The Maddest Addiction [ON PAUSE]

I.

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐀

ᴜᴘꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇ ɴᴇᴡ ʏᴏʀᴋ

There are two empty chairs in the parlor where the men of La Cosa Nostra sit and talk.

One of them was dead, the other was missing. The former was my uncle who died before I was born and the latter was a man whose son didn't understand what no meant.

Their seats remained empty even when I knew there were people who wanted those seats, they would remain empty because no one was good enough to sit in them, not even us women, especially not us women.

Watching through the window the men that are sitting, I know all of them. I've seen them all throughout my twenty years of life, I've never talked to them or at least that much but I know them enough to know that if that room ever caught fire, I wouldn't save any one. I knew I'd let them burn, let them die, well except one, except my brother.

For him, I'd walk through fire and get him out.

Sitting outside in the garden with the wives and daughters of those men, I can only look at them through the window and imagine all they are saying, all the idiocracies they're spewing as they sip their fifty year old whiskey underneath the crystal chandeliers. I can only pretend to know because in this world, when one is a woman, all we're good for is looking pretty and carrying children.

We're nothing more than bodies, with no opinion or thoughts.

To them- not just La Cosa Nostra men but men in general- we're nothing. We are just incubators for heirs, women to fuck, we're just pieces to trade, even me.

I was just like them, like the women who sat around me while sipping tea, gossiping because they had nothing better to do. I was just like them because it didn't matter if I was a boss's daughter or not, I was nothing and I hated it.

I hated the fact that because I was born with ovaries, I couldn't have an opinion. I hated that because I had breasts, the only good thing I could contribute to the family would be kids and not thoughts.

I knew that not all men were like that, like my father but Alessandro Vitiello was old fashioned, he was traditional, he didn't care about movements or what year it was, to him, women were inferior, submissive, nothing more than pretty faces to look at when fucking. I knew that he wouldn't ever change, nor anyone in the family, I knew none of them would forget that mindset, their attitude towards us. I knew that they would never see us as equals, see that we too had brains with thoughts, that we were more than just a womb to fill.

It was a waste of time to even fantasize about sitting in one of those chairs along with them. Stupid to think one day, I would have an opinion on how to run the whole syndicated, how lead the family. It was an absurd thought that one day, I would be more than just a piece for them to move around but a player.

Just stupid thoughts by a foolish girl who's future wasn't hers.

Swallowing that bitter taste that was rising in my throat, I force myself to sip my water, to pull my attention back to my mother, to what she's saying. I force myself to listen to the women talk in English and Italian, with their laughter and quick words. I force myself to pretend but with each second, my gaze snags back to that room, a room I would never be allowed in, not even dead.

I lived in a world runned by men.

And not just any men but cruel men. Men who didn't care, who traded, sold and used women.

Flickering my gaze from person to person, no one catches my eye, no one notices me starting but a pair of green eyes do. They watch me through the glass, boredom etched deep in them, dark gaze unyielding, every inch of his face hard, from his jaw to his dark eyebrows. It's the face of a killer, of the heir, of a made man.