Broken King: An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance

by Penelope Fifield

“They found us, and at first, I was certain they would kill us too,” he adds. “They pointed a gun at my mother’s head and ordered her to tell them where my father was. To this day, I don’t know why they didn’t,” he continues as he comes out of the memory.

  Shit! How do I come back from making him relive that?

  “What about you?” he asked, the life returning to his eyes.

  I think for a bit, unable to match the level of horror that he introduced to the scenario. “I watched my dad shoot someone once,” I say, attempting to maintain a neutral tone of voice. “It was one of his old cronies from back in the day, so I knew this guy like he was my uncle or something. Anyway, he had made a deal with a potential distributor before consulting my dad first, and he lost us a ton of money when they didn’t come through. So, dad had the guy over for dinner, a really big meal that my mom had put together. My dad made sure we all drank wine, and that’s how I knew that something bad was going to happen. It was just, so out of character for him to mind something so small. So after we eat, dad just pulls out a gun and wastes the guy. His brains got all over a ten-thousand-dollar painting, and my dad left it there for a week to remind anyone who came into our house that he wouldn’t let anybody cross him, not even family,” I trail off, suddenly viscerally haunted by the vivid memory.

  “So, I guess the moral of the story is that we should have run away to the suburbs when we were kids,” Adrian adds, chuckling a bit. “What kind of life do you think you would have had? Like, what kind of normal life would you have wanted?” he asks.

  I pause for a moment as if I haven’t imagined it every day of my life, a life free of gunfire and betrayal. “You know, I always wondered what it would be like to be one of those teenagers who would skip class to go get drunk in a field. Like, I could’ve had shitty home-dyed blue hair and spent my time kicking rocks instead of having to uphold this upper-class WASP family persona,” I reply, failing to hide the note of chagrin and regret in my voice as I imagined the me that never was.

  “Ha! That’s great”, Adrian cackles. “I always felt similarly, but I wanted to do lame stuff like draw cartoons and play the saxophone. My dad hated it. He forced me to play lacrosse and take AP classes so that people didn’t think I was ‘weird’ or worth investigating. Everything I ever did was to make him look normal. It takes a toll,” he says, staring out the window again.

  Suddenly, I feel connected to him, like he’s the only person on earth who gets it. Neither of us ever got to be kids. From the moment we could speak, we were vessels for criticism and discipline.

  “Do you ever wish you could have done those things? Just be a weird kid?” I ask.

  Adrian shrugs. “I guess sometimes, but I also think of it this way: how do I know that that’s the kind of life I would have wanted? I’ve never lived that life. Weird kids don’t get to have friends. I liked having friends. Most of the time, at least. I guess I just try to keep everything in perspective that way. It helps me feel more resolved about it all,” he replies.

  I gaze out over the city again as raindrops pull silhouettes of light down the window. Not in a million years did I think that I could connect with anybody so quickly like this, especially not someone I hadn’t chosen myself. I know it’s too early for me to be feeling so at ease with him, but fuck it! He’s my husband now.

  Chapter 5

  Two weeks go by, and we spend it wrapped up in each other, hiding in our new apartment, reveling in the newness of our relationship and the precarity of our marriage. We stay up late most nights, and Adrian shows me all of his secret favorite films from when he was a teenager. Some of them are pretty strange, like Eraserhead and A Clockwork Orange, but I love them because he loves them.

  I feel as though, for the first time in my life, I’m seeing a fully-actualized human person, not a shell of a man who has allowed himself to recede into safety by aligning with the status quo. I have never met anybody so genuine and self-assured, and for moments between breaths, I feel a deep sorrow for him, that this is the life he was dealt.

  The more I learn of him, the more assured I am that he should have gone to college and realized his true passions. Yet still, here I am in this bedroom with him, listening to him tell me his every want and every dream, as if I am the only person who has ever listened.

  After the third week of films, takeout, and drunkenness, my father calls me. “Gabriella, there’s something that we need to discuss immediately. You need to come to our house, alone. Do not bring Adrian. I’ll see you here in half an hour.” Without so much as a goodbye, he hangs up the phone, and dread swells in my belly. He only ever calls me Gabriella when I’m in deep trouble.

  It’s only 7:00 in the morning, and Adrian is still sleeping off last night’s soiree of Indian food and scotch. Grabbing my keys and coat, I write him a quick note so that he doesn’t panic when I’m not here.

  “Ran out to grab groceries, be back later,” I scrawl on a napkin.

  Lying to him feels like the ultimate betrayal after all he’s told me, even if it’s just a meeting with my family. Although, today, I know that this meeting will likely be much more than a simple get-together.

  I pull up in the driveway of my parent’s estate a little while later, observing the oak trees and sugar maples that line the pavement and surround the house. They shroud the house like guardians, welcoming to some and foreboding to others.

  Today, they are foreboding, and the dread that has squirmed in my belly since the call grows stronger, twisting and squeezing until I finally am able to park my car and breathe the fresh air.

  It’s fine, Gabbi, I repeat to myself, a familiar mantra that has never once served me in times of crisis.

  As I approach the door, I can hear my mother and father shouting at each other through the cherrywood.

  Fuck, are they getting a divorce?

  Does one of them have cancer?

  Hundreds of horrible things plague me as I step closer to the door, listening to the screaming escalate.

  I enter, and immediately my parents quit fighting. I step into the dining room, where my father, mother, and two sisters, Annalia and Samantha, sit at the table.

  My father glances in my direction, his expression grave and unwavering. “Sit down, Gabriella. We have something we need to tell you,” he disclosed, taking a large swig of red wine.

  Everybody at the table is drinking red wine, and there is a place for me at the far end of the table, a glass already filled.

  “I understand that you have something to say,” I respond, growing agitated at his needlessly withholding nature. “Please tell me. I’m getting concerned. Why is everybody here?” I ask, sitting at my assigned seat.

  “Honey, we’re both very, very sorry to tell you this-” my mother starts, but my father cuts her off in his typical alpha-male fashion.

  “Gabriella, your husband’s family has betrayed us greatly and violated the terms of your marriage. They have decided to explore the drug trade, as well as foreign vehicles. I had stated to Adrian’s father, Michael, that these industries are over-saturated. I have reiterated to him time and time again that our agreement was to strengthen our families together, not engage in new territories. I’m ordering you to pack your things and leave Adrian behind. We can make an arrangement for you, somewhere that you can stay while we take care of things.”

  Fury rises in me, an emotion that is as rare in me as true joy. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. You’re saying you’ve essentially sold me and didn’t get the value back that you were hoping for? And now all of the anxiety and fear I’ve endured is for nothing? Because of a bad business agreement?!” I shout at my father, something I have only done once before.

  “You’re extrapolating, dear,” he retorts cooly. “Nobody sold you,” he continues, “you made the choice to do what we thought was best for the family, and it ended up not being so. Don’t be dramatic.”

  I stand up from my seat and drink my entire glass of wine at once. “What choice did I really have
? Of course I made the decision. I was forced into it! Practically extorted!” I can feel the familiar heat of anger filling up my blood as I await my father’s response.

  “I suppose all this is my fault, isn’t it, Gabriella? Assuming you were mature enough to handle such an important task. You don’t already think you’re in love with him, do you? You’ve known him for three weeks!” he shouts.

  Three weeks, I think to myself. For just a moment, I choose to relive those sweet moments that Adrian and I spent together, seeing his face light up when I told him about my childhood pets, or feeling him hold me as I fell asleep. Three weeks was enough time for me to feel connected to him, more than I’ve ever felt with anyone in my life.

  Did that mean I had allowed him into my inner life too easily?

  Was I just too good at playing the part?

  What did all this say about my ability to have relationships with other people?

  Perhaps if I had allowed this kind of unabashed transparency as a child, I wouldn’t have ended up so lonely in the first place.

  I imagine leaving Adrian alone in that apartment, with no goodbyes or closure.

  No, I can’t do that.

  I didn’t choose to be born into this life, but I’m choosing now. I’m choosing my life, consequences be damned.

  As my family awaits a response from me, their eyes wide with anxiety and anticipation, I grab my coat, turning to leave.

  “Gabbi, please come back! We need you to try to understand!” my mother pleads after me, her voice breaking.

  Annalia follows me to the door, and at first, I fear that she will attempt to hold me back. Instead, she opens the door for me with empathy and pain in her eyes, and I sprint to my car as rain begins to pour.

  A sense of dread overtakes me again as I speed down the excessively long driveway. As long as I’ve known my place in this family, I’ve never seen the true extent of my father’s power, though I have seen how he manages those he feels have turned on him.

  My own father wouldn’t put me to death to save face! That’s ridiculous. My emotions are high from the confrontation, but I cannot allow them to make me hysterical.

  Fury rises again in me as I contemplate the carelessness and apathy of my own family, using me as a bargaining chip to secure a meaningless, fickle alliance.

  What a stupid way to make a living! Why couldn’t my father have been a doctor, or a desk jockey, or a garbage man for fuck’s sake? How dare he welcome this uncertainty into our lives like this!

  The highway is a blur of headlights and street signs made illegible by the downpour. They all blend together in an uninspired amalgamation of slate and dim lights, reminding me of stars burnt out by eons of trying, trying, trying too hard. Waves of panic begin to wash over me as I approach the apartment that I share with Adrian.

  What if my father has sent someone for him already?

  What if I’m too late? I could have just lied!

  I can see the living room lights on still, glowing warmly through the bitter cold of the storm. Parking haphazardly, I sprint toward the building, fumbling with my keys as I panic. I practically fall through the front door, hair a mess, coat soaked, and on the couch lies Adrian, asleep where I left him. It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia plays quietly in the background, and the smell of clean laundry fills the air.

  For a split second, I feel at ease, as if this little home of ours is impervious to any outside forces that could harm us. Looking around this apartment feels so normal, almost as if the average life I’ve always dreamt of could finally be right here.

  Reality hits me over the head like a cast iron pan as I remember: I need to tell Adrian what’s going on. I need to make a plan, and I do not have one. Maybe he’s better at strategic thinking than I am! Maybe he has a plan for this sort of thing, like a safehouse in Tahiti.

  I approach him swiftly, attempting to wake him softly. “Adrian, Adrian I really need to talk to you,” I plead in a harsh whisper.

  Adrian rolls over a bit, his sleepy eyes meeting mine as his mind grasps for reality. “Y-yeah? What. . . what’s up?” he asks.

  I tap his face a few times to awaken him fully, knowing that he will surely underestimate the gravity of our situation in his current state.

  He glares at me, annoyed, as I would have expected. “Seriously, what?” he asks again, growing aggravated.

  “Your father broke the contract with my family. Our marriage is meaningless to them now. My father ordered me to leave you,” I spit out, my nerves vibrating as the panic spreads throughout my limbs.

  “But, you’re still here, right? So. . .”, he says, now fully awake and increasingly more unhappy about it.

  “Yes, I am. I’m going to stay with you, but I don’t know how yet. Our families are both so powerful with such a far reach. I’m not sure how we’ll pull it off, but I’m not going to let our new relationship go to waste, Adrian. Not on somebody else’s terms,” I respond.

  Adrian’s face grows concerned, and he clenches his jaw. “Goddamn it, he’s such a fucking snake,” he growls.

  His righteous anger makes me feel small, like a naughty little girl looking for correction. I know that now isn’t the time, but something in me is driven wild by his guttural voice when he curses like that.

  “What are we going to do? My father already knows I’ve turned on him, and there’s no telling what he’ll do now. I don’t want to think the worst, but. . .” I trail off, the thought of my own father sending his men after me wringing my guts.

  “I’m not going to let that happen to you, Gabbi,” Adrian assures me as he takes my face into his hands, stroking my cheek. “I know somewhere we can go,” he continues, “I’ve got some old friends from boarding school in Camden, they’d let us stay there for a bit. And they owe me, anyway.”

  “God, Camden? Like, Camden, New Jersey?”, I whine, unable to hide my disgust. “What’s the point of going there for safety if we’re just going to get robbed at gunpoint and shot anyway!”

  Adrian sighs deeply, closing his eyes. “Gabriella, there are good people there who are willing to keep us from your father, who will actually kill us without a second thought. Don’t act like you’re too good for it. Now you get a chance to see how other people actually live,” he scolds.

  Embarrassed, I retreat into myself a bit, wishing once more that he would take me over his knee and teach me a lesson.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, and suddenly I’m made aware that my desire is drawn all over my face as I blush. “You want something, don’t you?” he says in a low, smokey voice, not sparing an ounce of intensity.

  “What? No, no. Just ignore me, please. I’m just feeling a lot, I guess,” I stammer.

  “You want me to call you a spoiled little bitch, don’t you?” he replies, smiling.

  At that, I feel lightning bolts of desire shoot through me, down my belly, and into my clit. Shame fills me like hot water, and I cover my face as my blushing intensifies.

  “Oh? You’re embarrassed now?” he asks, fully realizing the game we’ve begun to play. He sits up, and I can see a slight throb in his underwear. “If you’re going to act like a spoiled bitch, I’m going to treat you like one,” he barks as he pulls me down onto his lap. He immediately reaches up my skirt and rips my panties to one side, sliding two fingers inside my slick pussy.

  Holding me still as I squirm, he fingers me deeply as I try not to cry out. As he places pressure on my inner walls, he begins to use his thumb to form circles around my clit, which grows more sensitive by the moment.

  Just as I’m ready to tear off my panties and straddle him, I hear my phone begin to ring. My stomach drops and my limbs seize up, terror filling out every cell in my body. I slowly get up, wrangling my panties back on. The phone number on the screen reads “unknown”. I answer hesitantly.

  “You’ve made your bed, now lie in it, whore,” says a mysterious, aggressive voice.

  The call disconnects, and I immediately crumple to the f
loor in a heap of hysterical sobs. I rock back and forth, my stomach lurching as I lose control. All I can do is shake as Adrian joins me on the floor, holding me tight as my sobs ebb and flow from me.

  I feel as if I’m attempting unsuccessfully to expel a stubborn demon, his claws buried deep in my chest where he lives. Adrian doesn’t pull me out of my panic, and he doesn’t try to make me talk. Instead, he simply holds me tightly, as he has done for the past three weeks.

  I begin to wail so hard that I retch, and I throw myself from the floor toward the bathroom, where I vomit into the sink. All rational thinking has evaded me, and I’m reduced to a calf, fattened for slaughter, wide-eyed and reeking of bile.

  Adrian follows closely behind me, ready to fight whoever has done this to me. “Baby, you really don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but if that call was who I think it is, we need to leave, now,” he says as he focuses his efforts on soothing me, rubbing my shoulders as I remain slumped over the sick-stained porcelain.

  Chapter 6

  The next hour goes by faster than I’m able to fully grasp. We rush to collect only our necessities, a single backpack each. I feel my heart tear a bit as I leave behind the box of mementos that I’ve collected since I was a child - a box of matches from a camping trip, a key card from a birthday trip to a waterpark, a photo of my mother holding me at my baptism as a baby. So many memories, so much space dedicated to my family, willing to throw me away so easily like a mischievous puppy.

  We take Adrian’s car, an inconspicuous yet luxurious grey Lexus. I can sense the urgency in his driving, as if the car itself is channeling the panic that he conceals from me.

  Passing through the downtown area has me on edge. Every street corner features at least two men who look like they could be affiliated with my father, keeping watch, recording our every move. In my heart, I know that this could be perceived as paranoid, but when I go deeper into my gut feelings, I’m aware that being spied on could be the least of our concerns.