The Mafia's Obsession novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Wrong Ferrante
Silvio offers himself in place of his sister at the Sartori boss's study, and the wedding ring in the box already fits his finger.
Gianna was packing a duffel bag on the floor of her bedroom when Silvio found her.
She had been crying so long her voice was gone.
"The wedding is Saturday," she whispered. "He kills people, Silvio."
Silvio Ferrante stood in her doorway with his keys in his hand.
He was twenty-seven, he kept his family's shipping books, and he had not thrown a punch in five years.
He looked at his sister's shaking hands and thought about their father.
Fifteen years ago their father had signed a pact with the old Sartori boss.
The Sartoris paid off a debt that would have buried the Ferrantes.
In return, one Ferrante would marry into their house when the Sartori heir was ready.
Their father had died nine years ago, and the pact had not died with him.
Their uncle Ottavio had read it out at Sunday dinner.
"Gianna, twenty-four, unmarried," Ottavio had said, smiling over the roast. "Vittorio Sartori asked for her by name."
Nobody had said no, because nobody said no to Ottavio, and nobody said no to the Sartoris.
"Where would you even go?" Silvio asked.
"Anywhere."
"They'd find you by Friday."
Gianna put her face in her hands.
Silvio picked up the duffel bag and put it back in her closet.
"Go to sleep," he said. "I'll fix it."
"You can't."
"Go to sleep, Gianna."
He drove across Providence with the windows down so the cold air would keep him angry.
The Sartori house stood on a hill behind a stone wall, with two men at the gate and a camera on every post.
The men saw his car coming and one of them reached under his jacket.
Silvio stopped, got out slowly, and put both hands in the air.
"I'm Silvio Ferrante," he said. "I want to see Vittorio Sartori."
"It's midnight."
"Then he's awake. Men like him are."
The guard looked him over, from the broken nose to the old scar through his left eyebrow.
He talked into his sleeve, and the gate opened.
They walked him through a hall of dark wood and into a study with a fire going.
Vittorio Sartori sat behind a desk with a glass of water and no jacket.
He was thirty-four, six foot three, with black hair gone grey at the temples and a pale scar along his jaw.
His grey eyes stayed on Silvio the whole time Silvio crossed the room.
Silvio had expected anger, or a laugh.
Vittorio only looked at him.
"Mr. Ferrante," he said. "You came on foot through my front door. Most people at least pretend to be lost."
"I'm here about my sister."
"Gianna."
"She's not marrying you."
A man by the fireplace shifted his weight.
Vittorio lifted two fingers, and the man stopped.
"The pact says a Ferrante," Vittorio said. "It was signed by your father and mine, and your uncle has had it for nine years."
"I've read it."
"Then you know I could collect on Saturday whether she wants to or not."
"I know."
"So why are you in my study?"
Silvio's heart was going hard, but his voice came out level.
"Because it says a Ferrante," he said. "It doesn't say a daughter."
The room went completely quiet.
The man by the fireplace stared.
Vittorio did not move at all.
"You're offering yourself," he said.
"I'm offering myself instead of her. Marry me Saturday. Let her go, and never go near her again."
"You'd marry a man you've never met."
"I'd marry the devil if it kept her out of your house."
Vittorio stood up slowly.
He came around the desk, and he was taller up close, wide through the chest.
He stopped less than an arm's length away.
Silvio held still, and he held his chin up.
"Do you know what I do to people who walk in here and make demands?" Vittorio asked.
"No."
"Neither do I," Vittorio said. "It's never happened."
He went back to the desk and opened the top drawer.
He took out a small black velvet box and set it on the blotter.
"Open it."
Silvio opened it.
Inside was a gold wedding band, plain and heavy, with the Sartori crest cut inside.
He picked it up without meaning to and turned it in the light.
Then he slid it over his own ring finger, because he wanted to know whether it was a trick.
It fit perfectly.
It fit as though measured for his hand.
"Gianna's fingers are half your size," Silvio said slowly. "Who is this ring for?"
Vittorio smiled for the first time.
It was a small smile, and it was not kind.
"Welcome to the family, Silvio," he said. "Saturday, at dawn."
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