Chapter 3 3.

A U R E L I A

Two months had passed, and tomorrow would be Ciara's wedding as well as my birthday.

I would be twenty years old tomorrow, yet I was going to celebrate my sister's wedding instead of my birthday, even if turning twenty is a huge deal in our family.

But I had found myself sitting at a bar inside a hotel on the upper-east side where I had a booked hotel room, and had been staying here for these past two months since nobody wanted me back home, and I didn't want to go back either.

Though, I would need to go back home before midnight since my father wanted everybody present during the wedding ceremony.

That's why I had handed the bartender my fake-id, which I had used for years, or else I wouldn't be allowed to drink since I'm only nineteen.

I wanted to drink for the night since I wouldn't be allowed to drink at the wedding reception since the women in the famiglia are only allowed to drink non-alcoholic drinks, or unless their husbands approve of them drinking.

"You're trying to drink yourself to death and it's not even the wedding reception," Franco, a made man soldier in the mafia, commented as he approached me.

From others perspective, him talking to me would be seen as a grave mistake. As a low-ranking soldier, associating with the daughter of a notorious mafia lawyer is very dangerous.

But Franco had become my friend since we had grown up together, our families used to be close friends.

"What else is there to do?" I asked, taking my fifth glass of whiskey.

With my high alcohol tolerance, getting drunk was a difficult task, since I had drank alcohol ever since I knew that it could dim the pain, I was twelve.

Franco watched me as he took a seat beside me at the bar. "You drink like a man."

I rolled my eyes at his comment. Men in the mafia always have something to say about how a woman should act, usually insisting she shouldn't act like a man.

Franco called the bartender and ordered the same as me, whiskey, neat.

"Shouldn't you be with the rest of your family, helping Ciara with her wedding dress and makeup? Or be with her during her bachelorette party?" he asked, taking a sip from his drink.

His question might have seemed too personal, but he's a family friend I've known since childhood, and we're close, being about the same age.

"My mom and Ciara's model friends have their hands full. She won't miss me."

"Her model friends? The ones on the cover of Vogue?" he asked, his voice dripping with amusement.

"Yes, all of them are her bridesmaids. There are five in total," I explained, then requested my sixth drink from the bartender, who couldn't deny me.

"Can you get me their numbers-"

I cut him off. "You won't have a chance with any of them. The consigliere and a few underbosses have already decided which of them will have Ciara's friends for tomorrow night after the wedding reception."

Ciara's model friends would unfortunately fall into their trap because Luciano's consigliere and the underbosses are not only powerful but also strikingly handsome.

"You can try, but we both know the underbosses don't like to share, especially the one from Chicago," I mumbled, staring into my drink.

"Yeah, that guy is insane." Franco finally seemed to give up on the idea of hooking up with one of the models.

"But shouldn't you be happy that Ciara is marrying the Don? You're no longer just a small family from Staten Island; you're the in-laws of Luciano Costa," he said, sounding more excited than me.

"I would be, but my dad is mad at me because I ride a motorcycle, and made Ciara cry," I told him, not revealing that my real pain came from a broken heart because tomorrow my crush will marry my older sister.

"Holy shit, how hasn't he killed you yet-" He was cut off mid-sentence as his phone rang.

He took out the phone and glanced at the caller, he finished his whiskey, said goodbye, and left the hotel, as it seemed to be an important call.

As I sat all alone again, and didn't want for tomorrow to arrive.