry. It just states which daughter from the Rizzo family."

I don't know why I thought the peace treaty would be eliminated because Emilio was dead. They fucking owned me, and even if I had asked countless times over the years, everyone seemed to ignore my question.

"Brunella, get another suitcase and pack as many clothes as you can from the closet," I ordered.

"Yes ma'am, " she nodded, hurrying into the walk-in closet.

"Gia, where are you going?!" Mamma cried as she watched me pace up and down the room, stuffing my things into my bag.

"I'm leaving with Giovanni. My wedding to Vito is the after tomorrow and tomorrow we're attending Emilio's funeral.

"Then why do you have to leave—"

"Mamma!" I screamed at her. "Cazzo! Mi stai stressando!" (Mom! Fuck! You're stressing me out!)

I took a deep breath, massaging the temples of my head to calm down.

"Mi spiace, mi spiace, mamma," I sighed, exasperated. "I just...I don't know what to do." (I'm sorry,  I'm sorry mom.)

Mamma came up to me and cupped my face. "I understand, il mio angelo. I understand how you feel. But there's nothing you can do about it. If Giovanni said you're leaving with him, that's exactly what you're gonna do."

Tears streamed down my face as it hit me harder than it had ever hit me; I was not a person. I was just an object, property to be tossed around.