★★Mariella's POV★★



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"You're joking, right, Papa?" I ask, baffled, as I lean forward in the old rocking chair. The wood creaks beneath me, but I barely notice. My eyes dart from face to face, searching for confirmation that I'm not losing my mind. But no one dares look at me.

Not even a glance.

Papa sits in his lounge chair like a king on his throne, legs crossed, hands folded in his lap, radiating calm authority. He looks more like the dean of some prestigious university than the head of the most feared mafia in Italy. Meanwhile, Enzo, who's perched against the armrest of Papa's chair, keeps his head down, his shoulders shaking ever so slightly. I know that jerk is trying to hide a laugh.

Santino? He's no better.

He's sprawled out on a lounge chair, his hand covering his mouth, doing a horrible job of pretending he's not biting back laughter. I whip around, catching Gio just in time before he snickers. The moment our eyes meet, he quickly turns away, pretending to inspect the garden.

Coward.

My gaze snaps back to Papa, who's watching me with the patience of a saint—or maybe just someone who's entertained by my misery. His expression is infuriatingly serious.

Deadpan.

"Please tell me you're joking," I plead, my voice somewhere between disbelief and desperation.

"Mariella, how many times must I tell you?" he replies, his tone clipped with annoyance, like I'm a child who can't grasp a simple concept.

"Papa," I say, standing up abruptly, crossing my arms like a defiant teenager. "Hell will freeze over before I marry anyone. Do you hear me? Hell. Will. Freeze. Over."

That's when I hear it.

The barely suppressed snort from Santino, the cough disguised as a laugh from Enzo, and the shuffle of Gio, who's visibly shaking from trying to hold it together. My eyes narrow into slits as I glare at the three of them.

"If you're gonna laugh, I swear I'll—" I pause, pointing dramatically at them. "—shove an entire cannoli down your throats. Sideways."

That gets them. Santino throws his head back, howling, while Enzo finally cracks, slapping the back of Papa's chair as if it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. Even Gio, who usually keeps his cool, has his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

I huff, crossing my arms tighter. Me? Marry someone?

Hell to the fucking no.

I'd rather stay single forever, traveling the world as the hot, rich, fun aunt every family brags about.

Marriage? Not happening.

I turn my attention back to Papa, who is now leaning on one hand, his elbow resting on the armrest, watching me with that maddeningly calm expression. He doesn't say anything, just waits for me to finish my tirade like the patient tyrant he is.

Fine. If he wants theatrics, I'll give him theatrics.

Grabbing the hem of my long, flowy summer dress—the one I wore today because the Italian sun was boiling—I drop to my knees in front of him. The dramatic creak of the patio floor adds to the moment.

"Papa," I say, clasping my hands together in a dramatic plea, resting them on his lap like I'm begging for my life. "Please, please don't make me do this. I'll do anything else. Anything!"

Papa raises an eyebrow, but I'm not done. I crank up the dramatics, putting on my best teary-eyed pout.

"I'll... I'll join a convent!" I exclaim loudly. "Yes, Papa! I'll become a nun! A holy, celibate servant of God! Just don't make me marry some boring, suit-wearing idiot who probably snores!"

That gets another round of laughter from the peanut gallery behind me. I glance over my shoulder to see Enzo doubled over, practically wheezing, while Santino is clutching his stomach. Gio, bless his heart, looks like he's about to fall over.

But I stay focused. This is life or death.

"Papa," I whisper, my tone soft and filled with fake sorrow. "Do you really want me to waste my life like this? Imagine me, your only daughter, shackled to some... some..." I pause, searching for the right words. "...tax accountant who doesn't even drink espresso!"

Papa's lips twitch. It's subtle, but I see it. A tiny crack in his stoic façade.

Got him.

But before I can savor the victory of seeing his composure crack, Papa stands up abruptly, making my arms flop uselessly to my sides. He walks a few steps away, his back to me, his hands clasped neatly behind him, as if he's pacing through a philosophical dilemma.

I glare at his back, still kneeling on the patio, my flowy dress pooling around me like I'm a damsel in distress—which, to be fair, I kind of am right now.

Papa suddenly stops and turns around, his face a mask of seriousness. His sharp gaze pins me to the spot, and for a second, I wonder if maybe I went too far. But then he speaks.

"Bellezza," he starts, his tone almost... sympathetic. "You know how much it pains me to make you do something you dislike."

For a moment, hope flickers in my chest. Maybe—just maybe—he's going to let me off the hook.

But then he clears his throat, and my hope deflates faster than Enzo's ego when he loses a poker game.

"However," he continues, his voice firm now, "you are almost twenty-six, cara mia, and it is tradition. Our family has upheld this custom since your ancestors ruled with strength and honor. We cannot simply abandon it because you think men—"

He pauses, and his eyes narrow just slightly.

"—are only good for being shot at or avoided like stray dogs in the street."

I choke on a laugh despite myself. He's not wrong, but I'm not about to admit that out loud.

Still, I remain on my knees, facing away from him. My defiance is unwavering, even as he continues.

"Think of Niko Zervos, for example," Papa says, his voice dropping the name like it's supposed to impress me.

That does it.

Before he can elaborate, I burst out laughing. Not a chuckle. Not a polite giggle. Oh no, this is full-blown, hysterical, stomach-cramping laughter. My head falls back as I laugh so hard that I practically feel the patio shake.

The garden goes silent except for my cackling. When I finally manage to open my eyes, everyone is staring at me like I've completely lost my mind.

Still laughing, I wobble to my feet, clutching my stomach as I turn to face Papa.

"Niko Zervos?" I repeat between gasps of laughter. "You mean the guy who spends more time fixing his hair than I do? The one who wears sunglasses indoors and can't go five minutes without talking about his 'investment portfolio'?"

I wipe an imaginary tear from the corner of my eye, shaking my head. "Oh, yes, Papa. What a catch. A man so full of himself that even mirrors are sick of looking at him."

Enzo snorts loudly from behind Papa, and Santino makes no effort to hide his outright laughter. Even Gio lets out a low chuckle, muttering, "She's not wrong."

Papa, however, is done.

He rolls his eyes, his patience clearly stretched thin. "Enough, Mariella," he says, his voice sharp. "You will marry, and you will do it with dignity. This is not up for debate."

I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms. "Dignity? Papa, the day I marry someone like Niko Zervos is the day I volunteer to let Santino cook me dinner."

Santino gasps, clutching his chest. "Hey! I'm not that bad!"

"You set pasta on fire," I shoot back, before turning to Papa again. "You can't be serious about this. Niko Zervos? The man's idea of romance is probably sending me stock tips."

Papa's jaw tightens, but I can see the faint twitch of amusement in his lips. He's trying to stay stern, but even he knows I have a point.

"Fine," I say dramatically, throwing my hands in the air. "Marry me off to Niko. But don't be surprised when I poison his espresso after the first month. Tradition or not, I'll die before I let him call me his wife."

The garden erupts in laughter again, but Papa's sigh cuts through the noise.

He doesn't say another word. He turns on his heel and walks back into the house, his footsteps deliberate, his back straight, and not a single glance over his shoulder. Classic Papa—drop the bomb and leave before anyone can argue.

The moment the door shuts behind him, Santino leaps to his feet with the biggest grin on his face. He starts clapping slowly, dramatically, like he's just witnessed the finale of a Tony Award-winning Broadway show.

"I'll give it a standing ovation!" he announces, still clapping with over-the-top enthusiasm.

Enzo doubles over laughing, slapping the back of Papa's empty chair. "Bravo, sorella, truly! You've outdone yourself this time!"

Even Gio, who usually keeps his cool, is smirking as he leans casually against the patio railing. "I've seen arguments on reality TV that weren't this entertaining."

I whip around to glare at all three of them, my eyes narrowing to slits. Their smug, amused faces are infuriating.

My blood is boiling.

I spot the pillows on my lounge chair and, without thinking twice, grab one. Like a woman possessed, I launch it at Santino's chest.

"Hey!" he yells as it smacks him, but I'm already grabbing another.

" Andate tutti a farvi fottere! (Go fuck yourselves, all of you!)" I shout, hurling the next pillow at Enzo, who groans when it hits him square in the stomach.

I'm not done.

The third pillow is aimed directly at Gio, who, despite his cool demeanor, ducks a second too late. It nails him in the shoulder.

"Goddamn it, Mariella!" Enzo laughs, holding up his hands defensively.

"I swear, if any of you laugh again, I'll feed you to Santino's cooking! And don't think I'm bluffing!" I growl, my voice venomous.

That shuts them up—for about two seconds—before Santino wheezes, "Bold of you to assume I'd cook for them."

I spin on my heel, my dress flaring dramatically behind me, and storm toward the house. "Idiots. All of you."

The sound of Gio's footsteps trailing behind me makes my blood boil even more. I know that smug smirk is still plastered on his face.

"Go away, Gio!" I snap as I stomp down the hallway to my room.

"Come on, bambina, you can't stay mad forever," he says, his voice annoyingly smooth.

I reach my door, whirl around, and slap my palm against his chest—not hard, but enough to make a point.

"Try me," I growl before shoving the door open, stepping inside, and slamming it shut in his face.

Finally alone, I let out a scream of pure frustration, muffling the sound with my hands. Then I throw myself onto my bed and scream into my pillow.

It's not fair. How dare they laugh at me? How dare Papa try to marry me off like I'm some pawn in a chess game?

I grab another pillow and throw it across the room, where it hits the dresser and flops to the floor.

"Marry Niko Zervos," I mutter bitterly into my pillow. "I'd rather wrestle a wild boar than spend a single minute pretending to like that arrogant bastard."

For now, I'll let them laugh.

But tomorrow?

Tomorrow, I'm getting even.

****

The sound of a loud knock drags me from my much-needed nap—the kind of nap you take because if you don't, you might just book a one-way flight to nowhere and escape all your problems. Groggy, I push myself up, my dress crumpled at the waist as it falls back to my ankles.

"Mariella," comes Gio's voice from the other side of the door, his tone calm but insistent.

I groan dramatically, stumbling toward the door. When I yank it open, Gio is standing there with his ever-present smirk, looking far too amused for my liking.

"If you're here to gloat, I swear to God—" I narrow my eyes at him, pointing a finger in warning.

He holds up his hands in mock surrender, his smirk only growing wider. "Relax, bambina, I'm not here to rub salt in your wounds. But there's someone downstairs to see you."

I squint at him suspiciously. "Who?"

Before he can answer, the sound of a loud, familiar scream echoes through the house.

"Bitch!"

My heart skips, and my grogginess evaporates instantly.

"Luna?" I gasp.

Gio rolls his eyes as if this is the most chaotic interruption he's endured all day. Without a second thought, I shove him aside. "Move!" I snap, bolting past him and sprinting down the hallway.

By the time I hit the spiral staircase, my heart is racing. I spot the double doors wide open, sunlight streaming through them, and there, in the driveway, is Luna Rossi herself. She's standing next to a pile of suitcases on the pavement, her perfectly styled hair gleaming in the Italian sun like she just stepped off a runway.

I scream.

She screams back.

"Ahhhhh!"

"Ahhhhh!"

We rush toward each other like we're starring in a cheesy rom-com reunion scene, arms wide, shrieking like lunatics. When we finally collide, we're hugging and twirling like a couple of schoolgirls who haven't seen each other in years.

"Oh my God!" I yell, clutching her tightly.

"I'm back, bitch!" she yells just as loudly, pulling back to look at me with that signature grin of hers.

I'm so stunned I almost forget to breathe. "I completely forgot you were coming today!"

She laughs and shakes her head. "Mari, I told you I'd be staying for two weeks. You even texted me about it."

I blink, remembering vaguely, but honestly, between Papa's marriage plot and my homicidal urges toward my brothers, it completely slipped my mind. "Oh yeah," I mumble, grinning sheepishly.

She squeezes my hands. "You look amazing. Now, spill. What the hell's been going on?"

"There's so much I have to tell you," I say, practically bouncing with excitement.

"I'm ready for all the tea," she says, chuckling, "but first, can I get some help with these suitcases? And maybe a glass of cold water? It's boiling out here."

I nod eagerly and whirl around, spotting Gio still standing near the staircase, watching us like we're two hurricanes about to wreak havoc.

"Gio!" I bark, snapping my fingers. "Bring her suitcases up to her room."

He blinks, his smirk instantly replaced with a scowl. "No please?"

I glare at him, and Luna tilts her head, giving him a once-over.

"Gio, unless you want to wear those suitcases as a hat, move," I threaten, narrowing my eyes.

Luna snickers and steps forward, completely unbothered by my attitude. "Wow, you're hot," she says, waving at him casually. "I'm Luna."

That catches him completely off guard. His usual smug composure cracks, and he looks between us like he's trying to figure out if he's being pranked. Finally, he clears his throat, giving her an awkward wave.

"Oh, uh... thank you, Miss Rossi." He grabs one of the suitcases, looking utterly baffled.

Luna turns to me and winks, lowering her voice. "Damn, Mari. You didn't tell me your bodyguard was a hottie."

I'm positive Gio hears her because I catch the faintest hint of a chuckle as he picks up the rest of the luggage.

I roll my eyes so hard they practically spin out of my skull. "Bodyguard? Please. He's more like a decorative houseplant—useless unless you need a reminder of how annoying men can be."

Gio pauses at the door and glances back, deadpan. "And yet, here I am, carrying the bags."

Luna laughs, giving me a knowing look. "I like him."

"You would," I mutter, linking arms with her. "Come on. Let's get you a drink before I lose my mind completely."

We head to the kitchen, already giggling like we're teenagers again. Whatever chaos is coming in the next two weeks, at least I won't be facing it alone.

We make our way into the kitchen, where I grab two glasses of ice-cold lemonade and hand one to Luna. Without missing a beat, we stroll out to the garden, where a cozy sitting area waits beneath the shade of a pergola. Gio trails behind us, his hands clasped behind his back, looking every bit like an overly invested chaperone.

Luna plops down into a chair, crossing her legs and raising an expectant brow. "Alright, spill," she says, taking a sip of her lemonade.

I groan, slumping into my chair dramatically, my glass clinking against the table as I set it down. "Luna, there is so much to unpack." I let out a long sigh and take a sip, letting the cool drink soothe my nerves.

She leans back, mirroring me, but her expression screams curiosity. "Then start unpacking. What's going on?"

"Well..." I pause for dramatic effect, watching her lean forward, her eyes wide with anticipation. "I got kidnapped."

She chokes on her drink so violently that I nearly drop mine trying to get up and pat her back. Luna leans forward, coughing and sputtering as I laugh, both at her reaction and at the absurdity of my own words.

"Are you okay?" I manage through giggles, rubbing her back.

She waves me off with a thumbs-up, her face still red. "I'm fine! Just—kidnapped?!" she screeches, her voice climbing an octave.

Gio, who's lingering a few feet away, glances over his shoulder to check the situation, his brow furrowed. I wave him off, motioning that Luna isn't actually dying.

I make my way back to my chair, still chuckling. "Yeah, kidnapped," I confirm casually, taking another sip of lemonade like it's no big deal.

"Kidnapped?!" she repeats, louder this time. "Mari, what the hell do you mean 'kidnapped'? By who? Give me names, addresses—hell, I'll book a flight tonight."

Her fiery determination makes me laugh even harder. "Relax, lun, it was all a big misunderstanding. We... came to an agreement."

She raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "An agreement? With who?"

I shrug, trying to play it cool, but her piercing stare makes it impossible. "My father and his father are apparently best buddies," I mutter, rolling my eyes.

Her face twists in confusion, and then it dawns on her. "He?" she asks, leaning forward like a predator about to pounce.

I stiffen. "Mhm," I reply curtly.

"And?"

"And... he's a fucking asshole," I snap, trying to dismiss the topic. But as the words leave my mouth, an unwelcome warmth creeps up my neck. The mere thought of him sends a strange, fluttery sensation through my stomach—one that I immediately drown with another gulp of lemonade.

Luna doesn't miss a thing. Her smirk grows wicked, her head tilting like she's about to deliver a bombshell.

"Is he hot? "

I jolt upright so fast I nearly knock over my chair. "No!" I say, my voice higher than intended.

Her smirk widens. "Hmm."

"Don't," I warn, pointing at her. "Don't you dare."

But she's already on a roll. "Wow, what kind of blush is that, Mari? Or are you just—" she gasps theatrically—"blushing?"

"I'm not blushing!" I protest, slamming my glass down and pressing my cold drink against my burning cheeks. "It's called surviving the seventh circle of hell disguised as summer weather, thank you very much."

Gio glances back at me briefly, his expression somewhere between exasperated and amused, before turning away again. That look sends a new wave of irritation through me.

Why the hell is he looking at me like that?

I glare at Luna, who is still staring me down with a knowing look. "Stop looking at me like that," I mutter, narrowing my eyes.

She chuckles softly, leaning back in her chair. "Whatever you say, tesoro."

Desperate to change the subject, I blurt out, "Wanna go to the beach?"

Luna's face lights up instantly. "Duh! I could use a tan."

I grin and stand, grabbing her hand. "Good, because if I stay here any longer, I might actually die of heatstroke—or Gio's judgmental stares."

Luna snickers as we head back toward the house to get ready. "You've got a beach bodyguard and drama. This is gonna be one hell of a vacation."

I roll my eyes, but a small smile creeps onto my lips. If nothing else, it's definitely not going to be boring.

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beach? new place unlocked?

Now are we going to talk about gio being...jealous????

Bye, lovies! (っ◔◡◔)っ

Maddie♡

*Mariell'a Outfit*