Page 1 of Arranged Marriage By the Bratva

Chapter One

Elena

It can’t get any darker than midnight, so the Sicilian saying goes, and aptly the heavens have poured out their tears in response to my father’s passing. With a firm grip, I hold on to my pitch-black umbrella as the thrums of water cascade down over it. The sky is a sorrowful shade of deep charcoal, matching my funeral attire, and there’s mournful weeping, but it’s not coming from me.

Standing solemnly in front of the large concrete cross, my mouth gathers into a hard, grim line. So long, Father. Rest in power. I glance up briefly scanning the Sicilian cemetery, taking note of the number of crosses lined up in subsequent rows. We’re surrounded by so many souls who’ve passed over to the other side, but I return my gaze to staring down at the engraved letters of my father’s name.

Rocco Mancini—Don, and Godfather of the Mancini famiglia, was a helluva a man. I will myself to cry, but the tears don’t come. Instead, I clasp my gloved hands together in front of my body, letting the sky cry instead. Ironically, he didn’t pass from “the kiss of death” or any sinister dealings within the mob, but from the slow-eating disease of pancreatic cancer. He fought long and hard for years, but all the chemo and radiation treatments took their toll on him. I watched him week after week grow weaker and weaker, but he always told me the same thing every day.

He would hold on to my hand with a warm fire shining in his eyes. “You know, my sweet Elena, I feel like I’m getting stronger day by day.”

And I would humor him, because I wanted to believe with all my heart that it was true too. “That’s good, Dad. Strong. You’re a Mancini, and the doctors are taking good care of you. You’re going to pull through. You always do.”

“Yes. We Mancinis pull through. It’s in our DNA.”

I told him more times than I could count to lay off the sweets, and to get his sugar levels checked, but he never listened to me. I would argue the pressures of holding such a position contributed to his death also. Taking one last glance at my father’s grave, I turn around to face the people. A sea of faces is waiting for my direction. We are the Mancinis—the Cosa Nostra, standing for centuries, strong of heart and will remain, even after the unfortunate death of my father.

I stare back at the small group of men who have been loyal associates of the Sicilian Mafia for years and never wavered. They bow their heads, signaling Catholic crosses across their chests, paying their respects, ready to receive my words. There are cousins, distant uncles, steadfast women and children, all who are relying on me now. The rain eases to a light drizzle, but thunder crackles in replacement as eventually I find enough purposeful words to speak and drive us forward.

Gulping down the hard lump in my throat, I exhale, expressing my sentiments. “Rocco Mancini was a dutiful and powerful Don. He propelled us forward as a famiglia, and he was an equally wonderful father who loved and groomed me to be successful in business. He loved you all too. Each and every one of you. He died with dignity last Thursday in his hospital bed after holding on for as long as he could.”

“Oh, Rocco!” one of the women calls out. “How could you leave us?” She holds her palms together, tears falling as one of the others consoles her to not speak. I study her for a moment, her grief unrecognizable to me.

Taking a sharp inhale of breath, I bury my repressed emotions even deeper, delivering my message. “Now I understand why my father wanted me to be so heavily involved in the business, and I’m grateful. There’s no time to mourn anymore. Families and businesses have suffered too much. First, Uncle Carlo died at the hands of the Russians. Once the throne was passed to Uncle Nicolo, he faced the same fate and now my father—” I swallow down the bitter taste of regret, finding it hard to carry out my speech, but Matteo is close by, coaxing me to finish with the lightest touch in the middle of my back.

“We stand to lose everything the forefathers have built over decades and decades,” I announce passionately as the rain stops. I watch as the crowd nods solemnly. I’m getting through; yes, I’m getting through to them. “We have to move forward and restore what’s left of the Mancini legacy. This is my vision for the famiglia. “Are you with me?” I ask, my chin pointed defiantly, scanning my eyes over the crowd, resting on the remaining men of the Mancini clan. I might have a knot churning in my stomach when I announce it, but I’m challenging their power and position in the process. The truth is, though, I’m the best one to lead. I know the business; they do not.

Toto, a distant uncle from the heart of Sicily raises an eyebrow, nudging one of the other uncles. This starts a domino effect of voices whispering. Maybe they expected to take the position of the Don; it’s written on their faces.

One of them has the nerve to pitch his hollow challenge out loud. “We’ve never had a Donna before! This is unheard of!” Maria, the wife of the ignorant uncle slaps her purse against his chest.

“Shut up! She can do it. She’s Rocco’s daughter, you fool.”

“I can assure you, I’m well equipped. Before my father passed, we spoke on a number of incredibly lucrative business propositions, which are all sitting on the table. These ventures will allow the Mancini empire to expand into foreign waters and provide us with access to even greater power and leverage. I will honor the legacy of our famiglia, I can promise you that.”

It feels as if I’m talking outside myself, because this is not a position, I ever thought I would hold. I only wanted to stand proudly beside my father in business, and possibly run one of its branches, but all along, with him guiding the way. I also have a head for the coldhearted ruthlessness of business.

We were a fantastic one-two punch combination me and father, and I trusted him. We’d overcome so much together, and after two Russian takedowns, I thought we were on our way back to the top, but it wasn’t to be.

I let the voices trail off but hold fast to my position. No one is going to take the position, except me. “I’m the best person for the job. I know the ins and outs of the Mancini business, and we need to hit the ground running if we’re going to recoup the losses of the last few years. I have plans for us, and they all involve us thriving. If you want to challenge my position, now’s not the time,” I state firmly, staring down my distant uncle. He grumbles under his breath, but more and more head nods give me the hope and courage to stand my ground.

Matteo is the first one to encourage and embrace the idea fully. He claps loudly, nodding his head as I take down my umbrella, closing it. “Yes, Donna. And even if we’ve never had one before, we have one now. Bravo! Donna!” He sings my praises as a second pair of hands clap in the crowd. Then a third, until a small symphony of claps can be heard.

“Donna!”

“Donna!”

A small smile creeps over my mouth as I smooth my dark hair back over my shoulder, a sliver of sun peeking through the clouds to herald the passing of the baton. “I like the sound of that. Donna,” I say quietly.

I’m the female version of the Don, and it feels good to be chosen, but as quickly as the euphoria hits that I’m now leading the famiglia, a sense of dread follows.

I can’t fail my people. Not now. Not after we’ve already lost so much. This also isn’t the time to get cocky. They’ve chosen me, and I’ve got huge Italian shoes to fill.

Chapter Two

Nikk

Fast forward a couple of weeks…

---