THE CARETAKER BRIDE

I stood there, frozen, my hands stained with blood. It clung to my skin like a scar that wouldn't fade. My eyes drifted to Gaia's lifeless body, her once vibrant presence now absent like an empty shell.

My heart pounded in my ears, and I could feel my breath shaking as I took a step back. I closed the door quietly, ensuring that Daniele wouldn’t walk in and find her lifeless body. He didn’t need to see this. No one did.

The sight of the red roses, discarded beside Gaia's body, hit me like a slap to the face. It was just as red as the blood that stained the sheets beneath her.

I dialed my father’s number, the sound of it ringing a little too loud, and too harsh in the silence of the room.

“Father,” I spoke, my voice urgent, emotionless, and hollow. I had no room for grief. Not now. Not ever. “Gaia is dead.”

The silence that followed, was long, and unbearable. Then my father’s voice sliced through it, tight and strained. “Can you repeat that?”

“Gaia is dead,” I said it again, the words heavy, and deliberate. It was done, and there was no taking it back.

“Nicolas—” His voice cracked, but I didn’t have time for his questions. I didn’t have time for his grief.

“Someone needs to clean this up before the kids see it.” My words were detached, cold, as though I were speaking of something trivial. “Send a clean-up crew and inform Luca.” I didn’t wait for a response. I ended the call, letting the phone slip from my fingers. It hit the floor with a dull thud, but I barely noticed.

*********************

When my wife died, everyone expected me to react like any “normal” man would. You know, the sadness, the tearful looks, the sobbing. But I’m no normal man, and grief wasn’t my burden. It was anger. Pure, unfiltered, burning anger as I watched them lower her coffin into the ground, sealing away the eight years of a marriage that had felt, from the very start, like a trap, I couldn’t escape. Chains that were binding, heavy and tight.

The eight years ended on our anniversary. Poetic, some might say. Fate, others would argue. I’d call it ironic if it didn’t fill me with more bitterness than I could handle. Fitting, maybe, for those onlookers, but to me, Gaia’s death didn’t bring any closure. And as I watched that box sink, there wasn’t a drop of sorrow in me. Not one tear.

The heat of the summer sun beat down relentlessly on me, sweat trickling down my face, but it wasn't grief that weighed me down. My father’s hand on my shoulder tightened, steadying himself or maybe steadying me—I wasn’t even sure. He’d grown so frail since his last heart attack, his skin paper-thin and eyes clouded with cataracts. Losing Gaia had taken more out of him than it had out of me, but I knew that meant I had to step up. I had to be the strong one now, for both of us. For everyone.

Standing there, surrounded by the Famiglia’s underbosses and every important figure who could make the trip, I saw their faces—masks of sadness hiding whispers and glances that didn’t go unnoticed. Even Luca Vitiello, our Capo, had flown in from New York with his wife to pay respects. They’d come to watch, to see if Gaia’s death had left some kind of crack in my armor. As the youngest Underboss with power over Philadelphia, I knew they’d look for weakness.

At least my children, Daniele and Simona, were too young to understand. Daniele clung to my leg, lost, while Simona lay asleep in my arms. She was only four months old, already without a mother. My mind boiled with resentment as the mourners filed by, offering empty condolences. A mask. All of it. Fake.

After the funeral, they all gathered at my mansion. It felt like a spectacle as everyone sized me up, their looks almost expectant. Sybil, our maid, handed me Simona, who had cried the whole night before, now exhausted in my arms. Daniele looked at me with big doe eyes, her innocent face a remainder of the situation of our reality. My mother, sisters, even my father—they were all watching, waiting to see if I’d stumble, break, or crack; just about anything that'll show a weakness.

As the condolences turned into quiet whispers, my father pulled me aside. His voice was tired, urging me to “find a mother for the children.” I didn’t respond. I’d just buried Gaia, and he was talking about a replacement. Mia, my sister, muttered something under her breath about how Gaia had never taken care of me anyway. But I silenced them. Now wasn’t the time.

Then Luca approached with an idea, something he and my father had already discussed. His uncle Felix, who ruled Baltimore, had a daughter, Isabella—unmarried. She’d be eighteen soon, and a union would benefit both of our territories greatly. She wasn’t even of age yet, and already my family and my Capo were pulling the strings for my next move. As if I’d be swayed so easily. I was Philadelphia’s Underboss, not a pawn. I’d make my own choice to take a wife in my own time.

I turned back to the house, ignoring the murmurs behind me. My children needed me now, not another arranged marriage or a stranger taking Gaia’s place. And as I held them both, it was clearer than ever: they were my life, my choices, my future.

***

Faro handed me a martini and slumped into the armchair across from me, his gaze filled with concern and the slightest smirk. “You look like some half-starved hellhound, Nicolas.”

I forced a tight thin smile. “Another sleepless night. Gave me the eye bags; guess that explains the hound look?”

He snorted, then gave me a disapproving look. “Just say yes to Rizzo already. You need a wife, Nicolas. You could have one in less than four months. Felix is desperate to bring you into his family. If he weren’t, he’d be lining up another husband for his daughter. Yet here he is, waiting for you to finally make up your mind.”

I drank half my martini in one gulp, ignoring the burn tugging down my throat. “There’s a fourteen-year gap between us. You realize I’d be waiting for that girl to turn eighteen? And where I come from, marrying with that kind of age gap… It feels like abuse.”

“Then marry a widow. And where I come from, a man without a woman is a sorry excuse. Besides, you really want a woman who’s hung up on another man after Gaia? Come on.” Faro looked at me, disappointed.

I grimaced. I’d been avoiding thoughts of Gaia, doing my best to keep her out of my headspace. Daniele had stopped asking about her, he’d realized on his own that she wasn’t coming back. The boy had gone quiet, his voice almost never heard anymore. Poor kid.

“No,” I said, my voice hard. “No widow.” I wasn’t about to take on a woman haunted by some stupid memories of another man, living or dead. And I definitely didn’t want my kids competing for their mother’s attention with step-siblings. They needed every ounce of love and care, which I knew I couldn’t give—not the way they deserved.

“For Heaven’s sake, call Rizzo. What’s the holdup? The girl will be of age soon enough.”

I shot him a warning look.

“Other men would kill to have a young, beautiful girl in their bed again, and here you are, playing woe-is-me when one’s being handed to you on a silver platter.”

“If we weren’t childhood friends, I’d be taking a finger off you for that tone,” I muttered.

Faro just raised his glass, smirking. “Good thing we’re friends, then.”

After another sleepless night full of my kids’ cries echoing all through the house, I finally picked up the phone the next morning and dialed his number. It wasn't a moment of weakness, its desperation; I'm an underboss not a nanny, i have no idea the hell, on how to care for babies.

“Hello, Felix. It’s Nicolas.”

“Nicolas! What a pleasure.” Felix’s voice had that expectant, almost smug edge I’d anticipated. “I assume you’ve come to a decision about bonding with my daughter?”

“I’ll marry her,” I replied, feeling it more as an obligation than a choice. But I needed the stability, for my kids’ sake and for my own. “I can’t wait long, though. My children need a mother, and soon.”

“Of course, of course. Isabella is a caring young woman. How about we arrange the wedding for early November, right after her eighteenth birthday?”

I gritted my teeth. “All right. That’s reasonable.”

“I’d like you to meet her beforehand,” Felix continued, “so we can go over details for the celebration. Setting up a grand wedding in such short time will really… florish the air.”

I held back a sigh. I could already feel the weight of all the expectations and logistics they’d lay at my feet. A “grand celebration” wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. But I had other priorities now, ones that didn’t include personal preferences.

“Fine,” I said. “But I don’t have time to get involved in planning. If your wife wants it big, she’ll need to handle the arrangements herself.”

“Not a problem at all,” Felix replied smoothly. “When can we expect you? There’s much to go over.”

I thought for a moment. Sybil, my maid, had agreed to stay for the weekend to watch the kids. “In two days. But I can’t stay long.”

“Perfect,” he said, sounding relieved. “You’re making the right choice, Nicolas. Isabella is wonderful.”

I ended the call, but even then, I felt no relief. Not in the slightest.