The Mafia King's Contract Bride

SERA

Isabella was a goddess. Everybody wanted to be like her, including me. I wanted to be loved like her, to be seen by my father like her but obviously, I was asking for too much, a whole lot if we were being honest.

Isabella is my stepsister, and it's her twenty-fifth birthday. She had pulled in half of Manhattan's elite — jewels, perfume, laughter that cost money. I had ironed my best dress for the evening, a plain navy thing that had been washed so many times the colour had started apologizing for itself.

I picked up the tray and made my way to the kitchen when I heard them. Two women, standing near the alcove just off the main hallway, champagne flutes in hand, speaking the way people speak when they assume nobody important is listening.

“---apparently, there's another daughter. Some illegitimate thing the father keeps private.”

I slowed down.

"Hidden for good reason, I'm sure," the second woman said, and laughed softly. "I heard she's hard to look at. Nothing like Isabella at all.”

“Can you blame them? Who would want to parade a repulsive human being around? One born by a prostitute.”

I didn't stop. I kept my feet moving, one in front of the other, the tray steady in my hands. I turned to a small corner and stopped, the tears poured down without my permission. I blinked repeatedly to hold the tears, I wasn't going to cry today, at least not in front of this crowd.

I exhaled, straightened and turned towards the hall but my stepmother's voice halted me.

“Why are you lazing about? Have you suddenly got nothing to do with your life?”

She asked sternly and my fingers shivered.

“I-I was going to the hall,” I stuttered.

She studied me for a moment and shook her head. “You're pathetic Seraphina,” she said and I looked down. I heard that every day now and honestly, I had started believing her. “You should have just disappeared with your mother,” she said in disgust. “Sadly, she's left us to deal with you.”

I looked at her and the tears flowed again. I hated it. I was supposed to be used to her words now, but somehow the words always created a fresh wound.

“Why is she crying?” Isabella asked from behind before standing beside her mum. Her mother shrugged and looked at me with disgust.

“Must you make everything about you Seraphina? Today is my special day and yet, you still want people's pity?” Isabella asked, feigning hurt.

“That’s a lie, I’m happy it's your birthday,” I said while wiping my tears. She walked towards me and tapped my shoulders.

“Stop the pity party and be happy for me.” She turned to her mother then. “Come on Mum, Dad is about to give a speech.”

Her mum looked at me before walking out with Isabella.

********

I found a spot at the far end of the hall. Not a seat, just a place to stand where I could see without being seen.

My father stood at the front of the room, tall and polished, commanding the kind of attention that certain men are simply born into. He raised his glass and the room quieted immediately.

"Isabella Moretti," he said, and his voice carried the warmth I had spent twenty-three years wondering if he was capable of. "My daughter. My pride."

The crowd responded with the clicking of their glasses.

My daughter. My pride. Something he had never said to me.

“Thank you all for coming this evening,” he continued and I shifted. “I am indeed honoured to have you all for my daughter's 25th birthday. I can never say just how proud I am of this jewel.” He said, and the crowd cheered. Isabella's smile widened.

“She has been the definition of a perfect daughter, beautiful, intelligent, and the exact replica of her father. Which is why, on her 25th birthday, I want to publicly say that Isabella Moretti is and would be the only heir that I've got.” My father concluded and the crowd cheered loudly.

I turned to go back to my room before the tears came again when I suddenly bumped into a wall, except it wasn't exactly a wall. I stumbled back and almost fell, I looked up with a little frown but froze instead.

He was tall in a way that rearranged the space around him. Dark suit, no tie, the top button of his shirt open like formality was something that applied to other men. His jaw was sharp, his shoulders broad, and his eyes grey, pale, and completely still. He looked down at me with the kind of expression that wasn't quite cold and wasn't quite anything else, just empty. Like I had interrupted nothing because I was nothing worth interrupting.

He looked at me for a few seconds, like my presence disgusted him before finally walking out, without a word. I stood there, trying to catch my breath. One I didn't realise I was holding.

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

The knock interrupted my sleep, I got up and slowly walked towards the door. I prayed it wasn't any of my family members, I didn't have the energy to deal with them.

“We have a guest, your father said you should dress up immediately and come to the reception room,” The housekeeper said and handed me a box immediately after I opened the door.

I slowly took the box, still confused. “What guest?” I asked, surprised that my father needed me there.

“Isabella is about to get engaged,” she said and my face lit up but her next words brought it down. “To Damian De Luca.”

“What?” I asked in horror.

Damian De Luca? The most horrible man in New York? The same man who killed people without batting an eyelid? Why would Father give Isabella to such a man?

The housekeeper walked away.

I dropped the box on the bed and shook my head. I knew Isabella hadn't been exactly nice to me, but I felt bad for her. Damian De Luca?

I quickly got dressed and walked towards the reception room, I got to the door and paused. I exhaled in front of the door for a few seconds before walking into the reception room. Everyone turned to me, my knees felt weak then.

I looked around, my parents and Isabella sat at the other end, I couldn't read their expressions. I looked at the man then and my eyes widened. The man earlier! He was Damian De Luca? He studied me again. This time, his face was blank. He suddenly turned to my father.

“I don't want this daughter,” he said, looking at Isabella.

“What?” Isabella murmured, like she didn't like the sound of that.

He ignored her and slowly looked at me, my breath paused.

“I want her,” he pointed at me and I went numb.