One
Aurora
* * *
Inever thought creeping out of the house would get my family killed.
It’s not asking too much, is it? One night before I get trapped forever in the stultifying boredom of an arranged marriage to a man I’ve yet to meet.
It’s been drummed into me since I was five years old. Women have one role in this life. Provide children for the family. Everything else is men’s work.
They get to waltz around sleeping with whoever they like and no one bats an eyelid. I ask if I can go to one nightclub one time and they look at me like I’ve grown another head.
Of course my parents said no when I asked. A Moretti does not frequent clubs. A Moretti holds themselves to a higher standard than the other mafia families.
I’ve decided to go anyway.
I’m nineteen years old. I’ve never had so much as a single kiss in my life.
This whole thing about keeping me pure for my husband is bullshit anyway. What does it matter if I’ve slept with someone before I get married?
My pet theory is that this is just one more way for my parents to keep me under their control.
That was why we argued so much tonight. I tried to tell them I don’t want to wait around until they decide who I’m supposed to marry. I want to live my own life.
They exploded when I told them that. How dare I go against the wishes of my family. Do I know nothing of their honor and sacrifice? Don’t I care if our name is dragged through the mud?
I will remain in the compound until the wedding day.I have a mansion and grounds to roam around. What more could I want?
I will wait until I am summoned to meet my future husband, chosen for me by my parents so we can cement an alliance with one of the bigger families. Then I will marry him and give him children and the Moretti name will continue for another generation.
I don’t want that. If I ever marry, I want it to be for love, not to help my father recoup his losses.
I know I’m running a risk, sneaking out of my bedroom like this, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. I need to know if there’s a life out there that’s different to this one.
My mother has accepted her lot. She was married off at sixteen. Can you imagine that? My eldest brother came along when she was seventeen. Since then she’s had two more boys. She thinks I should be grateful I’m still unhitched at nineteen. I’m not grateful. I know it’s only because my father hasn’t chosen the right match for me yet.
I get no say in any of it. None at all.
My cousin told me things can be different. That’s the only reason I’m going tonight. Cara told me about the fun she’s had sneaking out to clubs, getting drunk, partying all night. She’s going to college next year, she says. If she can find the money to do it.
My parents don’t like my cousin. Call her a bad influence on me. Not that they say it to her face. Honor and family above all else. Behind her back, they made it clear to me. I’m not to behave like her. I’m to have decorum. I’m to be a good match, help the family move up in the world.
They’ll marry me off to any of the bigger mafia families but the Casellas. I get to spend the rest of my life doing nothing for myself except staying at home. No job. No income of my own. No dreams. Nothing to do except raise children.
I don’t want to be just a housewife and nanny combined when I’m only nineteen. I want to live a little. Is that too much to ask?
I think all of this while I look out of my window, down to the gravel drive below. My bedroom overlooks the back of the house. Directly below is my car. When I moved it, Mom had a white wine fog around her and Dad was busy in his study.
No one saw me move it but I knew they’d say no when I asked about going out, so I prepare in advance.
I tried to be reasonable with them. Told them I would be sensible. One drink then back home. All I got was outright refusal. Clubs are dens of iniquity. Sinful places. I’ll be assaulted. I’ll be murdered. I must stay home where it’s safe, where I can be looked after.
Then they sent me to my room, warned me next time I argue with them, I’ll be spending the night in the stable.
I’m sick of being told what to do. I’m having my night of freedom. Hell, even if my dad loses it and kills me when I get back, that’ll be better than decades of servitude to whichever mafia husband he picks out for me.
They’re all assholes anyway. When there’s one of the dinners here, they all sit leering at me like I’m nothing but a piece of meat. It sickens me to be judged and commented on. Questions asked about me like I’m not even there.