FALLING FOR MY MAFIA IN-LAW

Isabella’s POV: As I arranged the last napkin on the extended dining table in the backyard of our family home, a sigh of relief escaped me. Beads of sweat glistened on my forehead as I wiped them away with the back of my hand. Our once bustling house had quieted considerably, with only my mother and me remaining to oversee the preparations. Earlier, my cousins had lent a hand briefly before being dispatched on a vague 'errand'—a not-so-subtle indication from my father. My sister had stayed in her room all day. Curiously, neither my mother nor my abuella had ventured to engage her, which was hardly surprising considering that today meant her 'special day,' drew closer, though it was a fate I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. The tables were now perfectly set, the food prepared, leaving only the gruesome task of getting through this day. I retreated indoors and slumped onto the living room couch, remote control in hand. The red-haired news anchor droned on, reporting on a drive-by shooting that claimed the lives of four men, perpetrators unidentified. I put off the TV. Well, I guess their ‘errand’ was complete. Such events had become alarmingly routine for me, each one leaving a lingering numbness. While our household was built on a foundation of illicit wealth, I could at least claim a measure of innocence, at least until earlier this year. Now, I carried blood on my hands, much like every other member of my family. With a deep breath, I rose and ascended the stairs, making my way to my sister's room. Pausing outside the partially open door, I knocked softly. "The person you seek is dead," she replied from within. A chuckle escaped my lips, and I pushed the door open. She greeted me with a glare, to which I responded with a wry smile. "Sorry, I thought you were dead." She whined, "I might as well be." "Come on, it's not that bad," I offered, despite my reservations. I couldn't fathom being in my sister's shoes, forced into this union. "Oh, you're not the one getting married as part of a business deal," she countered. "Sorry," I conceded, taking a seat beside her. "But I still don't get why Dad suddenly made this deal, with the guy who might have killed our brother, no less." She interrupted, "Hey, we don't know that." "You're still defending Dad?" I asked annoyed. "Why do you always defend him, Sara?" "Isabella, calm down," she urged. "There's no proof that he did it." "Oh, yeah, sure," I retorted. "The only person cousin Alvarez saw at the scene just happened to have the exact same tattoo your soon-to-be husband has on his right arm." "Cousin Alvarez was very drunk that night, and high on God knows what. There's no way we can know for sure," she insisted. I took another deep breath. "Well, why don't we just ask Cousin Alvarez, then... Oh, I forgot. He's dead." "Isabella," she said, her voice a mix of exasperation and concern. I struggled to comprehend her unwavering support for our father. I get that she felt a profound responsibility, given she was now the oldest child but my father's actions had reached a disturbingly erratic level. Understanding his actions seemed impossible. While I grasped why he might give up my sister and me for some business transaction, the notion that he might be willing to entrust his first son's killer with us was incomprehensible. I thought that avenging their own was part of our family's moral code. After all, they had just executed four men for jumping my cousin. A different cousin though. But then I was here to make her feel better. After a deep breath, I offered, "It'll probably piss Abuella off if she finds out you had dessert before lunch, but I'll sneak you a bowl of ice cream from the fridge." "Ice cream won't make me feel better right now," Sara replied, her voice resigned. "But make it strawberry." I chuckled. "Sure." ……… I had gotten the ice cream and on my way to give Sara, I collided with someone warm and solid—the last person I would ever wish to meet: Nate, a mysterious figure who had gained a fearsome reputation as the most dangerous man in New York and who was soon to be my sister's husband. I instinctively took a step back, overwhelmed by his imposing presence. To my surprise, Nate bore little resemblance to my expectations. I remembered seeing him weeks ago, before Sara was to be forcefully married to him and I'd had a strange crush on him at the time, despite my disdain for the circumstances. I had forgotten just how tall he was, standing there in a sleek black suit with a neatly tied black tie. His charcoal black suit clung to him in all the right places. His chiseled features, framed by dark, tousled hair exuded an air of quiet intensity. The rolled-up sleeves of his jacket revealed the tattoo that sent shivers down my spine. "Are you just going to stand there and stare at me all day?" he asked, his voice dripping with authority. "And next time, watch where you're going," he added. In response, I quipped, "Hey, you were the one who bumped into me. And what if I choose to stay and stare at you?" He took a small step forward. As if I were the opposite side to a magnet, I took one back. Tension hung thick in the air as he closed the distance between us. "Move," he ordered, his voice brooking no disobedience. My heart raced, and I hesitated, as if an invisible force compelled me to obey him. Summoning all the defiance I could muster, I broke free from the enchantment. I met his unwavering gaze with one of my own. My lips curled into a defiant sneer, and I retorted, "Why would I ever listen to you? I wouldn't move an inch for someone like you." My audacity was a dangerous gamble, considering who he was. I knew that he could end my life without hesitation. I mean, he had probably killed for way less. Anxiety clawed at my chest, and my heart pounded loudly, anticipating the repercussions of my defiance. Then, in an unexpected turn, Nate did something utterly surprising. A slow, sly smile played at the corners of his lips, and a low, rumbling chuckle escaped him. I had expected to provoke him, but instead, it seemed like I had amused him. He took another step forward, and I back. The intoxication of his dominance sent a jolt through me, and my heart raced. "Do you think you're funny?" he asked, his tone inscrutable. "My friends say I am," I replied, though my words had slipped out before I could censor them. I couldn't understand why I was speaking so casually to him. "Then I think you need new friends," he retorted, his tone grave. "Because your so-called friends have been lying to you." He stepped back slightly. I realized that I was still holding a bowl of melted ice cream, forgotten in my hand. "If you'll excuse me," I said as I attempted to move past him. "Wait," he commanded, grabbing my arm. His touch sent an electric shock through me as he clasped my hand. Warmth enveloped me, leaving me momentarily breathless. Collecting myself, I inquired, "What?" "Tell your father that the Atria clan isn't so thrilled with our 'alliance,'" he stated, his expression somber. "Clan?" I scoffed. "As if 'pandilla' wasn't amusing enough. Besides, how do you know who I am?" The brief amusement faded from his eyes, replaced by a deepening frown that creased his brow. "Do you think this is funny? Two of my wolves died last night." "Wolves?" I asked, my voice laced with confusion. "Isabella!" Sara's voice echoed from behind me. I turned to see her, my eyes wide with disbelief. ………. "Isabella, calm down," Sara urged, locking the door behind her. "Calm down?" I retorted. She sighed, pacing nervously. I could always tell when she was stressed. She turned to me, her expression laden with worry. "What was he talking about, Sara? He mentioned 'wolves,' or is it some kind of slang?" “This wasn’t how you were supposed to find out Isabella” “Sara, you’re scaring me. What are you talking about?” Sara sighed once more, and my anxiety deepened. I knew I was about to hear something shocking but I never expected it to be this shocking. "Our family is a family of werewolves," she disclosed. My jaw dropped in disbelief. "A family of werewolves? I mean, we're a bad family, sure, but we're not out there in the wilderness, hunting in packs or anything like that." "Isabella, I understand it's a lot to process right now," Sara replied, her tone soothing. "You think?" I mumbled in response, still waiting for her to reveal it as an elaborate prank. "You were meant to find out on your twentieth birthday. Why did that jerk blurt it out?" she lamented. "And why were you even talking to him in the first place?" "Um, nothing," I replied, surprised at my defensive tone. I hadn't done anything wrong. "I bumped into him on my way upstairs, and he asked me to deliver a message to Papa." "Oh," Isabella said. "He probably had no idea you didn't know, so he just told you casually." She then sat beside me and explained, "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you, Sara. It's been eating me up inside, and I only found out a few years ago, when I turned twenty." "Wait, when you turned twenty?" I interjected. "Yeah, that's when we acquire our powers," she elaborated. I took a deep breath in. "Trust me, I know it's a lot to take in." Indeed, it was a lot to take in. I was still half-expecting Sara to reveal it was all a far-fetched joke, even though April had come and gone. The entire concept was unfathomable, but it did clarify why she was being married off. I had read plenty of werewolf books, and Sara was most likely meant to be the Luna in Damian's pack. I always believed it was part of some weapons exchange. However, knowing this sort of cast a shadow of destiny over Sara's union with Nate, and the thought made me more than a little uneasy. And it wasn’t because of myself, I just didn’t want my sister to be stuck with that monster for the rest of her life Returning to the present, I looked at Sara with a wide grin, hinting at an unspoken request. "Uh-uh, I'm not transforming right now," she immediately denied. "Please," I begged. "How can I trust everything you've been saying?" "Then don't. Besides, this is my favorite dress—I can't afford to rip it apart," she countered. "Fine," I conceded, understanding her perspective, and it was also a really pretty dress. "Now, come on," Sara urged. "Remember, we still have a lunch to host. Go downstairs, and I'll join you. And remember, don't say anything." "Sure," I replied, rising from the bed. I made my way downstairs and seated myself on the living room couch, still grappling with everything I had just heard. Life was already complicated within a mafia family, but the revelation that we were also a family of werewolves made it all the more surreal. I didn’t know what to do. Sara told me to lay it cool and hide it from my parents but it felt like I was about to lose my mind. Amid the chaos in my mind, some things began to make sense. For instance, it explained the massive scar on Cousin Alvarez's chest on the night he was killed. The official account attributed it to a machete, but in retrospect, those wounds resembled claw marks. And I was sure there were no bears wandering the streets of New York. It also explained some of the scars my cousins would get after a rival war. "Isabella... Isabella," someone said, touching my arm and startling me from my reverie. I had been so deeply lost in thought that I'd missed Sara calling my name. "Are you okay?" she asked. "Yeah, I'm fine," I responded quickly, attempting to shake off my disarray. She studied me for a moment, concern etched across her face. “Really, I'm fine, Sara," I assured her. "Come on, let's get going. The lunch will start soon." Rising from the couch, we headed for the backyard. My cousins had returned, and Nate's family members joined the gathering. The luncheon was underway as I settled next to my cousin and abuella at the long dining table. Sara and the enigmatic monster occupied seats at the head of the table. Two thoughts lingered in my mind. First, that the people around me were far from ordinary, and I wasn't referring to them being strapped but that they probably had claws and howled whenever they saw a full moon. And second, the crush I had on my sister’s soon to be husband wasn’t as dead as I thought it was.