The Don Arrives

The mansion felt too quiet. The guards stood straight and stared ahead, avoiding each other's eyes. The air felt tense.

Damon entered her room with a stern expression. He held a dark blue dress that was simple, covering her arms and reaching her knees.  

"Put this on," he said flatly. "Say nothing. Smile. Speak only if he asks you a question."

It was a uniform. She slipped it on.

A black car arrived. A man stepped out. He was shorter, older, and used a cane. His hair was white, and he walked slowly.

This was Don Roberto, Damon's father.

He saw Violetta and smiled warmly, his smile reaching his eyes. He took her hand, and his skin felt soft.  

"My dear," he said kindly. "You are even more beautiful than my son described. A true prize."

He seemed nice and gentle. Violetta glanced at Damon. Why was he so afraid of this kind old man?

They went to a sitting room where Lucian was waiting. He leaned against the wall, wearing his sly smile.

Don Roberto settled into the biggest chair, resting his cane across his knees.  

"My boys," he said, looking at Damon and Lucian. "An empire needs a strong hand, a family man. I said the son who finds a worthy wife first wins it all."

He looked proudly at Damon while Lucian’s grin remained unchanged.

Suddenly, the Don’s expression shifted. The kindness drained away like water going down a hole. His eyes went flat and dead.

He glanced at one of his guards by the door and gave a slight nod.

Another guard moved quickly. He seized the first guard and wrapped an arm around his neck, dragging him to the center of the room. The man’s eyes widened in fear.

Don Roberto spoke in a calm voice, as if he were discussing the weather. "This man," he said, "sold my secrets to the Moretti family. He thought I was a fool. He thought I wouldn’t know."

The guard with the knife acted without hesitation. He sliced the blade across the man’s throat.

The sound was wet. Blood flowed out and splashed on the rug, spraying across Violetta’s new blue dress—warm and red.

Violetta froze. Her breath caught in her throat. The metallic smell filled her nose.

Don Roberto did not look at the dead man. He focused on Violetta, his eyes cold as stones. "A pretty face isn’t enough," he said, his voice icy. "To be a DeLeon wife, you need strength. You must be one of us. There is a test, a tradition. All new brides must go through it."

Violetta’s heart pounded. She looked at Damon. His face was pale with anger and fear—not for the dead man but for her.

Lucian looked like he just received a great gift.

Don Roberto stood and leaned on his cane. He glanced at the blood on her dress.  

"Tomorrow, you will prove your worth," he said. "Or you will be removed."

The door closed behind Don Roberto. The room fell silent except for Lucian’s soft, amused breathing.

Violetta looked at her hands. The blood on her dress was starting to feel cold. It felt heavy.

A test. A tradition. Prove your worth, or you will be removed.

These thoughts spun in her head. What did it mean? What could it be? Her mind conjured terrible images—a dark room, a gun, a knife.

She glanced at Damon. He was staring at the door his father had just left through, his jaw tense.

“What is the test?” she asked, her voice thin and frightened in the large room.

Damon’s eyes shifted to her. For a moment, it seemed like he didn’t see her. Then he focused. “I don’t know,” he replied, his voice flat. “It changes. It’s whatever he decides.”

I don’t know. Those words felt worse than a yes or no. The unknown loomed like a dark hole. She felt like she would fall into it.

She thought of the dead man on the floor, the blood, and being removed. She understood what that meant now.

She would die tomorrow.

The thought was clear and cold. It calmed her panic for a moment and made her feel brave.

She took a step toward Damon. Lucian watched from the corner, his eyes bright.

“My mother,” Violetta said. The words felt sharp and painful in her throat. “She... she hasn’t seen me since the engagement party. She will be calling. She will be worried.”

She imagined her mom’s face, her kind eyes, and the way she always worried. She would be trying to reach her phone, probably dead in a ditch or in Adam’s pocket.

“Please,” she said. She hated that word. It always felt useless here. But she had no other option. “Before... before tomorrow. Please let me call her. Let me tell her I’m okay. Let me hear her voice. Just once.”

She felt like she was pleading. She didn’t care. She looked at Damon, her eyes filled with tears that she refused to let fall.

“Please. Let me say goodbye.”

Damon looked at her. He saw the raw fear on her face. He noticed the blood on her dress. His expression remained hard and unreadable.

He didn’t say yes. He didn’t say no.

He turned and walked out of the room without a word.