Under the Mafia King’s Control

The heavy silence Alessandro had left behind seemed to cling to the walls of my apartment. He had left shortly after his chilling declaration, leaving me alone to face a truth I wasn't ready to confront.

Marriage.

The word echoed in my mind like a sentence. A definitive solution imposed by a man I barely knew.

And yet, I knew he wasn't entirely wrong. Every time I thought about this child, about my responsibility to them, about what it truly meant to be a parent, I found myself grappling with a cruel dilemma.

I spent the rest of the evening pacing aimlessly, unable to focus on anything else.

I tried losing myself in a book, then a movie, but no distraction could quiet my thoughts.

When I finally went to bed, it was late, and my mind was as restless as ever.

The next morning, I woke up with a weight on my chest, as though the night had turned my doubts into something tangible.

I reached for my phone.

A message from Nina.

"Feeling better? I'm here if you want to talk."

I didn't reply. Her insistence had been making me uneasy since my conversation with Marco. Even if she claimed she wanted to help, I couldn't shake the thought of how easily she had betrayed my trust.

I needed to clear my head, to escape this suffocating feeling. So, I decided to go to work.

The small publishing house where I worked was cozy and familiar, a place where I had found a sense of stability over the years.

It was the one place where I could usually leave my personal problems at the door and focus on tangible tasks: sorting manuscripts, fielding calls from nervous authors, organizing schedules.

But today, even that safe haven failed to distract me.

Every time I sat down at my desk, Alessandro's face invaded my thoughts.

"Arianna, are you okay? You seem… distracted," said Emma, my colleague and friend, as she walked past my desk carrying a stack of files.

"I'm fine," I replied quickly, forcing a smile.

But she frowned. "Are you sure? You're pale. If you need the day off, I can cover your calls."

"No, really. That's kind of you, but I'll manage."

Emma hesitated for a moment before shrugging.

"All right. But if you change your mind…"

I nodded in thanks, trying once again to focus.

Yet no matter how hard I tried, one question kept haunting me: could I really refuse Alessandro's offer?

Lunchtime arrived before I even realized it.

I decided to step out for some fresh air, hoping a walk might clear my head.

As I wandered through the bustling downtown streets, avoiding eye contact with passersby, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I stopped to check it.

A message.

From him.

"We need to talk. I'll pick you up tonight at 7. Be ready."

A shiver ran down my spine. How had he gotten my number?

Part of me wanted to ignore it, to refuse yet another meeting he was dictating. But I knew that wasn't an option.

7 p.m. arrived far too quickly.

I had spent the afternoon trying to prepare myself mentally, but nothing seemed adequate.

When the doorbell rang, my heart leapt into my throat.

I stood slowly and opened the door.

Alessandro was there, once again impeccably dressed in a dark suit.

But this time, something in his expression seemed more serious.

"Ready?" he asked simply.

I nodded, unable to find my voice.

He led me to a car parked outside the building. A sleek black sedan with a driver waiting inside. The luxury and contrast with my modest life felt overwhelming.

"Where are we going?" I finally asked, breaking the silence.

"Dinner," he replied.

"It's time to talk seriously. And I want you to understand what this truly entails."

The restaurant he brought me to looked like something out of a luxury magazine: pristine white tablecloths, crystal chandeliers, discreet servers.

I felt completely out of place in such an environment.

"I suppose you're used to places like this," I said with a hint of irony as I sat across from him.

He raised an eyebrow slightly. "It's an appropriate setting for an important conversation. Nothing more."

I sighed, knowing this wasn't a battle I could win.

When the waiter came to take our orders, Alessandro thanked him with a politeness so measured it bordered on icy, before turning his full attention back to me.

"So, Arianna," he began, his tone more serious than ever. "Have you thought about what I said?"

I held his gaze, though it wasn't easy. Alessandro Valenti had a way of looking at you that made you feel as if he could see straight through you. It was unsettling, but I refused to let him see that.

"I've thought about it," I said finally, clasping my hands on the table to hide their trembling. "But I don't think my thoughts make much of a difference. You're so sure of yourself, so… convinced that your solution is the only one. How am I supposed to answer when I don't feel like I'm allowed to say no?"

He didn't look away, but his expression didn't shift.

"You always have the right to say no," he said calmly. "But what you call an alternative solution isn't viable. And we both know that."

I sighed in frustration.

"And why not? Why would shared custody be so catastrophic?"

His expression shifted ever so slightly. Just enough for me to catch a flicker of irritation in his eyes.

"This isn't about you or me," he said, his voice lower and more serious. "This child will carry my name. That means they will be watched. An unstable life? That would be an invitation for chaos."

I lowered my gaze to the table, finally murmuring:

"If I say yes… it will be for the child. Not for you. Not for this marriage."

Alessandro nodded slowly. "That's all I'm asking."

I swallowed hard.

"But this marriage—it will be a façade. Nothing more."

His intense gaze bore into me. "You will be my wife, Arianna. Call it what you want, but that means something."

His words hung between us, heavy with meaning.

"Do you accept?" he asked, his voice softer than I expected.

I nodded, unable to speak.

Alessandro leaned back slightly in his chair, as though he had just placed the final piece in a puzzle. But there was no arrogance in his expression. Only the same cold determination that seemed to define him.

"Good," he said at last. "You won't regret it."

I didn't respond.

Every instinct in me screamed that I would regret every second of this decision. But I didn't have a choice.

The rest of the dinner passed in tense silence. Alessandro ate with the same calculated elegance as always, while I nervously played with my fork. I wasn't hungry. How could I be, when I had just sealed my future with a man I didn't truly know?

When we left the restaurant, he insisted on escorting me home.

"I can get home on my own," I protested weakly.

"I'm not letting you go home alone," he replied simply, cutting off any further discussion.

We rode back to my building in the black sedan, the silence between us as heavy as it had been during dinner.

When the car stopped in front of my building, I placed my hand on the door handle, ready to leave. But before I could move, Alessandro spoke.

"You made the right choice, Arianna."

I turned slightly toward him, my gaze full of doubt and frustration. "I hope you're right."

He inclined his head slightly but said nothing more.

I stepped out of the car, the door closing softly behind me.

As I climbed the stairs to my apartment, a strange sensation washed over me. It wasn't fear, nor was it anger. It was something more insidious. A mix of resignation and uncertainty.

That night, I lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every word of our conversation, every detail of Alessandro's face.

Had I made the right choice?

I thought of my parents. Of their absence. Of the void they had left behind.

Then I thought of this child—this tiny being who was still just an idea but already meant more to me than anything else.

Yes, I had done what was necessary.

But that didn't mean I was ready for what lay ahead.