Arranged Mafia Marriage

Michael

I can’t believe I actually said that. What other reason can there be? What other reason can there not be? Why is it that when it comes to the crunch, I’m unable to tell her how I feel? Why is it that when she looks at me with her big green eyes, I feel myself sinking into them, feel the barriers around my heart melting away, realize that somewhere along the way I’ve developed feelings for her, that I want her in my life, and not only because she is the mother of my child? I need her because she makes me feel… And maybe that’s the problem.

Once you start developing an emotional connection to someone else, once you make yourself vulnerable in that way, you’re opening yourself up to being hurt. Once my rivals discover that she and the child are the chinks in my armor, they’ll never stop, until they’ve hurt both of them. They’ll use them to get to me… Just as they had already tried once before.

Only now, the stakes are higher. She is pregnant. Dio santo! She is going to give birth to my child. A hot sensation stabs at my chest. I stare out of the window of my home office, where I had returned after hurting her with that last comment. I had wanted to hurt her. I had wanted her to feel a little of the agony I am going through, to understand how powerless I had felt in that instant when I had realized that I would do anything for her…for the both of them. I would give up my claim to being the Don if it meant that I could keep them safe…

And that…is non-negotiable. I owe it to myself to see this through. After coming this far, after taking on my own father, and facing my worst nightmares, I deserve to be the head of the Cosa Nostra. This is what I was born for. This is what my mother sacrificed herself for. To ensure that I, one day, displace my father and changed the face of the Cosa Nostra; modernize them so there will no longer be victims like my mother. And I thought I had been on track… Until she had come along and exposed just how frail my beliefs are.

I had thought I was not like my father, that all I needed was to seize power and I could wipe out all traces of how he had run our clans… But she’d shown me just how similar to him I am… When it comes to her…to my child. When it comes to what really mattered to me, I am as possessive as my father, if not more so. I am as controlling, as dominating, as hellbent on taking control and getting things done my way, no matter that it hurts the people I love most… Che cazzo! There is that word again.

Love; fucking love! I am in love with her; if only I could tell her that. Maybe then she’d understand why I act so over-the-top possessive with her? Why I want to stalk her, to ensure that she is safe. Why I want to follow her every move. Why I cannot bear to have her out of sight. Why I want to direct what she wears, who she meets, what she eats, where she lives… Why I put that stupid tracker in her… Because I want to take care of her. To protect her. To make sure that all of her needs are met. That she is provided for and happy and…

That will never work. F-u-c-k. I grip the edge of the window sill. That will only suffocate her. She is a wild thing, a woman who needs freedom to flourish. An artiste who needs to explore the world and take risks in order to create. Her imagination needs new experiences so she can reinvent herself. And me? I need her to be by my side, where I can keep her out of harm’s way.

I curl my fist and punch it down into the window sill. Pain shoots up my arm. Good. This is tangible, this is real, this…pain I can deal with. But if anything happened to her or to my child… I would-

“Mika, you, okay?”

Xander’s voice interrupts my thoughts. If it had been anyone else, I’d have told them to fuck off, but Xander… Well, when he speaks, you listen. Doesn’t mean that I have to come across as welcoming though, right?

His footsteps sound as he approaches me. There’s a touch on my shoulder and I know he’s paused beside me.

“Contemplating the view, eh?”

“I’m contemplating, something, all right,” I mutter.

For a few seconds, he stands there without speaking. That’s the thing with Xander. Unlike my other brothers, who prefer to voice their concerns through speech, he prefers to use silence to convey his worry instead.

“It’s normal, you know,” he finally says, “to feel insecure.”

“Me, insecure?” I chuckle, “Now I know I’ve heard everything.”

“Even big bad Capo’s have an Achilles heel.”

“I didn’t think I had one until…” I pause, not sure how, exactly, to voice the words in my head without giving myself away completely. And some things…a man has to keep close to his chest. Not even for my favorite brother, am I willing to lay my feelings out there completely.

“Until her?” Xander says softly.

I blow out a breath, “This…sucks.”

“You mean, you’re finally realizing that you are not as invincible as you thought you were?”

“Is that what this is?”

“It’s…something you are lucky to face, fratellone.”

“Eh?” I shoot him a sideways glance, “I don’t feel lucky.”

“That’s only because you haven’t acknowledged the true extent of your feelings for her.”

“That fucking ‘f’ word.”

“Yep,” he laughs, “the one and only one that has brought the strongest of men to their knees, so you don’t stand a chance.”

I turn to face him, “What are you trying to say?”

“That,” he glances at me, “you are fighting too hard. Putting too much pressure on yourself and her. You’re allowing the past to dictate your future, brother, and that’s only going to lead to misery.”

“You have no idea how it feels to find out that your wife is pregnant, that you are going to bring a child into this world. How am I going to protect him or her from the evils out there? How am I going to protect all of them from what I am?”

“Ah,” he nods, “I see now.”

“See what?” I scowl, “I hate it when you are so cryptic.”

“You’re scared, fratellone.”

“Me, scared?” I scoff, “What do I have to be scared of?”© NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

“Yourself?”

I laugh, “Now you’re taking the piss, as the Brits say.”

“You’re worried that you won’t measure up to the needs of being a husband and a parent. You are unsure if you will be able to meet the demands made of you. You think you are not good enough to be either. You are afraid that-”

“Stop,” I growl, “just shut the fuck up, Xander.”

He tilts his head, “Hurts to hear the truth, eh?”

I push away from the window and begin to pace. “Why is it that this feels so.. difficult…so monumental? Like something that cuts through all the bullshit I have been spewing all this time, something that slices me to the core, and cuts me off at the knees? Something that makes me feel so exposed that I am sure I am going to be sick?”

“Welcome to the human race,” he murmurs. “It’s not all fun and games when you begin to experience the emotions, but with great vulnerability, comes the gift of extreme joy.”

I wince, “Doesn’t sound like my cup of espresso.”

“It’s good, what you are going through.”

I laugh as I rub at my chest, “If you say so.”

“I know so.” He walks over to me and grips my shoulder, “This is all good, brother. This, what you are going through, will make you stronger, more powerful, more resilient to face what is to come. Your ability to be a little more sensitive will only make you a more insightful leader.”

“When did you become this wise?”

He smirks, “I was born wise, big brother.”

I ruffle his hair, “Don’t let my praise go to your head.”

“Not likely,” he snorts, “considering you are only telling me what I already know.”

“Right,” I murmur, “so what now?”

“Now you go back and apologize to her.”

“Apologize?” I lower my hand, “What do I need to apologize for?”

“For whatever it is you did?”

“Why is it something I did?” I frown.

“It’s always the man in a relationship who is wrong. Time you accept that.”

“So, you admit that you are the one who’s in the wrong when it comes to not acknowledging your feelings for Theresa?”

His features tense, then he forces his expression into a semblance of a smile, “You got that right.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing.”

“What?” I gape, “You give me all this sage advice, and when it comes to confessing your feeling for your childhood friend, you get cold feet.”

“It’s not cold feet.”

“What is it then?”

“It’s just…” he rubs his fingers across the back of his neck, “it’s complicated.”

“And you sound like a cliche.”

He stares at me and I raise my hands in the air, “Okay, all right, I admit I sounded like one too, earlier.”

“See how much easier it is when you simply own up to your faults?”

I laugh, “Don’t kid yourself, fratellino.” I ruffle his hair, “Just because you happen to be right about some things doesn’t mean you’re right about everything.”

He chuckles, “I wouldn’t dare claim that.” He punches me lightly in the shoulder, “Now, go back there and talk to your wife.”