The Betrothed Bride

I was in love with her.

There was no doubt left when I realized that, regardless of anything else, all I wanted was for her to stay with me so that we could work out the problems, the differences that arose from my ambition and blindness. I saw her pacing nervously, running her fingers through her beautiful dark, long, silky hair with an anxiety that was not only harming her but also damaging me. She was showing me that she was suffering from the many possibilities that were opening up in that moment for both of us.

I didn't want her pristine, perfect face to be tainted by doubts.

So, I approached her and took her by the shoulders, causing her beautiful brown slanted eyes to look at me with fear, pain, and a lot of resentment. That mix was destroying me from the inside in a way I hadn't anticipated. She was supposed to be just a pawn in this war, a tool that would give me what I needed to carry out my plans, not someone who would steal my heart, my senses, and my mind.

"We'll be alright, no matter what happens, Amaya," I told her, and her thin lips trembled in response.

"I don't believe you, Alessio... I don't believe you anymore."

That hurt me, especially when she wriggled out of my grasp and continued walking, as if I weren't there.

"I promise you, my dear... I will make everything work out." I insisted, and she looked at me with anger.

"No... You just used me, I was just one more transaction for your revenge, and now, if I'm pregnant, it's your fault, because of what you did... I have to go through this pregnancy in the midst of chaos, in the midst of stress, in the midst of constant fear that once it's known, my baby will be a target," she burst out, tears streaming from her eyes. "Nothing is right, I didn't want to bring a child into the world in these conditions, I didn't want to have a child with you, I didn't want..."

She collapsed on the floor to cry, and I could do nothing but go against her wishes and embrace her, giving her the warmth, she deserved, the shelter she needed these days.

"I will protect you, I will protect them," I emphasized fervently.

"I hate you," she replied, but she didn't pull away from my arms. "I hate you so much... This is your fault."

"I know, I know."

"I didn't want to get married; I didn't want this life; I didn't want to be used like cattle... I wanted to be happy, I just wanted a normal life and not be afraid that my children would never be safe..."

Listening to her deepest fears broke my heart.

She wasn't cut out for this life, I knew it from the moment I saw her in the library, but I couldn't cast her aside. I held onto the sole purpose of hurting Hiroshi Yagami, I only wanted to mess with that precious thing he was hiding. I had no idea that I would end up loving his daughter madly, and that was my greatest downfall. The girl wanted to live happily, she had dreams, real goals to achieve, a promising future that was taken away from her in an impulsive act, and she had no choice but to adapt to me.

"I'm sorry for all of this, my dear... I'm sorry."

It was hard to say because my mind was trained not to apologize to anyone.

"You lied to me, you used me, you made me believe in your love and got me pregnant even though I didn't want to, even though you decided to start a war..." She pulled away from me, her eyes red. "Why did you do all of this to me, Alessio? Tell me why..."

I looked at her for a long moment.

"Because I wanted power, because I wanted you with me, and because from the moment I saw you, I knew you would be mine, Amaya, only mine... And I'm a selfish bastard who gets what he wants," I admitted, causing her to furrow her brow and clench her fists tightly in my shirt. "But all that doesn't change the fact that I love you, and I would freeze hell for you, for our child, for everything we need together. You have to come back to me, you have to."

"No... You're lying, you don't love me. If you loved me, you wouldn't have come after me, you would have let me go..."

"I came because Gemma couldn't hide from me what was happening to you, because she saw me torn apart by loving you, and that's not up for debate, Amaya... You're still my wife and you will be until the end of my days, until death do us part," I warned her, and she shook her head.

"I don't want to live in this life, I can't, I..."

She was breaking in a way that I despised.

"You can do it, I know you can, you've shown me more than once. You just have to be strong, especially if you have our child in your womb... So, if you want to cry, fight, argue, or berate me, this is your moment, but when we step outside, you're Mrs. Milano, you're the wife of a capo."

Unexpectedly, she slapped me across the face, and I brought my hand to my cheek. Looking at her, I enjoyed the veiled anger, the burning on her cheeks. That's what I wanted to see in her, that's what I needed to bring out so that she wouldn't end up in shattered pieces. Nevertheless, I had a difficult task ahead, one that would be challenging to achieve, one that would be difficult to carry out as I tried to earn her forgiveness.

With a smile, I captured her in my arms before placing my right hand on the back of her neck and sealing our lips in a kiss that shook our bodies, a kiss that accelerated our souls, a kiss that brought out everything we had stored inside us. Amaya didn't pull away; she followed the kiss with hunger, as if she were starved for love, hungry for desire, hungry for longing.

We kissed with everything we had until neither of us could breathe anymore.

"You're mine, and it's time for you to understand," I said before standing up.

I led her to the bed and entered the bathroom to look at the tests her brother had bought her. There were six tests from different brands, and each and every one of them confirmed that she was expecting my child, the future of the Camorra, the result of our love.

I emerged with the brightest smile and answered the unspoken question her mouth couldn't form.

"We're going to be parents, and today I'm the happiest man alive."

For the first time throughout our encounter, she gave me the biggest smile in the world before the sound I least expected to hear enveloped us completely.

A gunshot stunned us; I had just been shot.

"And does 'happily ever after' really exist?"

Melissa's question didn't surprise me; she was a very aware girl, full of doubts, who had witnessed how her family was torn apart by immigration laws. So, I swallowed hard, and seeing the other children waiting for an answer, I knew I had to be clever in how I approached it.

Their innocence was a delicate point, one I didn't want to touch, so as I was about to say something, one of them stood up and shook his head forcefully.

"I'm sorry, Miss Amaya, but that doesn't exist, it's just a fairy tale and nothing more."

He left the reading room, leaving me with an audience of furrowed brows.

"Life isn't entirely happy or entirely bad," I told them honestly. "Every day we live is a mixture of both, and just as there are completely good days, there are also bad or very sad ones. But that doesn't mean we can't always do our best to create our own happy ending."

Some of them nodded and thanked me, then they got up from the floor to go do the activities in their reading workbooks. The librarian gave me a sympathetic smile, and I had no choice but to shrug in response. It wasn't the first time that kids I read to in the library outside of campus had reactions like this.

Moving to Berkeley was the best decision of my life, after leaving Los Angeles with my mother and ending up hiding in San Francisco, having some freedom was paradise. I was never happier than when I was notified that I could study English at UC Berkeley, that I could have the opportunity to specialize to become a teacher. Since I was a child, understanding my language was a great curiosity, but meeting Luisa, my babysitter, and realizing the power I could have by teaching my language to others, made me realize that teaching was my calling.

Luisa was a Venezuelan woman with learning disabilities, and our interactions, along with my desire to communicate with the woman who had become a second mother to me, led me to seek ways to solve her language problems with a lot of patience, care, and creativity. That laid the foundation for what I wanted to do with my life, the dreams I wanted to achieve.

I held onto that despite all the bad things behind me.

Physically, I didn't inherit my mother's features; I wasn't of average size, blonde, or with a slender body. I was born with all the physical traits and characteristics of my Japanese heritage, one that I didn't know well at all, more than what my mother insisted I should know, as my father rarely revealed anything. However, I didn't want to explore it just because; it gave me a perspective of what could be done for the world.

I was a bastard daughter of the Yakuza, one who wasn't wanted by her father, nor loved by that community. I didn't understand it until I was old enough to discover that my father was a dangerous man in the underworld, involved in illegal activities that were against people's health and well-being. Furthermore, finding out that I was an unrecognized, hidden child born from an affair between an oyabun, a Yakuza boss, and a rising model, was like having the blindfold removed from my eyes.

I smiled sadly as I remembered that my father used to visit us whenever he could, trying to teach me about his customs and holding onto the fact that I should learn Japanese from a young age. I did it as a good daughter, as a child who thought he was her greatest hero, so when reality shook me and raised its ugly head, I didn't want to know anything more about him, about the fact that he was married, about his three older children I didn't know, about his intention to always keep me hidden like a dirty secret.

I think I broke when I found out that he and my mother were still in a romantic relationship despite the years. So, I knew very well that happily ever after didn't exist, that the world was full of good days and bad days.

That's just how life was.

When the children finished their activities, they handed their work to me and said goodbye with smiles. They enjoyed coming to read, to learn, to immerse themselves in the tranquility of the deserted library. I sighed heavily and began putting everything away in the children's section. I had a list of the books we had read, as well as those we had yet to read. I was still modifying it, so I focused on checking the shelves and comparing with the available books.

"Have you read 'The Story of Ferdinand' yet?" a voice asked from the other side of the shelf, and I furrowed my brow because I hadn't seen anyone pass by in the three hours I had been in the library.

"Not yet..." I honestly answered the man hidden among the books; someone I couldn't quite see.

"It's an excellent children's book. My nonna used to read it to me every night, and it helped me improve my pronunciation before I came to live in the United States permanently," the man explained.

His tone of voice... I didn't know why, but it put me on edge.

"Well... It's an excellent book, but it can be a bit challenging in some parts for the kids to pronounce," I explained. "Morphologically speaking, it's around a Level A2 in English."

He chuckled modestly, causing the hairs on my arms to stand on end in response.

I couldn't deny that I quite liked his laugh.

"Give it a try. It's a book for three to four-year-old kids, it'll work. The words that might be difficult for them can be worked on with exercises and activities like the ones you used before the reading... By the way, you're excellent at that," he said warmly.

"Thank you..."

"Do you spend a lot of time reading to children? You're really good at it..."

"I've been doing it for almost four years with different groups," I admitted with a smile. "It's something I enjoy doing."

"It shows. So, I can infer that you're studying to become an English teacher..."

"Yeah, you could say that," I answered truthfully.

"Well, moving away from the teaching topic and talking more about literature, what authors do you recommend?"

I figured that's why he was there in the library; he must have been looking for some books and ended up caught in the children's reading event.

"It depends on their tastes. I don't know what their preferences are, much less what type of prose they prefer-direct, clever, ornate, or very flowery," I argued firmly.

"Well... I like reality, action, impulsiveness, and good scenes," he pointed out, making me smile. People in the library always asked me for help, but they weren't usually this open. "Oh, and I also like sensual scenes."

That caused my eyebrows to raise and my cheeks to blush.

"Well... If you like that mix, maybe 'Story of O' by Pauline Réage, 'The Lover' by Marguerite Duras, 'Tropic of Cancer' by Henry Miller, or 'Delta of Venus' by Anaïs Nin could be recommended," I suggested, my face burning.

These were considered significant works of erotic literature, but at the same time, they were quite scandalous.

"Did you enjoy them?" he asked with a slightly huskier voice. "I like forming my own opinions."

"Yes, even though they are classic works that haven't aged completely well by today's standards," I indicated, and he laughed heartily.

"It's just that nowadays people are held by moralism... Even though society is much more open to all topics, eroticism is still a taboo everywhere, from the most liberal to the most conservative."

He had spoken a very honest truth; one we couldn't deny.

"Well, those structures need to break at some point because, indeed, these themes need to be questioned... But that doesn't take away from the fact that these creations are excellent, well-written, and not only a milestone in terms of prose but also in their dynamics..."

"Well, I can see you're passionate about writing, literature, and language," he said in a tone I couldn't decipher. "So, let's shift away from the teaching subject and talk more about modern literature. It's quite different from the classics, more direct, and sometimes even dirtier."

He had a point, one that made my veins pulse completely.

"Well, I..."

"How do I admit that I read what's labeled as 'mommy porn'?" I thought with embarrassment.

I remained silent for several seconds, and he encouraged me.

"Be honest, there's nothing wrong, nothing worse than anything else... We can have varied tastes; just as we can like a classic, we can also enjoy something that critics consider bad, and that's okay."

"I like paranormal romance stories, human-alien romances, and mysterious creatures transforming into humans," I said with fear, as people often tended to mock these preferences. "I mean..."

"You like the dirty aspect of those kinds of relationships, right? Or am I mistaken?"

His direct and honest conclusion left me speechless, so I was truthful.

"I like that those were created by women and tailored to our ideals," I admitted, my face flushed. "Within those ideals, there's pleasure, love, and the needs that most women have when it comes to relationships."

"Don't you find that concept naive?" he asked, his tone almost sounding mocking.

I furrowed my brow at that.

"Not because it helps us escape from reality..."

"But it distorts women's perspective of ideal standards, and that leaves us guys in a bad position because we can't meet those expectations," he said with a touch of mockery.

At that point, I narrowed my eyes, finished putting the books on the shelf, and then crossed my arms.

"You guys don't meet women's expectations because you don't even try to meet the basic requirements for that," I argued with a sharp tone because I found his attitude quite audacious. "You only put in some effort at the beginning when you want to get what you desire from a woman, but then... You don't do anything more, you leave most of the work, most of the burden to them... Women end up not only supporting the foundations of relationships but also doing most of the things to make it work, while men only contribute financially and often hide them like a dirty secret."

Well, I realized I went a bit overboard when I took it too personally and let out what I thought about my analytical comparisons of my parents' relationship.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to..."

"Don't worry about it. I understand your perspective to some extent," he said seriously, but his voice had a warmer tone, making me realize he was being more receptive. "It was nice talking to you. I'll look for some alien books; they should be fun to understand."

After that, I heard him walking toward the other aisle, and curiosity got the better of me. I peeked around the shelf to try to see who he was talking to. I hadn't been able to see him before, but at that moment, I saw a tall, well-built man with a generous backside dressed in a suit walking toward the stairs leading to the upper floor.

I was quite curious, but not curious enough to follow him like a stalker. I had my limits, and despite the little debate we had, I was happy enough to smile.

I had had an honest conversation with a man about books, tastes, guilty pleasures, and I hadn't died of embarrassment in the process. So much so that when I reported my departure half an hour later, Kendra, the librarian, looked at me with amusement.

"What happened? You went from almost crying because the kids asked you something tough to having that satisfied woman's smile like you just had a roll in the hay?"

"Kendra!" I scolded her.

Though yes, it had been something like an intellectual roll in the hay.

"Oh, don't be so prudish. I know what you read-classics and non-classics-so don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. I know all about those books with Martians," she teased.

"Of course, I know what you're talking about, but it's a topic I'm not going to discuss with you."

She burst out laughing in a decidedly immodest manner, and I remembered she always did so without malice but with the intention of bringing up entertaining topics. Honestly? The woman was my heroine in more than one sense; she had a confidence that hardly anyone else possessed.

"Alright, you puritan, but before you go, three more books about werewolves in love came in. You can add them to your list of borrowed books," she added with a triumphant smile.

"Oh, my God! You're terrible..."

"And you adore me for it. I already registered them in the system for you and left them under the cabinet where you keep your stuff."

"Thanks, Kendra."

"Not just thanks; give me an extended review with all the details about what happens in them, and we won't have any problems."

I shook my head, said goodbye, grabbed the books, and put them in my bag. Then, I left the library and walked the blocks I usually did to get to the student residence.

I felt amused, but during the journey, I felt like I was being watched, and it wasn't the first time that had happened this month; it had occurred several times in different places. I wondered if my father had something to do with it.

After all, he was a very controlling man.

I stopped at an ice cream parlor nearby and ordered a tub of pistachio ice cream, my favorite above all. I ate it as I got closer to the building and greeted the girl who did the checks. She stopped me after I took three steps toward the elevator.

"I think someone was following you. The man who was doing it left when he saw you come in," she said with a bit of concern, and I nodded.

I was sure it was the work of my father, but I didn't understand why he was doing this now.

"Thanks, I'll be more vigilant, and if anything happens, I'll call security," I told her, and I saw her furrow her brow.

I understood her skepticism, but it was more about downplaying the situation because the first few times I reported an incident, my father did his best to make me look like a complete fool when the campus investigated. So, I learned when to report and when not to.

I went straight up to the suite that had been paid for since I moved in, courtesy of the money my mother earned from event organizing, photography, and owning restaurants. I knew everything she had was the result of her hard work, unlike my father's wealth, which was undoubtedly connected to his position in the Yakuza.

I wasn't going to lie to myself about that.

I shook off the thoughts, opened the door to my suite, and sat down at my desk. I pulled out my journal and recorded my interaction with the mysterious man from the library. It had been so much fun that my smile not only didn't fade but grew even wider, until my phone rang with a call from my mother, which I answered immediately.

"We need to talk, suki."

Those words didn't bode well, especially after she used my affectionate nickname. It meant one thing: whatever she was about to tell me was related to my father.

The problem was that I hadn't spoken to him in five years, and I didn't want to address him. I had forbidden my mother from bringing up the topic, so the fact that she was breaking that promise indicated that whatever she had to say must be quite serious.

"Tell me."