Emma
Once again, the bus was late. I sighed as I looked at the watch in my hand, feeling my heart beat a little faster. The sensation of always battling against time was exhausting, the uncertainty of making it to work on time while the city's chaotic traffic toyed with my fate.
It was a scene that repeated itself daily: the morning sun beginning to illuminate the bustling streets hurried people and tired faces rushing to catch the bus, and the sounds of honking and engines filling the air. I gripped the strap of my bag tightly, bracing myself for the impending struggle.
I worked at a diner in Brooklyn, New York. Serving others was incredibly tiresome, and the sleazy jokes from the men who came in there every day were a constant burden. But I had to endure, after all, it was just my father and me.
He had a job at a shoe store, and his work alone wouldn't be enough to sustain our household.
As the bus crawled through the congested streets, my dreams seemed farther away than ever. The job I had, while stable, was far from being my dream job. The chaotic commute and the daily battle seemed to sap my energy and determination.
I sighed again, glancing at my phone's screen. The clock kept ticking, stealing away each precious minute. My heart sank as I calculated the chances of making it to clock in on time. "One more day, Emma Campbell, you can do it," I whispered to myself, seeking solace in my own words.
"You're late again," my boss said upon seeing me enter the diner.
"Sorry, Grace," I replied as I put on my apron. "I was only five minutes late because of the bus..."
"It doesn't matter, Emma," she interrupted. "If I'm paying you, I expect you to be here on time."
"Okay," I simply nodded and headed toward the tables to start cleaning up.
It was humiliating, the way I was treated there. However, I had ambitions. I needed to work more and more until I could pay off the mortgage on the house, but I didn't know how to save up for it, as every bit of the salary I earned went towards the household bills.
Despite being twenty years old and leading a harsh life, I was still a young woman who dreamt of a fairytale.
My shift began, and it all started again once more. I attended to the customers, took orders, and cleaned tables. I wouldn't complain because at least I had my father with me and this crappy job.
Dad had always been a constant presence in my life, from the moment my mother left us early, a victim of early breast cancer. I vaguely remember her soft voice and her gentle smile, but most of the memories were lost in the mists of time. She married my father when she was thirty-two, and even though she was a reserved woman, my dad always said that she loved me very much during the time she was here. As flawed as he was, he wasn't a bad father.
Sometimes, I catch myself looking at the few pictures we have of her, trying to recreate the memories I don't have. Her legacy lives on through me, in the traits I inherited, and in the features of my face that resemble hers. She always wanted the best for us, and I was determined to live up to her wish.
I walked over to a table to attend to a customer, and the arrogant guy started treating me as if he owned everything there.
"I ordered my meal five minutes ago, a waitress. What shitty service," he said.
I just looked at him, a silent disdain on my face, and turned away.
"Hey, you stupid girl, where's my order?" he shouted again, and my blood boiled.
"Listen here, you jerk, the stupid one is you. Can't you see I just took your order? Go to hell and wait your turn!" I retorted and walked away without looking back; he fell silent.
I was fed up, and I wouldn't take this insult silently anymore.
After long eight hours that seemed never-ending, my shift at the diner was over. I ended my day feeling exhausted, but at least grateful. I was trying to secure a recommendation letter for college since paying for one would be impossible, and this was my routine after work, along with cleaning the house.
As I reached for my bag, Grace called me over to talk.
"What's up, Grace?" I asked.
"A customer came to tell me that you treated him very badly and used offensive words."
"He did it first. I just put him in his place."
"Emma, you're fired!" she said, her firm and decisive words making me swallow hard.
"What do you mean, Grace?" I forced a weak smile. "He provoked me and..."
"I don't care anymore, just come back here to settle your dues, and good luck."
I left the diner devastated. What would I do now? No job, nothing to do.
I walked to the bus stop and, to make things worse missed it.
"Damn it!"
I returned home and ended up falling asleep on the bus. When I woke up, I felt as if someone was watching me. I looked around, but nothing seemed suspicious. Well, exhaustion is such that I must be imagining things.
Upon arriving home, I took off my shoes and started preparing dinner. I quickly tidied up the house, finally ready to tell my father that I had been fired.
Dad came in and hugged me.
"Emma, dear, just got home?"
"Yes, Dad. I prepared dinner the way you like it."
"Thank you, honey. You're a blessing," he said, and I noticed a despondent expression on his face.
There was something in the air that I couldn't grasp. An underlying tension, a worry in my father's eyes when he thought I wasn't looking. I tried not to question, but I knew something was happening that he was keeping from me.
He had always been reserved about his concerns, and I respected his privacy. However, now and then, I caught murmurs of low-tone phone conversations, and I could swear there were moments when he seemed overly anxious as if carrying an invisible burden.
Moreover, there were occasions when he came home very, very late. I even started to think he might be with another woman and didn't want to tell me. If that were the case, I would gladly accept it. I believed in genuine love between two people, and if my father found that, I would be happy for him.
"Dad," I began, "I've noticed that you've been a little... distant lately."
He looked at me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "Distant? What are you talking about, Emma?"
I shrugged, trying to sound casual. "I don't know, it just seems like you've been worried about something. I'm not the most perceptive person, but I can't help but notice."
He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then sighed and turned off the stove. He walked over to the table and sat down across from me.
"Emma, it's nothing you need to worry about," he began, his tired eyes fixed on mine. "It's just... work-related matters, things I need to sort out."
"Work-related matters?" I repeated, my curiosity growing. "But you seem so anxious about them. Dad, I just want you to know you can trust me, you can tell me what's going on."
"Yes, I've already told you it's okay."
"Dad, please, tell me, what's going on! I just want to help."
He smiled gently and placed his hand over mine. "I know, my love. But for now, it's better that you don't get involved. I'll handle it, alright?"
I reluctantly nodded, feeling a tightness in my chest. I didn't want to add more worries to his life, but at the same time, my protective instinct was screaming inside me.
"I just... I just want you to know that I'm here for you, Dad. If you need to talk, I'm always here." And Dad, I need to tell you something. Something very important.
"What's wrong, Emma? You look concerned, sweetheart."
"I got fired, Dad. But I'll find another job, I promise."
"And now, what are we going to do?"
"I don't know, Dad... What was my father hiding? As much as I wanted to respect his privacy, I couldn't help but wonder if his concerns ran deeper than he was willing to admit. I told him I got fired, and he hardly showed any reaction.
There was something strange in the air, and I was determined to find out.
Emma.The alarm clock rang with a shrill sound, and I woke up to rays of sunlight on my face, feeling as if a bulldozer had run over me when I chased after that darn bus, which ended up leaving without me. I was lost about which direction to follow now that I was unemployed, so I got up and went to my father's room to check if he was okay and had already gone to work. I knocked repeatedly on the door, but there was no response. I slowly opened the door and, to my surprise, he wasn't there. Where could he be?It was only six in the morning, and at this time, my father would usually be up and getting ready for work. I called him three times and got no answer. Worry began to settle in my chest, as my father had struggled with alcohol in the past. While he seemed to have stopped recently, I was still deeply concerned.No sign of him picking up. "Damn it," I muttered.Since my father wasn't home, and I couldn't just wander around looking for him, I decided to have my breakfast. I made toas
EmmaAfter a long journey inside that car, I struggle to maintain my lucidity, but the voices continue to echo in my mind, like a constant disturbing buzz. My mind wrestles between the need to face reality and the desire to escape into a mental refuge. The images of my father's worried expression as the men tore me away from his presence remain ingrained, a painful memory that haunts me.Finally, the car comes to a stop, and silence settles, broken only by the sound of doors opening. I feel hands guiding me out of the vehicle, and the blindfold is removed from my eyes. The daylight dazzles my senses for a moment, but soon I find myself in a place that seems to be Don's mansion, an equally dark and intimidating setting. The oppression around me is almost palpable."Move, girl," he muttered."Son of a bitch," I whispered angrily."What did you say?!" he glared at me."Nothing."He led me to a beautiful place; the mansion rises like a monument to his wealth and absolute control. It's a b
Andrew DeLuca.After my parents' passing, I took over full control of the businesses. I was discreet, and I needed to be, for I was the Don.The "Don" in a mafia organization is the term we use for the supreme leader or head of the criminal family, and well, that was me. Andrew DeLuca.My parents came to New York to establish businesses here when I was still very young. I didn't know anything and thought life was a game. Until I witnessed my father's death before my eyes.I don't remember much about my mother, she left when I was very young. Or at least, that's what my father told me. Since then, I learned to be alone—well, I had a younger sister, Isabella. Ize had a strong personality, which unfortunately caused me more trouble. She was active in the mafia too, but unlike me, she had a good heart and compassion, which I found useless in our world.So, my childhood wasn't easy at all. The mafia was my only family. It was one of the few things I had left. I didn't have other options.W
EmmaI slid my hands along the railing as I climbed the stairs, feeling the security guard following behind me, watching each step I took with meticulous attention. I felt like a cornered prey, a prisoner in every move I made.Andrew DeLuca possessed an aura of authority that spread wherever he went. Every word that came out of his mouth was like a blow, intensifying my anger and desperation. I didn't want to be here, didn't want to be part of this arrangement, but my father's life was at stake, and I couldn't ignore that.My attempts to contact the outside world had been thwarted. They took my cell phone, and I found myself completely isolated. I had always been the master of my own life, and being in this situation of vulnerability was distressing. All my freedom had been taken away from me.The security guard stopped in front of a door, and an elderly woman named Clara appeared."Ms. Emma, I'm Clara. Mr. DeLuca asked me to take care of everything you need. This will be your room fo
Emma The atmosphere was tense and filled with anticipation as I stood by Andrew DeLuca's side, surrounded by the inquisitive glances of his associates. I felt like an intruder in a dark and dangerous world, one I had never imagined becoming a part of. I wondered how I had ended up here. It was something I certainly wished I could change, but as I couldn't, I looked ahead and faced the harsh reality. DeLuca smiled enigmatically at the gathering as if relishing the attention our arrival had garnered. His arm remained firmly around my waist, a silent possession that sent a clear message to everyone present. "I don't want to hear a word more than you should say," he whispered. "I won't say anything more, as long as our deal continues, and my father is safe," I replied with a wink. "I am a man of my word, Emma." He introduced me to each person as if he were holding a trophy, and from what I gathered, getting married was important for him to keep up appearances. The people here seemed
EmmaI got out of bed carefully, my feet touching the floor with light and cautious steps. The knock on the door had pulled me out of my thoughts, but it had also ignited a wave of fear and panic within me. I knew who was on the other side of the door, and the mere idea of facing Andrew DeLuca made my heart race.My steps led me toward the door, my fingers hesitating on the doorknob before finally turning it slowly. I was only in a corset, and I hadn't even realized it until he scanned me from head to toe.The door swung open, revealing the imposing figure of Andrew DeLuca, his dominant posture filling the room's threshold. His intense eyes were fixed on me, and despite my attempts to decipher his expression, it remained an enigma."What do you want?" I spoke, my voice carrying a mix of challenge and nervousness."Is this how you treat your future owner and husband, Emma?" His voice sounded with a mix of sarcasm and au
Andrew DeLuca The silence of the night enveloped me as I finally left Emma's room. The door closed behind me, isolating her from the outside world, but also leaving me alone with my tumultuous thoughts. I walked through the silent corridors of the mansion, my steps firm and determined, but my mind a true storm of internal conflicts. Emma's eyes still danced before mine, an intriguing mix of challenge and vulnerability. She was like a burning flame, difficult to extinguish, even in the face of the circumstances I had created. I wanted her, that was undeniable. From the moment I first saw her, something about her drew me uncontrollably. But I also knew she represented a key piece in my plan, a way to solidify my position as the Don in the hierarchy. While the voices of the association members echoed in my mind, I knew that my decision to marry Emma had been met with a mix of surprise and suspicion. They saw me as just a young man suddenly willing to commit. But I needed to prove I w
Emma I was sitting in my room, staring into space, lost in thoughts about how my life had taken such an unexpected turn. The forced marriage to Andrew hung over me like a dark shadow, and I wondered if I would ever find a way out of this nightmare. I couldn't stop thinking for even a minute. I was pulled from my thoughts when a soft knock on the door echoed through the room. My heart jumped in my chest, and I wondered what it could be this time – was it him? The door opened to reveal one of DeLuca's security guards. "Miss Emma," he said in a deep voice, "Mr. DeLuca requests your presence in his office. He wants you to choose your wedding dress today." I sighed inwardly. Just what I needed. This day was inevitable, but it didn't mean I was looking forward to it. Imagining myself choosing a dress for a day I never even planned for. Andrew DeLuca was determined to keep up appearances, and I needed to make him believe I was committed to this marriage, at least until I found a way to p