~ Chapter 2 ~

“Valentina, is that you?”  She rolled her eyes as she walked into the house; her dad knew who it was but he just liked to pretend that he couldn’t see her walk in.  But their house was protected, that would be something any mob boss made sure of, so of course he always saw who walked on his land or through his front door.

                “Yes, it’s me dad.”

                “Good,” he said as he walked out of the living room.  “Come join me, I want to talk to you.”  Val sat her purse down on the table by the door and followed him into the cozy room.  Most of their house was formal, as befitting who he was, but mom made sure there were rooms of comfort and coziness and not hard and cold.  Her mom often felt that more people would open up if they were in a comfty place, unlike her dad, who believed hard was better.  He sat down on the couch and she followed suit.

                “What’s up dad?”

                “You know there’s been a long standing war between us and the Constantini’s right?  A war that was started by your grandfather.”

                “I’m aware, probably why Vinny and I have issues.”  He sighed at that.  He knew about them, that wasn’t news.  Hell, their issues with each other stemmed as far back as their playing on the school field.  Vinny was one year older than her, so for them, they really had been around each other forever.  And hell did he remember the phone calls they would get about the two of them fighting.

                “Well, those issues need to stop.”  ‘Stop,’ she questioned to herself, they just had a show a couple hours ago in fact!

                “Why dad?”

                “Donatello and I called a cease fire.”  Her eyes opened wide.  A cease fire?  That was unheard of.  But, then her eyes narrowed.  They were mob bosses, and you didn’t do anything for free.

                “What’s it costing us?”

                “It’s sad that you can’t be my heir, your mind is so ready for that.”  Yes, it’s a bitter pill to swallow that she was a female, but no female was allowed to be in control; they couldn’t make those tough choices.

                “I know, it’s a shame, now answer the question.”

                “You.”

                “What do you mean ‘me’?  Hai intenzione di massacrarmi prima di loro?  Lasciando che il mio sangue corre per le strade invece?” (Are you planning on slaughtering me before them?  Letting my blood run down the streets instead?)  She was furious.  He was willing to do that to his only child, female or not.

                “No!  You are to marry Giovanni.”  Oh, that was not any better.  She’d rather take a bullet to the chest than be led to the other version of slaughter, holy matrimony with the biggest play boy around; yeah no thanks on that.  She clenched her teeth as she stared at her dad.

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                “Join me son,” Donatello said as he took his eyes off the pool table and glanced at his son.  At 24, Giovanni was a good looking man who had all the women at his feet and his dad knew that.       And knew that his son would never think about settling down, now or anytime soon.  So, as much as he hated being a controlling son of a bitch with his kids, this time he needed too.  Sure, the cease fire was great, but he could admit the other motive; marrying his son off to a damn good family.

                “What’s up papa (dad)?”  Donatello sank the nine ball and tossed the stick to Vinny.

                “Had a meeting with De Luca.”  Giovanni nicked the table at those words, not even hitting a ball.

                “And you didn’t kill each other?”

                “No, actually figlio (son), the De Luca’s and the Constantini’s have a cease fire.”  Donatello watched his son, watched as his eyebrow’s scrunched together, watched as his jaw clenched and watched as his hands fisted.

                “Why?”

                “Because enough is enough.  Too many lives have been lost.  Who is to say you weren’t next?”

                “I can’t of course, but really?  How did you manage that?  I mean, De Luca isn’t the type to just say, ‘here, we are done, what now’.”

                “No, he isn’t,” Donatello said as he took another cue stick and lined up a shot, sinking the ball and looking up at his son.  Giovanni moved to sit on the stool as he watched his father.

                All his life, all he had heard about was this war; was about the anger these two families had.  And, yeah sure, it spilled out on their kids; Giovanni could admit there was a time or two he wished he could have punched Val, but there was also times that he wished he didn’t have to be so cruel to her.  Valentina was a smart woman, and there were times he would have loved to just talk to her.  Granted, those times were few and far between.  And yet, here was his dad, talking nonsense.

                “So, you called a truce, what’s the cost?  Are we paying him?  Giving him run over our streets?”

                “De Luca’s empire needs none of that.  What he does need is a stable and strong hand for Valentina.”  

                “Marriage?”

                “Yes.”

                “To who?  I have all sisters and my cousins wouldn’t work for that princess.  Are they taking one of your men?”

                “No, not unless you are one of my men and not my son.”

                “Me, why…I’m too marry her?”  Giovanni bellowed as he got off the stool, his eyes wide.  “Non puoi essere fottutamente serio?  Preferirei prendere un proiettile alla testa.” (You can’t be fucking serious?  I’d rather take a bullet to the head.)

                “Fermarsi!”  (Stop).  Giovanni’s nostrils flared at his dad yelled, but he shut up.  “You have no choice son.  This truce falls on the heads of you and Valentina.  You are to make the next world better.”

                “Or her and I could start the war all over again.  Don’t you see that we don’t like each other?”

                “Is that you or years of hate?”  Giovanni went to open his mouth to answer, but couldn’t.  Could they really make an alliance work?  Would that ever be possible?  Could their streets finally see peace?  After all, these were the strongest families who were drawing the lines and calling a truce; on the heads of their kids, of course.