The Mafia Don's Woman

"The Will of Late Leonetti Salvatore, edited according to his demands and conditions." Mr Cannavaro cleared his throat. "There's nothing much to say or share, as it is quite obvious that my son, Emilio Salvatore, will inherit everything I own, ranging from the vineyards, the companies, the industries. And he is to do with it as he pleases."

I smiled at this and smirked to Portia, who just sat expressionless.

"And the Mafia. He is the heir, the one I've chosen to succeed me. But this condition I attach; that he must be married before he can resume full responsibility. And that, that marriage must be to none other than ..............................

10:05 PM.

Staggering a little less than normally, I made my way home, no, to the house, and knocked on the door.

Gently.

Though slightly drunk, I wasn't stupid to go about banging the door. That alone will earn me punishment from my foster parents, Linda and Joseph Matthew. Not that it mattered. They always found the littlest thing to use against me.

Taking in a deep breath, I waited for them to open the door. I turned the knob after hearing a 'click' and stepped into the house. For wicked and heartless people, Linda and Joseph were quite neat. Cross that, they made sure I kept the house neat. They were average classed people, living in the suburb part of the city. Affording complete and rich meals each day, with a good dose of alcohol on the side.

I waited a minute or two, and when I saw no sign of them, I proceeded to run to my room.

"And where do you think you're going?" the menacing voice stopped me in my tracks. Joseph.

"And in such a hurry?" Linda added, a sneer evident in her tone.

I turned around slowly. They were sitting on a sofa, in the dark parlour. No wonder I didn't see them.

"T--to my room," I said with a slight stutter.

Linda cackled, like the witch she was. "Did you hear what she just said, honey?" she asked Joseph who guffawed in response.

"But mom I--"

Before I knew what was happening, her palm connected to my cheeks with a loud 'WHAM!!!' sending me sprawling to the floor.

I'd forgotten; they insisted I never call them mom or dad, unless the social workers were around.

I screamed from the pain and saw stars in my peripheral vision. Like an explosion had gone off in my head.

"I'm not your mother, you stinking daughter of a bitch!" she hissed, pulling my hair and hitting it on the ground.

Joseph knelt down beside me, with one knee on my abdomen, and he grabbed my small wrists in his big hand.

"Shut up, bitch," he growled and used his other hand to muffle me.

I was already quiet, because I couldn't breathe. And soon all my struggles slowed down because of expending energy without breathing.

When he noticed my lack of resistance, he got off me, and I immediately drew in a deep breath, clutching my hurting abdomen and stinging cheeks while blinking away the tears that were threatening to fall.

I'm a strong girl.

I won't cry.

"We're never going to be your parents, damned girl," Linda spat, kicking me in the side, "because you're worthless to everyone. Even your real parents didn't want you! You're a curse!"

"A worthless piece of trash," Joseph added as he squatted and pulled my hand to him forcefully. "And if one word about this leaks out to the social service, you're dead. Understand!?"

I nodded my understanding.

"Good."

He kissed his wife, and then laughing, they moved to their room while doing disgusting things.

When I heard their door lock, I picked myself up, lifted my backpack and headed to my mouse sized room, where I ran a hot shower to treat the bruises on my cheeks and wrists. After that, I applied a balm and crawled onto my bed.

It was when I got my pillow to my face that I let out a long agony scream and allowed the tears to flow.

Anne's POV

.

For the rest of the day, I tried to focus more in class, despite my sleepy eyes. I also ignored the annoying sniggers from the people behind me. Especially Guinevere. That girl was a witch in humans skin.

The algebra teacher was rounding up his lesson, and we had about five minutes before lunch break. I packed up my books into my bags and sat still on my seat, tapping my feet and fingers nervously on the floor and desk.

I was thinking of ways to thank Emilio for his help yesterday. Even if it was a kind of a proud act on his part, he rescued me from dying of hunger.

I've never spoken to him before, because I didn't talk to anyone. That was how I was, but ever since I moved in with the Matthews, they made it a law. Mind your business, no friends. They didn't want me having somebody to whom I could spill their secret to.

OK, I could say, 'Hi, I want to thank you for lunch yesterday...' No, I'll just go straight to the point by saying th--

"Stop that."

"Huh?"

"The tapping thing. It's driving me crazy."

I looked at my fingers spread out on the desk. Oh, noise. I forgot that he hated noise.

"Sorry, I'm just... nervous."

This was the longest conversation I've had so far with him since we became seatmates in eleventh grade.

And I think it had gone long enough. Talking meant making friends, and making friends was something I couldn't do.

I turned back to picking my books up, when he asked,

"Have you had breakfast today?"

I paused and contemplated answering that. Saying no would get him suspicious, although I didn't know him enough to know if he would bother.

"How's that your business?"

His eyebrows raised a notch, as if he didn't expect me to answer that way.

"Just answer the damned question," he said in a low tone, and coupled with a trace of his Italian accent sounded really dreamy....hmm.

"I--yes."

Just then, my stomach growled, as if it was telling him that I was lying.

Aww come on tummy, can't you cover up for me for once in my life!?

He shook his head, and curls of his dark hair scattered and went to his forehead. I tried not to stare. With a sigh, he got up and picked up his bag.

"Come on."

"Where?"

"Must you always be so defiant and stubborn?"

"Sometimes that's the only way to survive."

When he didn't say anymore, I looked up to find him staring at me.

Oh no, I said that loud.

I offered him a small smile. "It's a quote. From Macbeth."

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, an action that seemed to make him look more....stop it girl, you can't go about noticing looks.

"There's no quote in Macbeth about stubbornness. Pick another lie."

I laughed nervously, and my stomach rumbled again.

"Come on," he said again, ''And don't even try resisting."

"Yeah, and he called me stubborn," I said.

.

"Hey, I assumed we were going to have lunch."

"We are," he replied simply.

"So, what are you doing in the garage?" I asked. "Shouldn't we be in the cafeteria?"

The corner of his lips curled up into the hottest smirk I've ever seen, such that when he said, "Cafeteria's for losers," I didn't hear. My eyes were just on his lips.

I've said he had the face of a god. But I didn't say exactly what made him qualify as such.

He had dark hair that shone in the sun, and was long enough to curl at the nape of his neck, and it was always combed back every time, except for now that some locks of it were on his face.

His dark eyes, hooded by long dark lashes, were so mesmerizing.

A pointed nose, and lips that I'll swear were sculptured by the finest sculptor.

He, as a whole, was a non abstract evidence of beauty.

And yet, he was super quiet, and he was most times alone.

I didn't even notice that he'd gotten into the backseat of a jeep with tinted windows until he called out, "Coming or what?"

I swallowed as I climbed in beside him.

Get your act together girl.

***

The Ray.

I've heard of this restaurant, so popular and expensive.

I turned to look at him.

Was he really serious about eating here? During school's lunchtime? Rich people can be so dramatic.

The driver who drove us here opened Emilio's door, and he got down.

I followed.

"Hey, Are we seriously having lunch here?" I asked, more like whispered.

He nodded. But then he was staring at me again, like he did this morning in school.

"What?"

"What happened to your cheeks

Anne's POV

.

Damn...I must have been so awed by the beautiful surrounding that I forgot to adjust my hair.

Emilio looked like he wasn't ready to let me go without an answer.

"I uh...nothing. It's nothing," I replied and turned away, pretending to look at the building in front of me.

He cupped my chin in his hand and turned me to face him, so that he could get a clearer view of my cheeks.

"This isn't nothing, Anne. Tell me what happened."

OK, I really didn't like the fuss he was making over the issue. It's not like I owe him an explanation, neither does he have any business in my life.

I pulled his hand down from my face.

"Excuse me, but what does this have to do with you? It's not like my life is something you can ask about at will. And beside, because you're rich doesn't mean you can barge into somebody's affair and boss around. I value my privacy, Emilio, and so should you."

I stormed off, forgetting that we were planning to have lunch.

"Oh, and thanks for the mockery in the form of donuts yesterday. They were sooo delicious."

Without looking back, I walked away.

A little distance afar, I slowed down. My reaction was harsh, and now that I think of it, pointless.

But I was kind of angry with myself too. Emilio was a popular guy. I might not be crazily crushing or throwing myself at him, but I won't deny that I found him attractive.

Which was a big no no.

God, what's wrong with me!?

He was only trying to help.

But I couldn't accept pity from him, or anyone.

I'll take care of myself.

From there, I walked home, skipping the rest of the classes for the day.