Page 4 of Sacred Blood

“Angelo.” My father always called me Angel and then followed up with a kiss on each cheek. “You look tired, Piccolo Mia.”

He was really pulling out all the stops today by calling me Angel and his little one back-to-back. He was definitely buttering me up for something big.

“Nice to see you too, papa. Why did you ask to see me?”

He wrapped one arm around me. “Let’s walk,” he said, guiding me away from my dorm building.

As it was more of an order than a suggestion, I allowed myself to be compliantly led across the campus.

“Are they working you too hard?”

What an odd question. He usually wanted to know if I was studying hard enough, and would playfully prove difficult to convince while I assured him that, yes, I was going to class, keeping clear of parties, and focused on my tasks. Even though I knew he was teasing, it sometimes annoyed me that he would suggest I wasn’t taking my studies seriously. Now he seemed to be fishing for complaints.

“No, Papa, everything here is perfect, and I love it just how it is.” Beneath the surface of my words, I delivered a silent challenge to him, who had always put my happiness first, to second guess and hopefully, leave off telling me whatever he’d come here to say.

He squeezed my shoulders a little tighter. He was a big man and I always felt like a small child in his embrace, which could be wonderful at times, but not now. Instead, I felt a healthy dose of dread.

“I have news,” he finally said as our walk took us further away from the security of people into a less traveled area of the campus.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, I prepared myself for the inevitable.

“Your mother and I have found you a match.”

For a moment, the world continued normally around us. Students walked past. Someone laughed in the distance. A bicycle rattled over the pavement. Yet everything sounded far away, muffled, as though I had been dropped underwater. It was time to play stupid. “Oh? For what?”

My father’s arm squeezed me even tighter, forcing me to keep up to his longer stride. His hand, which had been resting gently against my upper arm, gripped my flesh painfully. There would be a bruise, I was sure.

“Ouch, Papa, not so hard!” I added a quaver to my words, a hint of vulnerability, and he immediately lessened the pressure.

“For you to be wed. We have formed an alliance with another family and to seal the deal, there will be a marriage.”

My heart cracked, his words lashing and wounding me in ways I was unable to express. Not aloud, and not to him.

I needed to play the long game, or he would set extra guards on me. In my sweetest, most amicable tone, I said, “I understand, Papa.” Years of studying. Years of fighting for the chance to attend university. Every late-night exam, every clinical rotation, every sacrifice suddenly felt fragile. Like a house of cards. One decision from my father and the future I’d spent years constructing threatened to collapse.

“Is there no way to delay it until the end of my next semester? Once I have my certification—”

He stopped walking and turned me to face him. His smile was sad, but his eyes were resolute, hard and unyielding. “I tried, Angelo, but they were adamant it takes place as soon as possible. We gave you freedom to pursue your passion but it is time to grow up now and do what you were always intended to do—your duty to the family and in this case that duty is marrying and becoming a wife.”

I dropped my gaze as if considering the implications of his statement but in reality, already thinking of a way out of this predicament.

“I will miss you, Papa,” I responded, attempting to pull on his heartstrings. “When and where?”

He pulled me in for a hug, allowing me a moment for real tears to prick my eyes and gently wind a trail down my cheek. “You are such a good girl, Amore Mio. A week from Saturday and it will be here in Toronto. But, after the ceremony, you will be leaving Toronto for good.”

The way he said ‘for good’ sent a shiver down my spine. “Where will I be living?”

My father’s eyes dropped, unable to face me. “I’m not entirely sure. The States, I think.”

The only good thing about the wedding being local was giving me a chance to escape, as I knew my city like the back of my hand. “Will you come and visit me, Papa?” May as well sink it home that I would no longer be his sweet Angelo.

“When I can, but it will be a while, they want you to know your place in your new environment before they will allow visitors.”

So, whoever they were, the family was powerful or had a lot of enemies. My guess was the second one.

“Listen to me, Angelo. Your mother is making the wedding arrangements and she is…well, you know her.” His gaze wandered, and grew misty with memory. “Our wedding was…rather rushed. She had no say then in all the little things that matter so much to a bride, and I’m afraid she views this as her chance to have it done over, done right. But if I cannot give you the life you hoped for, I can still give you the wedding of your dreams. If you need help reminding your mother it is your special day and not hers, you let me know and I will set her straight.”

I wanted to scoff at his offer to protect me from my own mother, but what about the mafia prince I was being sold to? Who would protect me from him? Not my father. I felt angry and betrayed, but I couldn’t share any of that with him. He’d just lay down the law and cloister me within the family home until I said I do.