A Deal with the mafia Devil

Chapter 1: The Price of Seventeen

The scent of vanilla cake lingered in the air, too sweet, too artificial. It clung to Aria's skin like a disguise-familiar but off, like everything else today.

Seventeen. She should have felt something-excitement, maybe hope. But there was only the thrum of discomfort beneath her skin, the kind that made you itch without knowing why.

The dining room was quiet except for the faint tick of the grandfather clock. A single candle flickered in the center of the small cake, its glow casting long shadows on the peeling wallpaper. Her parents stood on the opposite side of the table, stiff and cold like mannequins dressed for a part they no longer knew how to play.

Her mother's hands were clasped too tightly, knuckles pale. Her father's eyes refused to meet hers.

"Happy birthday," her mother said, the words brittle and hollow.

"Thanks," Aria replied, her voice flat. She looked around. No balloons. No music. Not even her little brother, Ezra, who usually loved any excuse to eat cake.

"Where's Ezra?" she asked, scanning the hallway.

"He's staying with your aunt tonight," her father answered too quickly.

"We thought it best," her mother added, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle on her skirt.

"Best for what?" Aria frowned. "He's five. He lives for cake and chaos."

Neither answered. Instead, her father gestured toward the candle. "Make a wish."

Aria stared at the flame. Wishes were for children. And she wasn't one anymore-at least, not in this house. She leaned forward, blew out the candle, and watched the smoke curl like a question mark in the dim light.

No one clapped.

"Sit," her father ordered.

The word wasn't a suggestion. It was a command. She sat.

Her chair creaked under the tension that filled the room. A single slice of cake was served-only one. Her parents didn't even pretend to eat.

Something was wrong. Deeply, fundamentally wrong.

Her mother cleared her throat. "We have something to discuss with you."

The hair on Aria's arms rose. Her spine stiffened.

"Okay..." she said slowly.

Her father's fingers drummed once against the table, then stilled. "You're not a child anymore, Aria. You've reached an age where... certain responsibilities come into play."

"What kind of responsibilities?" she asked, heart beginning to pound. "This isn't about chores, is it?"

Her mother flinched like the word was an insult.

"This is serious," her father said. "You need to listen."

The air shifted. The walls felt closer. Aria leaned back, her stomach curling in on itself.

"We made a decision. A long time ago. For your future. For the good of this family."

Her eyes narrowed. "What kind of decision?"

Silence. Then her mother said, "You're going to be married."

The world stopped moving.

Aria blinked. Once. Twice. "What?"

Her father continued as if she hadn't spoken. "His name is Dante Moretti. His family-"

"I don't care about his name or his family," she snapped. "I'm seventeen! You can't-"

"We can. We already have," he said coldly. "The contract was signed years ago."

"A contract?" Aria stood, the chair scraping across the wood floor. "You sold me?"

Her mother winced, but didn't deny it.

"We protected you," she whispered.

"Protected me?" Aria laughed, harsh and bitter. "You call this protection? Handing me off to some stranger like I'm livestock?"

"He's not just some stranger," her father growled. "He's the heir to the Moretti family."

Aria's breath caught.

She had heard the name before-Moretti. Whispers of danger, money, blood-soaked wealth. Mafia. Ruthless. The kind of name that made people speak in hushed tones and cross themselves when they thought no one was watching.

"No," she said. "No. This is insane."

"It's not your choice," her mother said softly.

Aria turned to her, eyes burning. "You're really going to stand there and act like this is normal? Like you're not betraying me?"

Her mother's eyes shimmered with tears, but her voice remained steady. "I tried to stop it. Years ago. But we owed them. Your father-"

"Don't," her father barked. "She doesn't need to know that."

"She needs to know everything!" her mother shouted, rising from her seat. "You gambled away everything! And when they came to collect, you offered our daughter!"

Aria's heart thudded painfully in her chest.

"You're joking," she whispered. "Please, tell me you're joking."

Neither of them said a word.

Her mother turned to her, eyes full of sorrow. "You were eight. They said they'd wait until you were of age. They gave us time."

"Time for what? To prepare me?" she laughed bitterly. "To fatten me up like a pig for slaughter?"

"No," her father said coldly. "To raise you right. So you wouldn't embarrass us when the time came."

Aria stared at him. "You're a monster."

He didn't flinch.

"Tomorrow," he said. "He's coming tomorrow to take you."

Her blood turned to ice.

Aria backed away slowly, chest heaving. She needed air. She needed to scream. She needed to-

"You don't have a choice," her father said. "If you run, we all suffer. They'll come for us. For Ezra."

The room tilted.

Ezra. Her baby brother.

"You're using him to trap me," she said, trembling. "You're disgusting."

Her mother moved toward her, but Aria stepped back.

"Don't touch me."

"We're sorry," her mother said, voice cracking. "We didn't want this for you, but we didn't know what else to do. He... he won't hurt you, Aria. He just needs a wife. A show of power."

Aria scoffed. "He's a mafia prince, not a lonely bachelor."

"He needs someone to control," her father said. "And we need to survive."

The words burned. Control. Survive. Words that belonged in war, not in birthday conversations.

"Go to your room," her father said finally. "Be ready tomorrow. Don't make this harder than it has to be."

Aria looked at them one last time-at the strangers who raised her, who called themselves her parents.

Then she turned and walked out, her feet heavy, her head spinning.

---

Later that night

Aria sat on the edge of her bed, suitcase untouched, mind racing. Every second felt like a countdown. Her childhood had ended the moment that candle went out.

A soft knock came at the door.

She didn't answer.

It opened anyway.

Her mother stepped in, carrying something wrapped in silk. "This was mine," she said, placing it on the bed. "I wore it when I married your father."

Aria didn't touch it.

"I don't want it," she muttered.

"I know," her mother said. "But you might need it."

Aria looked up. "What is he like?"

Her mother hesitated. "I met him once. When the deal was made. He was only eighteen."

"And?"

"He didn't smile. He just... looked at you like you were a puzzle he already solved."

Aria felt something shift in her chest. Dread, curiosity. A dangerous cocktail.

"Did he say anything?" she asked.

Her mother nodded. "He said... 'She'll do.'"

Aria stared. "That's it?"

Her mother nodded again. "That was enough."

---