The marble floor in my bedroom gleams so bright I can see the hem of my dress reflected in it. The black velvet kisses my ankle with a slit daringly high, but stitched enough to conceal the knife hidden against my thigh.
One must be prepared at all times.
The crown I wear isn’t forged of gold or jewels, but of blood and sacrifice.
Glancing around the room, I take in the intricate golden designs etched where the wall meets the ceiling. The king-size bed is covered in rosy pink sheets and blankets. My walk-in closet is big enough to be its own room. On the other side is a door that leads to an elegant bathroom Buckingham Palace would envy. A fireplace, white furniture, and a window seat complete this space fit for royalty. I finally have the childhood bedroom of my dreams, but now it’s only a reminder of everything I’ve lost just to get here.
Moving one of the books aside on my bookshelf, a portion of the wall slides back to reveal a hidden safe. After punching in the code, I remove a small velvet box and place it on my vanity. Flicking back the lid, I lift out a thick ruby statement necklace and fasten it around my neck. After adjusting the sweetheart neckline, I lift my gaze to meet the reflection in the mirror.
The woman who’s been Queen of the Capuano family for over a decade looks back at me.
“Ma che cazzo! Is that a white hair?” I lean forward to get a better look. My hands feverishly part my long raven locks. “Fuck, now on top of everything else I have to be in charge of, I have to worry about dyeing my hair too.” I flinch as my fingers take the pesky strand hostage and rip it from my scalp. I study it for a moment. It didn’t even turn gray, it’s pure white.
Lovely. Happy thirty-fifth birthday to me.
But each year on October sixth, it’s never about the cake or the candles.
It’s a reminder of how far I’ve come. Of how many lives, including my own, have been gambled for this throne along with the number of kings I’ve buried to command respect in this male-dominated hell.
I push a stray lock behind my ear to display the diamonds dripping from my ears. They catch just enough light to hold attention and command respect.
Running my fingers through my hair, I check one final time for any more white hairs. That’s the last thing Nonna needs to see. She’s already stressed enough about my womb and the fact that I’m this old with no husband or children. She doesn’t say it, but I can see it in her eyes.
This whole concept of getting married and having children later in life is foreign to her. I don’t blame her. After all, she got married at eighteen years old, and stayed married for over sixty years.
As for me, I haven’t been eighteen for a long time. If by some miracle I get married before forty, Nonna will give thanks to God, Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and every saint that exists. Heck, she’ll probably fund the entire wedding at this point.
But I’m not worried.
I don’t have time for love or marriage.
I’m too busy trying to keep this family and our legacy alive.
Father did tell me never to settle.
He would probably be delighted that I wasn’t married yet since no one was ever good enough in his eyes…well…except for one person.
A soft knock pulls me from my thoughts.
“Come in,” I call, stepping back from the mirror and smoothing my dress.
The door swings inward to reveal Bruno De Luca, the head of security. The hum of music follows him in, reminding me of the celebration going on downstairs.
I used to love parties. Until I realized that there are always snakes in the crowd, and you never know when they are going to strike.
But tonight is different.
I’m the guest of honor and this is an exclusive invitation-only event. With security swarming every inch of my mansion and a strict check-in at the door, for the first time in a long time, I can feel my love of celebrations returning.
Bruno folds his hands across his custom black suit, and I know his gun is hidden underneath.
“Oh, Farfalla, sei bellissima. Your father would be so proud.”
A grin breaks out across my face.
Farfalla, butterfly, that had been my father, Bruno, and Sal’s nickname for me growing up, and it’s stuck ever since then.
“Grazie, Bruno.”
