Ruthless Monarch

My stomach feels heavy, filled with dread.

I can feel the sweat start to bead in the back of my hair, my heart pounding in my chest as I cross the space and take a seat on the chair opposite from where he sits at his desk. His dark and angry eyes stare at me as his lips thin into a sneer.

“What did you have to talk to me about?” I ask, trying desperately to sound strong and confident.

“Your graduation.”

My ears start to ring, making it hard to hear. I take a deep breath.

Show no fear.

Don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm.

As my pulse regulates, he speaks.

“I expect now that you have finished, you will do your duty for your family.”

“Duty?”

“Yes, Viviana. Your duty. Your mother and I have indulged you for way too long.”

“What does that even mean?”

“We allowed you to go to college. Allowed you to get the best education. You are now a well-spoken, educated young lady. . .”

“And?”

“Now it’s time to help us.”

I shake my head, not understanding what he’s trying to say.

“Help . . . how? Like work in your office?”

It wasn’t an ideal solution, but I would work there for a bit to get him off my case while I save money to do something else. Of course, I’m stalling. I’m not dumb and optimistic enough to assume that’s what he’s talking about.

“Come now, Viviana. You know better than that.”

“I do?” Stalling, stalling, stalling.

“Your place isn’t in the office. You are much better served elsewhere.”

“And where would that be?” My tone is clipped now.

“Making alliances.”

Cold ice fills my veins as I wait for what I know is about to come.

“I think it’s time we used your looks, personality, and now education to our advantage.”

“Umm. I don’t understand.”

“As you know, I have goals. Big goals. And in order to achieve these goals, I need to have the right connections. The best way for me to achieve this is to work with certain people.”

“Okay . . .”

“But to do this, I need to show a level of commitment. I need to tie myself to them. And you are the perfect way.”

“I'm sorry, Father, but I don’t understand what you are saying.”

“I want you to marry Salvatore Amante.”

My mouth drops open. And that ball of anxiety in my throat? It just blocked my air pipes.

“I … I can’t marry him. I don’t know him,” I somehow manage to say.

“Viviana, that wasn’t a suggestion. You will marry Salvatore Amante. I need him. He will guarantee we get everything we have always desired.”

“We? Don’t you mean you?”

“You want this too, Viviana. This is what's best for me, for you, and also for Julia.”

He slides a paper across the desk. “Read that over, and then tell me what you decide.”

The weight of the paper feels like a million pounds of stones in my hand. My head tilts down as my eyes scan it. The words blur under my unshed tears. Old scars from the past open and start to fester, but my stomach bottoms out when I see what it says, and my heart starts to race. My shaking hands drop the piece of evidence that changes everything. What I just read makes no sense. How can this be? If this is true . . . Confusion and despair like I have never felt before pulses inside me.

“Is this real?”

“It is.”

“You—”

“Silence!” he bellows. “You will not question me. You will not question what I did. Understand me . . . you will fall in line.” The threat hangs heavy in the air. “And remember what happened to Ana is your fault. What happens to her children from this moment forward . . .” Is on me. He doesn’t say it, but there is no need. Their lives are in my hands, and I’m not sure what that means for any of us.

My reply sticks in my throat, gravelly, heavy, making it impossible to speak.

I won’t do as he says, but I can’t allow him to know. But first, I need to find out if he’s lying to me yet again.

My father is a monster. If he thinks I’m going against him, he will retaliate.

I need to bide my time and figure out a plan.

There has to be some way out of this mess.

I just have to figure out how.

Now, sitting at the table in the formal dining room, I try my best to get out of here unscathed. If there’s no talking at dinner, I’d be a happy camper.

There is nothing to say, so I try to keep my head down the whole time.

Unfortunately, my mother doesn’t agree with my sentiment because as I look down at the table, pushing my salad around the plate, she says my name.

“Viviana. When will you be moving back into the house?”

My head pops up. “What? No one said anything about me moving back in,” I fire at my father. “Why can’t I stay at my apartment?”