Adrian's Vengeance: A Dark Mafia Romance Read online

  "Lucia, leave it, please," I beg her. "You'll cut yourself, you're shaking."

  "T-That vase was priceless, signorina," she manages, her voice trembling as badly as her fingers. "Y-Your father... he'll-"

  "He won't do anything," I reassure her. "Just calm down and-"

  "What's all this commotion about?" She gasps lightly as we raise our heads, seeing my father standing impatiently at the foot of the stairs. "What happened here?"

  "Papa," I say calmly, bowing slightly. "I accidentally smashed this vase. Lucia is cleaning it up now."

  "No matter," papa waves his hand dismissively, even though the vase was probably worth tens of thousands of euros. "Come to the salon, your mother and I are waiting."

  Lucia breathes a sigh of relief, squeezing my palm to thank me silently.

  "Girl!" papa barks. "Get your hands off her. Who do you think you are?"

  "Mi scusi, signore," Lucia whispers, bowing respectfully and flushing a deep shade of red before getting back to picking up the broken pieces.

  I follow papa into the salon where mama is waiting with a stoic expression. She nods with a small smile when she sees me. I sit in one of the armchairs while they take the loveseat in front of me.

  "Happy birthday," mama tells me with a tight smile. "You are finally eighteen. Congratulations on becoming a woman."

  "Thank you." My mouth twitches. I want to say so much more. Beg them to let me go, to let me live a life of my own. But I know there's no way that's happening.

  The only person who could possibly help me now is my brother, Luigi, but he's away on business and won't be back for months. He always takes my side, but I'm alone now, and powerless against my parents.

  "I'm sure you know what this means," papa speaks with a wide smile. "It is finally time to announce your engagement. We will be holding a spectacular masquerade party in your honor in two weeks' time. Everyone who's anyone will be invited. The creme of the crop of Palermo."

  But that means nothing to me, because I know the person who means most to me won't be invited. My parents hate the Bernardis, always have. There's no way they would invite Adrian or papa to their party. Not unless they really wanted to gloat and rub it in their faces.

  "Of course, papa," I mutter obediently, avoiding his gaze. I don't want to hear my parents' news. I don't want to know who holds my life in their hands. It'll be too easy for them to crush all my hopes and dreams. To destroy everything I've spent my life wishing for, lusting after.

  "We have indeed picked a husband for you," papa goes on proudly. "We are delighted to tell you who we've picked. We think you'll be very happy."

  "Oh?" My eyes light up as they meet his. Is it possible... no, surely it can't be. They would never marry me to Adrian... would they? "Who is it?"

  My curiosity gets the better of me as I ask for his name. I have to know.

  My parents exchange excited glances and mama speaks up next.

  "You will marry Vitto Donati, Marzia."

  I feel like I'm going to be sick.

  My manicured hands feel heavy in my lap. My head is spinning. Vitto. The boy who's been chasing me since I was a little girl. The boy whose parents own the docks where I met Adrian. The monster who broke a younger boy's nose just to prove his own worth. The weakling who needed the backup of four of his friends to take on someone a year younger.

  "I..." My words dry up in my throat. I want to be truthful for once. To say how I truly feel about this marriage, how devastated I am by their pick. But in the end, I'm not brave enough. "Thank you, mama. Thank you, papa."

  "We knew you'd be delighted," papa grins widely. "Vitto is ecstatic as well. We will arrange for you to see him again before the masquerade party so you may reacquaint yourselves."

  "Okay," I whisper. I still feel like I'm going to be sick, nausea coming and going in waves. "May I... may I please be excused?"

  "Already?" Mama raises her thinly plucked eyebrows. "Don't you want to open all your presents?"

  "I have a headache," I mutter. "I will open them all in my room, if that's alright... I just need to..."

  I get up and rush toward the double doors leading out of the stuffy salon. Opening them wide, I run outside, ignoring my mother and father's calls as I ascend the stairs and rush back into my room.

  I take the key from outside the door. I'm not letting them take this small moment of privacy from me, so I lock the door from the inside. My heart beats with the small victory. At least I picked my own prison this time.

  The dress I'm wearing is so tight around my waist it suffocates me. I pull angrily at the pins holding my hair in place, allowing my perfect hairstyle to come tumbling down. Now, all my hair is falling down my back in a way my parents would surely find inappropriate. But I don't care.

  Perhaps this is my last little rebellion. The last one before I become Vitto's wife.

  I close my eyes, stifling a sob. I try to remember the last time I've seen Vitto. It must've been two years ago during Luigi's eighteenth birthday party. There's no denying the boy is handsome - he's tall, dark and chiseled. Any girl in Palermo, in Sicily, would be delighted to marry him. But I'm not. In fact, it's my worst nightmare.

  The marriage announcement feels like a direct betrayal to Adrian. I know the promise we made was childish and silly, and yet I kept that memory close to my heart, carrying with me through all these years as a saving grace. But now my dying hope of getting away from this oppressive house has been well and truly squashed. There's no way Vitto will let me see Adrian. He always hated him.

  I sit in front of my window overlooking the beautiful gardens of our family home where I'm rarely allowed to go. Our vineyards stretch over the acres of land we own. Our family, the De Lucas, are known for our grappa. We have been proudly making it since 1791, and the family recipe is our most sought after secret.

  But what the world doesn't know is that the De Lucas import and export many other things on top of the grappa. My father has expanded the business to include drugs. The grappa trade is the perfect way to hide his illegal dealings and now, with Vitto on his side, he will control the docks, too, making our profits skyrocket.

  Nonna never agreed with what her son, my papa, did to the company. The maids always whispered that she died of a broken heart when papa entered the drug trade. Often, I wonder if they're right.

  Even though it's been over a decade, my hand still goes up to my neck to touch the golden chain with nonna's wedding band that is no longer there.

  I wonder what Adrian did with it. Whether he still has it, whether he even still remembers me. Word of my marriage will surely reach the Bernardis. Will he be bothered, knowing I'm marrying the boy who picked on him when we were children?

  No, surely he's forgotten all about that now. He won't give a damn about the bambina he spent the afternoon with at the docks. He won't be bothered about this at all. He'll probably be getting married himself soon... after all, he's only a year younger than my groom, Vitto.

  The thought fills me with dread and jealousy. Finally, a lone tear escapes my eyes, and I angrily wipe it away, tearing myself away from the window.

  Eleven years, and Adrian never bothered to see me - not even to return my necklace.

  I need to give up on the hopes that he'll be my prince charming, rescuing me from a fate I cannot escape. This is my life, and Vitto is my future.

  And yet, as I lay my head down on my pillow that night, I find myself wishing for one thing, and one thing only as I cross myself after whispering a prayer.

  Please, oh please, let Adrian Bernardi save me from this marriage. Let him remember the promise we made to one another. Let him steal me away.

  Because despite what my parents want, I will never want Vitto Donati. The only boy I've ever wanted was the rowdy kid from the docks who promised me a favor... I can only hope he remembers it.

  3

  Adrian

  "Adrian?"

  I look up from the papers in front of me toward the sound of my brother's voi
ce. Julian is standing in the doorframe.

  "Father wants to see you."

  I nod, putting down the printed images of the oil painting we've just bought during an auction in Nice. I'll have to decide who to sell it to later. When father wants to speak to one of us, he expects our presence right away, and I know better than to defy him.

  Following Julian down the stairs, I enter father's study, where the rest of my brothers are already waiting. Father is sitting behind his desk, a glass of grappa in one of his hands and a pen in the other. My stomach tightens when I see the warm amber liquid in his glass, just like it always does.

  Everyone in Palermo drinks De Luca grappa. It's tradition here to honor the family that made their fortune selling the grape liquor - along with some other, not as innocent things. But we do not speak of that. Not in this house, where everything illegal is waved off as insignificant. We sweep the bad shit under the rug without a second thought. After all, we got a reputation to uphold.

  "You wanted to see me?" I speak up from the entrance to the room. Father lifts his gaze, nodding as he waves a card printed on embossed, thick gold paper in my direction.

  "Thought you'd want to see this," he says. "It's from De Lucas."

  The name sends shivers down my spine, making my hands form fists at my sides. De Luca is a name I will never forget, just like those bastard Donatis. They are the two families whom I've sworn vengeance to, and some day, father promised he will let me enact my revenge. Some day soon, I hope.

  "What is it?" I hiss, striding forward and snatching the thick paper from my father's hands. My eyes scan the embossed words, not quite believing what they're seeing. "Is this bullshit for real?"

  "Afraid so," Santino speaks up from behind me. "I still can't believe those bastards sent us the invitation. It's like they're asking for a goddamn war."

  "Figlio," Father cuts in strictly. "Remember what I always tell you."

  "Mi dispiace," Santino mutters, averting his gaze. Father isn't very traditional, but religion has always been present in his life, and he hates it when we take the Lord's name in vain. Out of respect, the five of us watch our mouths when we speak to him, but even Santino's pissed by this news. Nowhere near as much as I am, though.

  "Is this a fucking joke?" I mutter, tossing the invitation on father's desk. "They can't be serious. They're making her marry that Donati bastard?"

  "It's an alliance that makes sense for them," father mutters, crushing the invitation in his right hand. I take pleasure in watching it burn as he tosses it into the fireplace. I watch the flames engulf the piece of paper, my nails digging painfully into the palms of my hands as I wait for the paper to turn into ash. Just like this marriage will, because I'm going to stop it, no matter the cost.

  "They will want control of the docks," father goes on. "Marrying Marzia to Vitto is the only way they can do that. We knew this was coming, Adrian. I can't say I'm surprised myself."

  "That doesn't mean it's over," I grunt. "Just because they announced the marriage doesn't mean it's too late to stop them."

  I lean my palms against father's desk, and he raises his eyes to meet mine. He's told me no one too many a time. Every time I beg him to take revenge on De Lucas for turning down his marriage proposal over a decade ago, father tells me it's too soon. But surely he won't say that this time. Surely, he will let me make things right before it's too late for Marzia. For me. For us.

  "Please, father." This is the first time I've pleaded with my father. It's fucking humiliating, but must be endured. I cannot go up against De Lucas without father's support. He could disown me for my disobedience. Not that I care about that. But I care about my father's respect for me. "Please, tell me now is finally the time to have our revenge."

  Father's intelligent eyes bore into mine. I know he's contemplating the answer, and that fact alone pisses me off because the answer should be clear. We need to punish De Lucas for their insolent behavior. It's been eleven years since that fateful day at the docks, and plenty of things have changed.

  For starters, our family name holds meaning and power now. If my father asked for Marzia's hand for me now, they would never turn him down. The Bernardis have grown too powerful, and the thought of our rage when they turned us down would make Marzia's parents too afraid to say no to us. But I don't need their approval anymore. All I need is my father's permission to destroy them.

  "I need to think about it," father mutters, making me growl out loud in frustration.

  "Think about what?" I grind out through gritted teeth. "They need to be taught a lesson. Sending this invitation here is the last fucking straw. They think they've got you by the balls, father. You can't let them treat you this way."

  "Figlio," father sighs. "What do I always tell you?"

  "That doesn't matter right now," I hiss. "All that matters is-"

  "Tell me." His tone is insistent, and I groan out loud, running a hand through my hair.

  "Revenge is a dish best served cold," I manage despite the rage unfurling in the pit of my stomach. Father nods at my words.

  "It's true," he says simply. "So be patient while we figure this out."

  "But that invitation was for a masquerade party in less than a week," I mutter. "They're going to announce their engagement there. Everyone will know. You don't want to make an enemy of Vitto Donati, father."

  "Haven't I already?" the old man's eyes sparkle with mischief just as he is taken over by a shattering cough. He pulls out a handkerchief from his suit pocket and covers his mouth. When he pulls his hand away, I see traces of blood on the white cotton.

  My eyes fly to his, a silent question waiting for his answer. But the answer never comes. Father pockets the handkerchief and lightly shakes his head to warn me not to speak of this in front of my brothers. I furrow my brows, not understanding why. Is father ill?

  "Everyone out," he speaks up all of a sudden. "Leave me with Adrian for a few minutes."

  Dutifully, my four brothers file out of the room. Cillian's cold, hard gaze follows me as I pace the room. I don't know what his fucking problem is now, but he's getting on my last nerve. He wants to be a rebel, fine, but he doesn't have to disrespect father every step of the way. I glare at him in return, and he's the last to leave the room, slamming the door on his way out and making father shake his head in disapproval.

  "That boy refuses to be a part of this family," father mutters under his breath before turning his attention back to me. "We need to talk about this upcoming masquerade party. I know you're eager to strike by then, but I think it's too soon."

  I fist my hands again, snarling my answer. "You know as well as I do once that marriage is announced, there's no way they'll go back on their word. Vitto will marry her and she'll never be free again."

  "Maybe it's for the best," father shrugs carelessly, making my blood boil in my veins. "You need to forget about that De Luca girl, Adrian. It's been years since you've seen her. A decade."

  It's been longer than a decade, but I don't correct him even though everything inside me is screaming, telling me to fight him on this.

  "I'm not waiting for them to get married," I hiss. "What's the point of enacting revenge on them if I don't get Marzia?"

  "Why is it so hard for you to be patient?" father grunts. "This rush you're in means you're not careful. It will not end well if we seek revenge now. We need time to gather our resources. I am not starting a war with both the Donatis and the De Lucas."

  "Maybe you should," I mutter.

  "What's that?" Father's voice is thunderous, demanding an answer, but I'm not afraid of him - I never was.

  "I said, maybe you fucking should, father," I hiss again. "Those families are insolent and need to admit who the new capo in town is."

  "You're getting ahead of yourself, Adrian. We aren't-" Another coughing fit takes over and he covers his mouth with the handkerchief again. This time, the blood blooms on the white cotton and he's unable to hide it from my view. As he pockets the handkerchief, I glare at h
im.

  "Are you hiding something from us, father?"

  "What, the coughing?" He waves his hand dismissively. "It's nothing. Non ti preoccupare, don't worry about it."

  It's not nothing, but for the time being, I take his word for it. We need to focus on Marzia and Vitto. If father wants to keep his secret, whatever it is, a while longer, so be it.

  "Like I said," he goes on. "We will wait until after the wedding to go forth with our plan."

  "After the wedding?" I rub my temples. "You can't be serious. He'll get his hands on her by then. He'll fuck her. She might even be goddamn pregnant by-"

  "Language," father roars, glaring at me. "How many fucking times do I have to remind you?"

  I don't apologize. I just glare at him, eyes burning with anger. "There are more important things at stake here than a stupid curseword."

  "There is nothing more important than respecting your God." Father waves his hand dismissively. "This conversation is over. Go fuck a girl, get your mind off Marzia De Luca. She's old news. You don't bring this up with me again. Not until I tell you we're ready."

  "But father, I-"

  "I said we're done." His voice is calm and leaves no room for argument. I'm pissed off, but I don't argue with him. I'm not as rebellious as Cillian and my father's respect still means something to me. Instead, my lips form a thin line and I walk out of father's office, fighting the urge to slam the door behind me as I leave.

  Santino calls out to me as I leave the office, but I ignore him, walking straight past him. He knows better than to bother me when I'm in this mood, and I storm straight up to my quarters where I find the golden chain with the wedding band under my pillow.

  I held onto it for eleven years. Eleven years, the memory of the bambina in the red-and-white polka dot dress followed me, reminding me Marzia De Luca was supposed to be mine. Eleven years of holding that chain, thinking about what she must look like now. She's eighteen years old now - fair game as far as I'm concerned.

  I don't agree with my father. It's one of those rare cases where I refuse to swallow my pride and do as he says, because the thought of my girl with that cazzo Vitto is too much to fucking handle. I'll never let them get married. She'll wear his wedding ring over my dead fucking body.