the posh dinner

FRANCESCA

I DON’T HEAR his footsteps. I don’t even realize he’s behind me until it’s too late. His hand grips my waist and pulls me back, causing me to slam into his body.

His head buries into the crook of my neck and I can feel his hot breath on my shoulders, making me shiver.

“When I call you, Francesca,” he begins and I instantly know that I’m in trouble. He sounds mad. “You pick up the call.”

His grip on my body tightens before his lips start sucking the tender skin on my neck. I can’t help but flinch. I already have marks there from before.

“What the hell?” he harshly whispers as he wipes his mouth with the back of his palm.

I jump before turning around. I can feel goosebumps covering my body and I’m glad that I’m wearing something long-sleeved. “I’m sorry. I covered the hickeys with concealer.”

I’m not going to cry even though I really want to. From Father’s torture, I’ve learned how to keep my emotions at bay. The more I show, the more pleasure he would take.

His eyes snap to my face. “I don’t want them covered, Francesca.”

I’m attracted to him and his unruly black hair. Up close, I can see that his eyes are a deep black, yet I can’t deny that I don’t like the dominance he’s showing. “I didn’t know.”

I wait for him to call me useless just like Father did to Mother, and am surprised when he just stares at me. It makes me realize how little I know of this man, and how little he knows of me.

He wouldn’t ever randomly agree to marry a stranger without knowing her background.

He steps closer, invading my personal space even more. My gaze instantly falls on his chest, which is covered with his sleek gray shirt and a black tie.

He tilts my chin up with his index finger but I refuse to look him in the eye. Instead, my eyes fall on his lips.

They look too inviting for their own good and I hate that. My lipstick would be ruined if I kissed him now.

“Look me in the eye when I’m talking to you.” My eyes widen a fraction.

“What?” I squeak, refusing to raise my eyes. He’s joking, right? He probably wants me to offend him so he can hit me. But then again, why does he need a reason?

He could do it without a reason and no one would dare question him. Plus, the Don isn’t one for jokes.

“I do not repeat myself, Doll.” Doll. The word hitches my breathing. In the Family, everyone important has another name that conceals their true identity from the police.

They know me as Doll—the woman getting married to the Don or the Ace. I’m his personal doll.

Hesitantly, I raise my eyes to meet his dark ones. They’re narrowed with frustration. I fear that he’s too mad at me.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat. I’m still shorter than him even though I’m wearing heels, but I’m not so short to make the difference between us like that between the North and South Poles.

I think we look fairly good together, height-wise.

My hands shake when he moves his hand to my cheek before reaching behind my hair. I can feel pressure on my head before he lets go. My hair falls out of the clip and tumbles around my face.

“I don’t want anyone seeing something only I possess.” His brow is furrowed in concentration as he brings my hair in front of my shoulders, covering the skin from sight.

“If you want to hide them, then do it without the makeup,” he orders.

“O-okay.” I feel myself relaxing a bit. He’s not going to hit me yet but I know it’s coming. I’m a hypocrite. Despite his ill intentions toward me, I want his approval.

I want him to call me beautiful and worthy enough to please him.

The bell rings interrupting the moment. A sigh of relief leaves my lips accidentally and I know he hears.

“Go open the door.” His tone is demanding, as if he’s ordering—which he is. He conceals his emotions in a commanding manner, making it impossible to refuse or even give him a confused look.

I nod before scurrying away. It’s best to leave him alone right now. He’s not the best company for me.

I quickly scan the house as I walk to the doors. Everything is in place and perfect. The alcohol is not forgotten either. It’s the main thing.

I don’t know who I’m expecting when I open the door but surely, it’s not a woman with a face that looks like it had cake splattered over it. Not that I care, she just seems out of place.

***

I feel out of place and awkward. The men are gathered in one of the living rooms and are tensely chatting while waiting for the arrival of the Godfather, Roberto Giordano.

I want to ask why the Don’s uncles are not here, but it’s not my place to ask. I decide to keep silent.

“Hello, Doll,” a happy voice snaps me out of my thoughts. Who the heck would be happy here?

I turn around to spot the well-groomed woman from before. She was the first one who had come with the previous Don, Raffaello Giordano. Apparently, she was his choice of a woman.

I don’t like judging people but right now, I’m worried for her.

With the short clothes she wears, I’m not too sure if she’s in the right state of mind, considering where she is right now. She practically seems to invite trouble.

Her well-dyed red hair is thrown up into a fancy bun and her glittering green dress has a deep v-neck that shows off her large breasts and hugs her small waist perfectly.

I fear for her, but I can’t deny that she’s beautiful even though she does need to tone it down a little. But it’s her choice in the end.

I plaster on the smile that I’ve mastered for years. “Hello, Sara,” I greet.

I don’t want to be disrespectful even though I have no reason to be respectful either. Her boyfriend doesn’t mind sharing her with the other men.

He doesn’t respect her, and that gives others permission to do the same. It’s the same way they treated my mother. I don’t want that for any other woman.

“Such a wonderful organization. I must say, you’re quite a tolerable woman for the Don,” she says, her voice dripping with sweetness, hiding her true intentions.

“I’m sure he won’t be replacing me anytime soon, for that reason and more.” I’m not even sure what I’m saying half the time, but I know I’ve struck a nerve.

She’s aware she’s not a wife, so my status will always be higher.

Her smile wavers. Women like her try to assert dominance over the wives to make their own lives easier. I’m not a fool. Once a gold-digger, always a gold-digger.

She’s trying to secure her position by keeping me down. If Rafaello leaves her, she wants the Don to protect her, but only if she can please him more than I can.

Honestly, I don’t blame her. If I were in her shoes, I’d probably do the same.

But she’s playing with fire. I was born into this world and have more experience than she does. She’s just a street girl with no experience at all.

If she had any experience, she’d know what kind of dinner this is. She reminds me of Medusa. A beautiful woman trapped in an ugly world, through no fault of her own.

Sara tries to laugh it off. She’s even dumber than I first thought. What’s the point of taunting me only to try to back out of it? People are strange.

I’m not great at approaching people, so when I see the wives of the second- and third-in-command socializing in a nearby room, I don’t join them.

I stay in the kitchen. It seems Sara was just waiting for a chance to find me alone.

Thankfully, though suspiciously, the other two women decide to join us in the kitchen. They’re both stunning.

Gianna, the wife of the second-in-command Pietro, is a woman with long black hair and piercing black eyes. Her fair skin and short, curvy body make her incredibly attractive.

It’s a shame her husband doesn’t see it.

Amalia, the wife of the third-in-command Alessandro, is a woman with blonde hair and innocent brown eyes. She’s tall and thin, and she’s smart. She knows how to keep her husband in check.

From the rumors I’ve heard, her husband has the fewest mistresses, while Pietro has the most. They’re an odd pair of friends.

“Hello, Francesca. I was waiting for you to join us,” Gianna grins at me as she pulls me in for a hug. Her bold gray dress clings to her like a second skin, just like mine, and falls to her shins.

I notice that all the women, except for Sara of course, have chosen to wear dresses with more layers.

I’m grateful that my long brown hair covers my bare shoulders, otherwise I would’ve looked a bit out of place.

“Oh my God! That dress looks amazing on you,” Amalia gushes, completely ignoring Sara, who’s nervously fiddling with her fingers. I catch a desperate look on her face before she hides it behind a forced smile.

I can tell right away that she doesn’t get along with these women. Sara looks out of place in her short dress, and I’m not sure how to help her.

“Thank you,” I smile back at both women. Amalia is wearing a flowing blue dress that falls to her ankles. “You both look beautiful too. I love your nails.”

Gianna shows off her freshly done nails. “I love them too. I just got them done.”

“Me too,” Amalia chimes in. “Maybe we should go get them done together next time.”

I nod in agreement. It’s better if the wives get along too. I’m relieved they’re good women. Most women in the Family are hypocrites and power-hungry.

I need more allies to establish a strong base—so my word won’t be taken lightly and the Don will think twice before replacing me.

“Do you guys want to go somewhere more peaceful?” I ask, and I can already see their agreement in the twinkle of their eyes.

And I know that this is only the beginning.