Maria Delvina
Manila, Italy
I hesitated at the doorway, nurses leaving at my presence, just as my fingers brush down the cold brass handle. The house was eerily quiet, too quiet. I could still hear the faint beeping of the machines keeping my father tethered to this world, the sterile scent of antiseptic hanging in the air like a weight.
For weeks, I had walked into his room, wondering if he would wake up. Half of me had dreaded it—the other half... Well, maybe I wasn't ready for his voice to pierce through to fog I had been lost in. The voice I had always sought when I didn't know what the hell to do.
And I didn't know what the hell to do.
I finally pushed the door open. There he was. The great Alessandro Delvina, mafia kingpin and my father, reduced to a ghost of the man he once was. His face was gaunt, his body barely making a dent in the bed, his eyes closed, as if waking up had drained him from what little strength he had left.
But he was awake. Alive. And I needed answers.
"Maria," he rasped, his voice dragging against the quiet like sandpaper. That sound—his voice, however weak—was enough to steady me. He might have looked frail, but there was something solid in the way he said my name.
"You look like death warmed over," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm, as I stepped inside.
His lips curved up at the corners, the hint of a smile playing on his mouth. "Funny, I could say the same about you."
I gave him a crooked grin, pulling a chair closer to his beside before sitting down. "I've been better."
He raised his brow, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to size me up. "That bad, huh?"
Understatement of the year. "Yeah, that bad."
He didn't push further, though I could see behind his eyes the questions swimming. My father wasn't the type to waste words, but I knew him well enough to know that every silence from him was just as loud as any statement. And that silence? It was deafening.
"How are you feeling?" I asked, because I need to stall. I needed more time to figure out how I was going to say this. What I was going to ask.
He exhaled, a sound that could have been a laugh, but barely passed as one. "I feel like I've been shot," he deadpanned.
I gave him a half-smile, thought the weight of the situation pressed harder on my chest. "Well, you have."
The room fell into an uneasy quiet again. I could sense his impatience, the frustration in his body language as his hands twitched slightly. He hated being bedridden like this. My father, a man who could command an entire room with a single glance, now confined to a bed, forced to rely on others.
"What's going on, Maria?" His voice cut through my thoughts. He wasn't one for small talk. He wanted the truth. Now.
I took a breath. "Things...changed while you were out."
His eyebrows blew together in confusion, but there was something else too. Fear? Guilt? Whatever it was, it flickered briefly before he masked it with that steely expression he always wore when he was in business mode.
"And Sergio?" His voice dipped low, slightly hesitant with his words.
I clenched my jaw. "He's...around." The words tasted like ash in my mouth. Sergio hadn't been around for weeks. He'd disappeared after the ambush like the coward he was, and I had no idea where he was or what kind of mess he gotten himself into. But now wasn't the time for that. My father didn't need to hear how his son bailed. Not yet.
He stared at me, his eyes turning to slits, but he never forced me to speak. He could tell I wasn't ready to dive into that mess.
"I need to talk to you about something else," I said, shifting in the chair, trying to get a little more comfortable. "Something...important."
His eyes sparked, though his body remained still. "What is it?"
I paused, hating how difficult it was to even say the words. Why did it feel like admitting to defeat? Like I was betraying myself by even considering it?"
"The Herrera family." I started slowly, watching his face for any sign of reaction. His face tensed, but he stayed silent, waiting for me to continue.
"There's been an offer."
His head tilted.
"To end the feud," I took a breath. "For good, a truce."
He almost got trapped in his thoughts for a second. I could seem him trying to figure out what I was going to say, before I even spoke. Then, he spoke up. "A truce?" His voice heavy in scepticism, just like I once was.
"A permanent one," I added, words tasting even more bitter. I was embarrassed, the thought of letting my father down, and proving I was weak after this whole show of being strong.
"And the price?"
I swallowed. "A marriage."
His eyes flicked up to meet mine, the surprise there so quick I almost missed it. Almost. He wasn't one to show his emotions, but this? This caught him off guard.
"To who?" His fragile hand dropped, landing on my knee, letting his thumb rub circles gently.
"Diego Herrera."
Silence descended like a hammer between us. His face hardened, retracting his hand, and for a moment, I thought he was going to tell me no right there. But instead, he exhaled slowly, as if he was trying to rein in whatever fury or frustration was building inside of him.
"You haven't agreed to anything yet?" His voice was calm. Unnervingly calm.
"No." I shook my head. "I came to you first."
He nodded slightly, the tension easing just a little. That seemed to soften him. His shoulders, though still stiff, settled into the pillows.
"So, they're offering you up like a lamb to the slaughter, huh?" His voice was scold, edged with bitterness.
I tightened my fists. "It's not like that."
"Isn't it?"
His stare locked onto mine, and for the first time in a long while, I saw vulnerability in him. This wasn't just about business. This was personal.
"And why haven't you decided yet?" His voice cutting through the haze of emotions built in my chest.
"Because..." I picked at my nails. "Because I don't want to be some pawn in their game." The words came out fiercer than expected, but they were the truth. "I hate him," I added, my voice barely a whisper, but annoyed. "He's arrogant, insufferable, and...attractive," I admitted reluctantly, even with the hatred of the last part. Why did it even matter?
"Ah," my father's lips quirked up into a small, tired smile. "So that's it, huh? You hate him because he's attractive?"
I scowled. "No, I hate him because he's Diego Herrera. Because he represents everything I stand against. He's cold, ruthless, and doesn't care about anyone but himself."
"And yet you're here. Asking me for advice."
My tongue fell down my throat, watching the floor intently. "Maria, this isn't about you. You know that."
I looked up to him, my chest tightening.
"This decision... it's about the family. About what's best for all of us." He paused, his eyes searching mine. "But I'm not going to pressure you into anything. If you don't want this, you don't have to do it. But you need to understand what's at stake. A marriage like this... could end war. It could save lives."
The words hung heavy in the air. I knew what he was saying, even if he didn't spell it out. This wasn't about personal feelings toward Diego. About the legacy we carried, the responsibility we bare as the Delvina family."
"And if I do this?" I ask, twisting one of my rings around my finger.
"You'll find a way to make it work," he said, his voice filled with a confidence I didn't feel.
I stood, suddenly feeling like I couldn't breathe in that room anymore. I need air. Space.
"Thanks," I muttered, turning towards the door.
"Maria," he called after me, his voice in a gentle tone. "Whatever you decide, is the best decision. I trust you."
I didn't look back as I left the room, but his final words echoed my mind.
What the fuck am I going to do.
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Short chapter sorry!
Happy reading :)
Words: 1425