Page 1 of Unworthy Ties

Gabriella

I spun around my room in excitement, my heart pounding at a rhythm akin to the most rousing symphony. The wallpaper, splashed with vibrant daisies, seemed to dance alongside me, its cheery pattern swirling into a kaleidoscope of color.

Today was the day I was getting engaged to Felix Marchioni, AKA the man I had been pining over for years. Since I was ten or so, the sight of the man had sent me into either fits of stutters or giggles.

Where did I even start with how perfect this man was?

His eyes always held a twinkle that could outshine the stars.

His laugh, a melodic harmony that echoed through the room and made me feel as if I were flying through an ethereal cloud of joyfulness.

Felix was everything—dashing, funny, charming, and above all, kind.

It was a crush that had always seemed unreturned; like I was just some kid who was in his peripherals. It was an all- consuming tale of love that I thought was destined to remain in the margins of my life.

But, in a twist of fate, my father had called two days ago and told me I was “getting married to the Marchioni boy.” I screamed in excitement, but before I could ask more questions, he hung up the phone.

I had tried to call him back multiple times, but the only response was via text: “I’ll be home in two days. ”

An arranged marriage wasn’t the way I saw our love story going, but Felix just did not seem the type to settle for a loveless union.

No, this had to be a sign of his own affection, of feelings long concealed.

He—hopefully—had asked specifically for me.

The thought sent my heart into a riotous frenzy of hope.

Those two days had passed, and now there were exactly eight minutes until he and the Marchioni family would pull into our family’s estate.

I decided I didn’t want to risk being late—even though the foyer was a two minute walk away—and headed downstairs. I skipped out the door and through the hall, unashamedly humming the wedding march.

“You’re not being shy about it, are you?” my younger sister, Fiorella, had heard me tromping down the hall and was waiting in her doorway.

I scoffed. “My biggest dream in life is about to come true. What’s there not to be excited about?”

“Your biggest dream in life is an arranged marriage to Felix Marchioni?” She crossed her arms and leaned against her doorframe. “That’s depressing.”

Fiorella could be a downer. Her insides had a tendency to match her outsides—which was all black lipstick and studded belts. I brushed it off, trying not to take it personally.

“In fact, it’s more than a dream. It’s destiny,” I responded, examining each cuticle to make sure they were in place.

“Right,” she said. “Well, try to be more subtle about your ‘destiny.’ You might scare him away before you even get to the altar.”

I rolled my eyes, pressing my lips into a thin line, before retorting, “Fiorella, just because you’re too cynical to understand love doesn’t mean I have to be.”

“It’s technically a business deal,” she deadpanned.

I didn’t argue that point, because she wasn’t wrong. All arranged marriages started with business in mind—but I was ready to turn this one into a love story.

A sudden chorus of car horns snapped me out of my thoughts. Out the grand bay windows, a fleet of sleek, black cars were pulling up in our long driveway.

Shit. I had been talking to Fiorella for too long and hadn’t kept track of the time. Now, I wasn’t waiting downstairs like I had planned.

“Looks like your prince charming has arrived,” Fiorella said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

I didn’t respond as I power-walked as fast as possible towards the foyer. Running wouldn’t do—it would mess up my hair and makeup I had hired a celebrity stylist for.

I descended my family’s grand stairs just as the doors to my home opened and everyone walked in.

When I saw him, time stopped. Felix stood among the crowd of people who flooded in, taller and somehow more vibrant than I remembered.

He was dressed in a sharp navy suit that complemented his dark hair and olive skin.

His eyes—deep pools of emerald—met mine, and a smile spread across his face.

I tried to return it with a smile of my own, but I was too busy trying not to pass out from fangirling about how he had just smiled at me.

Rocco Marchioni, Felix’s twin brother, cleared his throat, and I snapped out of my trance. He stood next to his brother, and although they were identical, he looked terrifying in his suit rather than handsome.

Felix must have gotten every good gene in the womb. He was charming and charismatic, while Rocco scowled at anyone he got within ten feet of. I probably hadn’t said more than ten words to him ever, and I had known him my whole life.

“Gabriella,” Elio, the head of the Marchioni house and the twin’s father, said. “Good to see you.”

“Nice to see you as well.”

“Gabriella,” my father said. “Come with us to the sitting room.”

I nodded and, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, moved to follow them into the grandeur of our lavishly decorated sitting room.

The posh furniture was covered in a velvety fabric that matched the maroon drapes on the windows.

A large crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting an elegant glow across the room.

I would normally find conversations with other families incredibly dull.

But today was different. Today, it felt like the world had finally woken up from a long, dreary slumber.

The splendor of everything around me seemed to shimmer and hum with life.

The once mundane became fascinating; the trivial became significant. All because of Felix.

“Well, let’s get straight to business, shall we?” my father said. “Gabriella and Rocco’s marriage—”

Rocco? Surely he meant Felix; he just got them confused because they were identical twins. My heart twisted with unease as I continued listening to my father and Elio talk.

“That will work with us,” Elio said. “I’d like for Gabriella and Rocco’s wedding—”

All the noise in the room cut to static. There was no mistake. I was getting married to the wrong twin. The twin who never smiled, who scowled at everyone and everything, who barely acknowledged my existence.

The world seemed to tilt, the elegant glow from the chandelier suddenly too harsh, the velvety fabric of the furniture too abrasive.

Any semblance of grandeur was now gone. The room was feeling like a prison, the maroon drapes heavy chains, and the crystal chandelier a stark cold light casting long, haunting shadows.

I looked at Felix, hoping to find some sort of reaction on his face—disappointment, confusion, surprise. But he was fine, his eyes still sparkling with that same charm, his demeanor calm and unruffled. I forced my eyes to look away, unable to bear the pain of seeing him unbothered.

I shifted my gaze towards Rocco, who stood there just as silent and stoic as always.

The light from the chandelier caught his suit, making it gleam like nighttime obsidian with an uncanny coldness that sent chills down my spine.

His eyes—the same piercing green as Felix’s—were not sparkling with charm but seemed to study me, his gaze unwavering and a little too intense for comfort.

Suddenly, my father cleared his throat, pulling me from the intense scrutiny of Rocco’s gaze. “We are honored to form this alliance between our families,” he said, shaking hands with Elio. “May this union bring prosperity and fortune.”

“Alliance,” a word often used regarding strategic partnerships and battles, not the union of two souls. The word felt cold, devoid of love or affection. Yet, it was precisely what this arrangement was—an advantageous alliance.

My world continued to spin, their words a distant buzz in my ears. I felt a cold, empty pit dig its way into my stomach as the cruel realization set in: I was to be married to Rocco, not Felix.

I wanted to scream at my father and refuse this preposterous arrangement. However, I was acutely aware of the mafia norms that were barring my way; they were as solid as the stone walls surrounding us in this lavish mansion.

Before I could make sense of my swirling thoughts, a murmur of agreement rippled through the room. The jovial laughter and clinking of glasses filled the air, as if this were all a grand occasion, not my impending doom.

“Let’s give them a few moments, shall we?” Elio said, referring to Rocco and me.

I didn’t want a few moments with Rocco. I wanted a lifetime with Felix. Yet, I found myself being led by the hand into an adjoining room, away from the prying eyes and hushed whispers of our families.

Rocco’s touch was like ice against my skin, but his grip was firm, leaving no room for me to escape from this reality. Once alone in the adjacent room, he released my hand. Rocco stood with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed upon me.

“I’ll cut to the chase. I know you want to marry my brother.”

His voice was low and smooth, like the quiet rustle of leaves on a windy day, yet it carried an edge that threatened to slice through my composure.

“I…” my voice faltered, taken aback by his bluntness. “Well…”

“Do not lie to me,” he interrupted, his voice sharper now. “I do not appreciate dishonesty.”

My temper flared at his audacity. The brewing storm in my chest broke free. “Well since you know, go back in there and convince your father to let me marry him. I don’t want to get married to,” I looked him up and down, my lip absentmindedly curling down. “ You. ”

His eyes widened slightly at my outburst before his expression regained its usual icy composure. “If you think I like this any more than you do, you are mistaken. However, if you think my father will let you marry Felix you are delusional.”

“Why, you—” I started, before he interrupted me.

“Felix is too irresponsible to inherit the role of head of the Marchioni household. It will go to me, and you will serve as a suitable partner.” He paused, adjusting his cufflinks. “That is the decision our fathers have made.”

The statement hung heavily in the air between us, a cruel declaration of our fates. It was always about power, about maintaining the family legacy—love was secondary. I was foolish to believe an arranged marriage could be anything else.

“So get over the stupid crush you have on my brother. We’re going to be married, and I can’t have you pining after Felix while we share the same bed,” he continued, his voice dropping to a low growl. “Do you understand?”

Stupid crush? I had spent ten years of my life dreaming about Felix.

His soft, dark hair, green eyes that glinted mischievously under the sunlight, and that smile—the smile that could thaw the coldest of hearts.

But now, it seemed, those dreams were just fantasies to be swept under the rug of reality.

“No,” I said defiantly, crossing my arms over my chest. “You don’t get to dictate how I feel.”

In an instant, Rocco strode across the room and to where I was standing. His large, rough hand wrapped around my jaw, his thumb tracing the bottom of my lip.

My heart stuttered nervously. Rocco and I had never spoken a full sentence to each other before this, and now his face was a mere inch from mine.

“You’ll come to find out, Piccola , that I do.”