Page 7 of A Touch of Fate

“I won’t force Fina into a marriage, not after what she went through,” Dad said.

Dante nodded. “I agree.”

“We’re at an impasse, then.”

Finally, Danilo got one thing right.

Dante gave Dad a look I didn’t like one bit. We were family, which was apparent by the blond hair we shared, but this wasn’t a favor between relatives, this was a Capo’s demand.

“Is that what you ask of me, Dante?”

“Pietro, if we follow the rules, Danilo could demand to marry Serafina. They were engaged.”

“I will give you Sofia,” Dad said after a moment.

I balled my hands to fists, unable to believe what was happening. Maybe I should have seen it coming.

“She’s what, eleven?” Danilo asked in distaste.

“Twelve in April,” I muttered. What were we doing here?

“I’m ten years older than her. I was promised a wife now.”

“You’ll be busy with this war and establishing your reign over Indianapolis. A later wedding should be of advantage for you,” Dante said.

“Danilo?” Dante asked when he didn’t react.

“I have one condition.”

I straightened. I could tell that whatever Danilo asked of us would be too much, but at this point, we didn’t have many options other than going into an open conflict with his family, which Dad didn’t want.

“What condition?” Dante asked.

Danilo looked at me, and I almost laughed. What did he want now?

“He marries my sister, Emma,” Danilo said.

Surprise washed over me, though I should have expected it. “She’s in a—”

“In a wheelchair, yes. Which is why nobody of worth wants her. My sister deserves only the best, and you are the heir to Minneapolis. If you all want this bond, Samuel is going to marry my sister, and then I’ll marry Sofia.”

Emma was around my sister’s age. I only knew who she was because of her wheelchair and the dishonorable story with Cincinatti. Many people in our world didn’t consider her good marriage material. It was a disgusting fact, but our world was cruel, especially to women, who were mostly regarded as a commodity to make deals. And now Emma and my sister would be the ware in one of the more fucked-up arrangements. “Fuck. What kind of twisted deal is that?”

“Why? Your father has been testing the waters for possible brides, and my sister is a Mancini. She’s a good match.”

If it took this to give my family peace, then I’d do it. A marriage wasn’t about love. It was a duty. I tried to recall her face or any interactions I might have had with her, but our age difference was simply too great. “I’ll marry your sister.”

I felt a moment of anger that Danilo had forced my hand, and I didn’t have a say in choosing my future bride. Dad looked relieved. He and Mom didn’t need more troubles, and the Mancinis could definitely cause us a lot of trouble.

Marriages were almost always arranged in our world, so I’d never expected to fall in love. My bond with Emma was no different, yet the way the agreement had come to be left a bitter taste in my mouth. If the girls found out how we’d weighed them against each other, they’d probably hate us. And for good reason.

Nine months later

I followed the same path as I did whenever I found spare time. Today, on the first anniversary of their deaths, the weight restingon my shoulders felt heavier than on the previous days. The family crypts of my friends were all in the same cemetery and only a few steps from each other. I always began with Arlo, then moved on to Enea before I finally reached Domenico’s last resting place: a small house made from white marble and closed by cast-iron gates that harbored generations of Domenico’s family. He was by far the youngest to have found his rest here, and considering his death, I doubted it was peaceful.

The gate creaked when I opened it and stepped into the dark inside of the crypt. Dankness and dust crawled into my nose. Several grave lights cast their eerie reddish light on the slots in the walls where the bones of Domenico’s ancestors rested, and he too would eventually find his last rest in one of them. Now, his mortal remains still lay in a massive coffin positioned in the very center of the vault, with the saint Mother of Christ casting her benevolent eyes on him. He’d never been laid out. Everyone had said their last goodbye to the shiny oak instead of a waxen face.

Flowers covered almost every surface of the coffin. Some of them were fake, but the others looked fresh, as if they’d been put there only this morning. My family had sent a generous amount of cash to all three families, and Domenico’s mother seemed to invest it in flowers. I knew she visited daily and had done so since the funeral a year ago. I’d seen her several times during my visits but had always avoided her. She didn’t need the additional anguish of seeing the man who was responsible for her son’s brutal murder.

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