Page 1 of The Last Vendetta

1

GIULIA

Giulia

Like every other party I was expected to attend, the reception for Luka Bernardi and Cecilia Romano was a bore. The same old. All the Mafia Families coming together. Mine only came to keep up appearances. These gatherings were opportunities to maintain a closer eye on enemies and friends, and those two labels interchanged often.

Everyone knew the Acardis would forever be rivals of the Bernardis. Yet, here we were, acting like we wouldn’t just as easily stir up some trouble for old time’s sake.

If the bride weren’t a Romano, things would be tenser. As the oldest Family of this criminal world, the Romanos held the most weight, hoarded the most wealth, and flaunted the most power. The Romanos, whether we liked it or not, dictated that we try to behave tonight.

No matter how Nickolas Romano acted like an idiot right now. Surrounded by three women, all dolled up and preening for his attention while he spoke with his father, Marcus. They stood there like kings, gods among the inferior. Talking freely without a care in the world.

My lip curled in disgust at Nickolas groping one guest and pulling her closer. The girl barely hid her flinch at his rough touch.

Ugh. No thanks.

My mother would expect me to get pawed at and take it. To be submissive like a good Mafia daughter should. To roll over and let men do as they please.

“No thanks,” I mumbled to myself as I walked further from the dance floor.

As the eldest daughter to my parents, Rocco and Isabella Acardi, I knew it would one day be me up there by the head table. I would be a bride, foisted into an arranged marriage. Cecilia had to go through the ordeal tonight, smiling and pretending that she was glad to be married to Luka Bernardi. That she chose it. That she welcomed a life of being his possession.

The day when it would come for me lurked closer. I was already twenty-three, and in our world, I should be snatched up soon.

All the better to pop out kids and all that drama.

I rolled my eyes, dreading my turn. There was no escaping it. I would be married off. Instead of wanting to complain about my circumstances, I should’ve spent the last hour mingling and trying to get a feel for which asshole I’d be paired up with.

My mother was strategizing. I knew she was scheming and planning here, eyeing which prospective man I could get hitched with and which Family she could benefit the most from. Everyone who mattered had shown up to be seen on Luka and Cecilia’s big day. She couldn’t have had a better opportunity to shop around for me than this.

But no one appealed. Not a single man stood out to me. They were all the same, ruthless, greedy, and all out for themselves.

Love wouldn’t be a factor in the equation for the rest of my life. Intimacy was a joke. As I looked around at the men here, I knew arousal would be a laughing matter too.

“Giulia,” my younger sister, Mariana, said as she passed me by. “You look so…”

“Oh, don’t start.” I smirked at her, checking that she was only getting another slice of cake to take to the table our Uncle Dario sat at. He waited, no doubt, for her to bring him that second slice she held since he wasn’t able to walk well with his cane.

“If Mama saw you looking all pissy and grumpy…” Mariana teased.

“Shh,” I scolded her playfully. All four of us Acardi girls were subject to our mother’s constant criticism. I had it the worst, as the eldest, but I found a nugget of humor in the way Marianna could tease me about it.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

I shrugged, not bothering to invest much effort in the gesture. “Nothing, really. Just bored.”

And annoyed.

Everyone here was trying to get in the Romanos’ favor. And those who weren’t were mooching off the chance to mingle and strike deals. No gathering was ever “fun” or “peaceful”. Something was always at work. Somebody was always making plans or plotting trouble.

Knowing my mother had to be around here considering who I could marry simply upset my stomach.

It is what it is.

“Well, you’re of age.” Marianna smiled as she grabbed a champagne flute from the tray of a passing waiter. She thrust it to me, almost dropping Dario’s cake plate, and I hurried to help her in the fumble. “Why be bored or look so grumpy when you can just drink and make it easier?”

I took the flute, shooting her a stern look. “You mean like Father does?”

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