Match Made in Hell

Chapter One

Moya's Point of View

Moya Vitiello. I want my name to be hammered into the skull of all as a name to be feared, petrified and mortified at. And it was.

As a woman of colour belonging to a sexist mafia, I had something to prove to someone at all times and that was made evident to me the moment my mother died in front of my eyes when I was seven. She was the reason my father broke the traditional rules and had some sort of happiness in him. Right after her death, his whole world fell apart and from then onwards I had no idea who he was but I knew he wasn't my father. Learning how to fight and fend for myself while grabbing an education through scholarships and bursaries since I was just 'a waste' according to my family. Family was always such a funny word for me: the people we are related to genetically. Technically in my scenario, I was only related to my brothers through my father since he remarried to the respectable Patricia Mione and gave birth to three sons. Once again back to the sexism of only men working in the mafia. So the demons Alexander, Noran and Malik were born with their arrogance rushing through their veins and the personality being wholly to be egotistical. They thought they were above me but at the same time they were scared of me, mostly my power in the underworld.

I was a heister; robberies for jewellery, banks, palaces. You name it, I could probably do it. My all time favourite had to be the robbery of the Arabian prince's jewels. He had a peculiar fascination with jewels such as rubies and emeralds so stealing them gave me the biggest satisfaction. I was talented as fuck when it came to my work. There wasn't a trace of DNA on the crime scene so they won't be able to link it to me. They know its me. The police that is but they don't have any connections or hard core evidence and I'm too protected with lawyers and alibis for them to even pin me down for a simple arrest. The only problems would be the people I stole it from. They were dangerous and people with connections; I was more protected although. With my connections to the underworld, they knew I was untouchable. I had the black hunter on my side: Reina fucking Romano. The one woman I trust with my life; she may not know the whole story of me but when it came to business she never failed.

She even helped me with my normal day to day job when it was too overwhelming. I was an infamous fashion designers and amongst the crowd of fashion shows were often the best alibi I could have in any scenario. The models at the front of Vogue were almost all the time wearing my designs. I focused on elegance in women's clothing especially in tall sizes and with plus size friendly outfits; the most probable reason why I went into the fashion design field was because I was left with my Bratz dolls too long with all of their outfits. Fast forward ten years, my designs get recognised by agents and here I am, self made without borrowing a cent from my 'family'. Between works and my criminalistic hobbies, there's barely any time for me to have as free and call my own. Let alone the married life.

Dimitri Ivanov. The cold Russian mafia boss. He was betrothed to me since I was seven; he was fourteen at the time. The rules were simple for our marriage. My family would hand me over to him on my eighteenth birthday since that's the legal age according to the mafia. Women were passed off as belongings and just went from the property of the father to the property of the husband and I was no package that needed to be delivered or passed through as men. Property of the father doesn't mean that he cares only that you belong to them, no matter what. Dominance is what they care for and for them its being the one in control of everything. Painful as it was it's the traditionalist society embedded into the mafia culture. Not only the Italians but most of the mafias and mobs around the world. The only contrast I have seen to it is the merciless torturer in the American mafia, Angelina Martinez. Absolutely a sociopath.

The only solution I found was to hide and run. Hide between my job, my hobbies and places. Never be in the same place for too long. I hadn't been back in Italy until now. Before that Europe, Africa and Asia were my go to but North America was inevitable especially the US with my industry being mostly based there. I had to be careful since there was a tight close bond between the Russian and American mafia so moving around became a part of my life. My father was pissed and I was ruining the credibility of the Italian mafia. The Russians got more angered by the moment I was meant to be in their hands seven years ago. I've dodged the marriage calling for seven years. Marriage in mafia was simply a business transaction to strengthen the relationships between mafias. The Italians and Russians had a pretty rocky start but right when the betrothal was made it became stable and stronger. I practically took a ship and hit it straight into the iceberg.

The Russians were at war with the Greece for the past couple of years with the on and off causing them damage but they established their territory and won. Recently, Dimitri's becoming impatient and difficult. He's getting old and needs heirs. He tried to get notes to me through my contacts in the underworld. At black markets, his presence echoed so as soon as my jewels were done I would make myself scarce. He knew I stole them but never made it his own personal task to get me and I was never in his presence, only prior to my eighteenth birthday. He had an eerie presence with ice blue eyes piercing through at people; he had proved his rule to those around him and earned the respect of others in the whole world. He must have changed from the last time that I saw him; he was twenty three then now he's thirty two. Only around fifty more years till he is dead. Could I dodge him for another fifty years? Probably not.

At this very moment, it was Milan's fashion week; so there were runaways everywhere at all time. My own had just happened yesterday and like all of my work, it was successful. Magazines covered it and my name was echoed once again with my network growing constantly in the fashion industry. I hadn't been back in Milan for a good minute; I usually just sent my colleagues there rather than attending myself. The good memories that had been left here or originated here was turned rotten as bad apples would. My focus was on opening more shops and making things more affordable at the moment; that's the aim to grow my business internationally. My mother would have loved this.

Breaking myself away from my thoughts, my phone started ringing. It was an unknown caller but it came right to my number so it wasn't work related. I always had a quite fun talking to scammers and leading them on; I would say its in my top ten hobbies. I picked up and a voice bellowed over the phone, "Moya, get to your fathers' house before he's dead,". A thick Russian accent lay beneath the deep husky voice. I didn't like to be commanded but I couldn't not go in this; I have escaped this for too long. It's about time I face him.

Walking out of my office, my mind went wild with the possibilities of what could happen as soon as I step foot into that house, that 'home'. It hadn't been a home for at least three years and not anytime sooner did I plan on calling it that. I hadn't been there for such a prolonged time, the image of it has been buried deep amongst my other memories I wish to never re open for at least the time being. This time it was different although. He knew he wanted me and planned on having the arranged marriage and getting the bride that was promised to him for such a long time. There was no escape.

The familiar trees and scenery of the surrounding area took me back a couple years. My mother's presence was something that I sought comfort in. Despite her not being alive, I seriously still feel her in the home. It haunts me but still is the only one I seek in tougher times. She would have hated this whole situation but what could she have done. She was outvoted with both my father and brothers as well as the entirety of his whole family.

I walked into the house; the smell of whiskey and rum lingered throughout the house. Slowly, I entered the living room to see Dimitri sitting in the chair opposite my father and two of his men pointing a gun at them.