An Arrangement with The Family

An Arrangement with The Family

A New York Mafia Romance

Chapter 1 (Isabella)

Like the swath of a Renaissance painter's brush, there's a perfect mixture of fiery red and brilliant yellow on my right as I start down 5th Avenue towards Mulberry Street. I love the way the sun bounces off the Hudson at this time of day. I can't think of a better way to spend a few hours late in the day than at the New York City Library. It's a gorgeous building, but it's what is on the inside that interests me. I can travel the world when I dive into the books held there. I truly am in my happy place.

My dad may not be as happy with me, though, as I will probably be late for dinner. Again.

There is a ton of activity happening in New York City, like always, but I dart in and around people in order to make my way home more quickly. Our home may be nothing in comparison to the grandeur of the library, but we have a lot to be thankful for.

Monteleone's Grocery is the pride and joy of my father Angelo and his brother Arturo. When we came to America eight years ago, my father knew it wouldn't be easy, but he also knew that the opportunity was ripe for the taking. He and his brother worked hard, manual labor jobs for five years before we were able to rent the first two floors of a building on Mulberry Street. The first floor houses our business and the second floor is our home. All fifteen of us.

There's my parents, Angelo and Verona, my sisters Angelina and Madonna, my brothers Angelo, Jr., Leonardo, and Mario. Then my uncle's family: he and his wife Palmina, their sons Arturo, Jr., Dominick, Gennaro, Geno, and his daughter Bambina.

Up until five months ago, I shared a bedroom with my sisters and female cousin. Then Bambina got married, at only 19 no less. Well, more room for us. She can have it, married life. I don't want it, at least not for a while. I want to go to college and read as many books as I can, maybe see the world. Then, who knows what? Bambi's belly is already showing; she's so proud of it. Don't get me wrong, I like kids and would like to have a family some day, but not right now. I'm only 18. No sir, no man's gonna catch me for a long while.

Opening the door, I see everyone seated at the table. My father looks none too happy.

"Isabella, you know that dinner is served at 6:30." He looks down at his watch. "You are twenty minutes late. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Sorry, father. I got caught up reading a book."

"Oh, you and your books! I have a right mind to marry you off, so you have something else to fill your time instead of all these books." He grins at me as I take a seat at table, ignoring the glares from my hungry brothers.

"Oh, you wouldn't dare, father!" I retort back. I love my father dearly, but I know he likes to tease me.

"Oh wouldn't I?" The gleam in his eye makes me laugh.

We have a nice and loud (as usual) dinner. Two Italian families in one apartment in New York City in 1912 are going to be loud. I guess I'm used to it. My sisters and I take a walk after dinner and soon it's time for bed. As I drift off to sleep, I'm a princess in the story I read at the library today.

"Isabella!" comes the call from downstairs.

"Yes, father, coming." I get on my smock in order to head downstairs and into our shop. Trying and failing at taming my unmanageable black hair, I finally enter the store. My father is stocking shelves. He always gets up early in order to get the store ready for opening.

"Bella, I need to get the fruit and vegetables outside. Be quick about it. We don't want to miss any sales."

"Yes, il padre." My parents speak mostly Italian to each other and to us kids, but I was 10 when we came to America, so English is easier for me than Italian.

Business is going well. At least I think it is. I mean we always have food on the table, which wasn't always the case in Italy or even here in New York City. Sure, we're not high class, but we are doing much better than many of our immigrant brothers and sisters. Which is one reason I hold a grudge against my father. He made me quit school at 14 so I could help at home and at the grocery. I felt like I was barely in school long enough to learn English. There was so much more I wanted to learn.

Still, I love him so. "Father, you know you can count on me."

"I know, my little Bella. I know I can always count on YOU." It was a slight dig at my older sisters. My oldest sister Angelina thinks she is above manual work, though of course she did it when she was younger. At 22, she's unmarried not by choice and no one is as surprised as she is about it. She spends most of her time fixing her hair and going out with boys. I say boys, but they're men now. She and father fight about it constantly. And Madonna isn't much better. She'll come down to help, but she daydreams and loses focus and just doesn't get much work done. Not me. I love hard work. Especially manual work. I lug around basketfuls of potatoes and apples like nobody's business, which surprises almost anyone who sees me. Barely 5 feet 2 inches on a good day and pretty skinny, I take pride in being able to carry even the heaviest of baskets.

After getting everything set up and going back inside, I bring up the same old conversation with father. "They are offering Education courses at NYU, father. I was hoping..."

"Well, keep hoping, Isabella. You know I can't spare you. Especially not right before Fall Harvest. Who's going to carry all of those big squash for me, eh?" He squeezes my tiny biceps. He always does that: compliments me and then does the jokes. But the answer never changes. It's no. It's always no. He's old school: women stay at home, work at home, have babies, and raise them. I try to tell him we are in America now and things are changing, but he has too much old Italy in him.

"Aargh, father!"

"What's aargh, my baby? You and and your Americanisms!"

"Mannaggia, padre. Mannaggia!"

"That's better, dear," He says with a smile.

Darn. I can't stay made at him. Still, I'm not going to quit trying either. I'll get what I want, someday.

Chapter 2 (Roberto)

"You know, I wanted to do this the easy way, but you just couldn't. Huh, paesano?"

The sweat is pouring off his face after I doubled him over with a shot to the gut. "Out of respect for your dear madre, I won't hit you in the face. But still, you gotta pay us back. Ain't that right, Nico?"

"That's right, Roberto. Not paying back the Raffaelli's is a very dangerous gamble. And seeing that losing at gambling is what got you here, well, you shouldn't press your luck."

"Okay, okay," he says, holding up his hand. "I know a way I get some money. I can get it by Friday." I raise my big fist in the air before he stops me, "I mean tomorrow. Yeah tomorrow."

"It better be as you say. Nico will be coming by your place at 6 to get it. If you don't have it, mother or no mother, you're gonna get a real beating. Now get outta here!"

Our debtor runs off down the street.

"Think he's good for it, Roberto?"

"Yeah, I think we scared him good. Christ, I thought he was gonna piss his pants."

"Well, that really worked up a hunger for me. What's mama cooking tonight?"

"Her famous meatballs. Of course, that also means my Uncle Cosmo is in her kitchen, changing her sauce, saying he knows best. She knows hers is better, but it's family, what are you gonna do?"

Nico agrees and laughs.

Family. Yeah, it's important. I guess it's my line of work. "La Famiglia" is what they call us. I was about 17 when we came to America. My father and his family settled quickly in New York and carved out a nice business. Nico is like a little brother to me, but he's not blood. I found Nico more or less living on the streets when he was 15 and took him under my wing. Over time, he became my best friend. There's nothing I wouldn't do for him and vice versa. I'm a capo now, but, one day, I'll take over the family business from my father. I have great respect for my father. I would do anything for him.

I just didn't know it would get tested tonight. After a delicious and raucous meal at my house (and which ones aren't?), my father calls me into his office. It's covered in deep mahogany, rich tapestries, and beautiful paintings. That along with the thick carpet makes it the quietest room in the house. I always get a sense of awe entering this room and this time is no different. One day, it will be my office.

"Roberto, son, come here." My father beckons me over, stands and kisses me the old Italian way, kissing me once on each check.

"How are you father?" I notice it was a little difficult for him to stand. Certainly more difficult than it was a year ago. He's only 52, but it's been a tough life for him. He literally fought his way out of Italy and then fought and clawed once here to get where he is.

"Fine, son, fine. Please, son, sit." He gestures to the thick leather chair sitting opposite his desk. "Roberto, you know I expect you to take over the business when I get old."

"Yes, father, I'll be ready."

"No, you aren't. Roberto, you're almost 32 and yet still you are unmarried."

"I know father, but you know, I've been so focused on work, I haven't had time..."

"You always make time for family, son."

"I know, father. I know."

"Well, you will run this family better when you have a family of your own. In the old country, your mother and I would have married you off years ago, but, eh, in this new country, we thought we'd let you choose. We just didn't think it would take you so long. None of the women we've pointed out in the past have been good for you, eh?"

"Yeah, I guess so, father." That's only partially true. Sure, some of the women my mother has wanted me to marry already looked like her. No offense to my mother, but I don't want to marry a woman who looks 50 and like she's already had 5 children even though she is just 25 years old. It's not just the looks, but other things I want in a wife. It's just, I don't know. I want a wife that will be my equal and I haven't met one yet. My father and mother are great, but I don't want a woman just like my mother. I want, I don't know, something more. I really don't even know myself.

"Your brother Michael already has two kids, Roberto. Two."

"Yes, pop, I know."

"Well, know this then. You will be married within the next year or I will be considering making Michael the head of this family when the time comes."

"Father..." I start to say before a hand silences me.

"I have spoken."

"Yes, father. I understand." And I did. I do. But that doesn't mean I'm ready for it.

Chapter 3 (Roberto)

The next morning when I see Nico, he asks, "So what was the big meeting about?"

"I gotta get married, Nico. I gotta get fucking married."

"Shit" is all he can say.

I spend a restless night in bed wrestling with my thoughts on getting married. Sure, I've been with women and having one squirm and writhe as I pleasure her with my cock is an amazing thing, but then they always disappoint me when we are not in bed. Either they are too meek or too vain or too plain. Too something. I don't know exactly what I'm looking for, but I think I will know it when I see it. I better see it and soon; my father was not joking.

"Yeah. Hey, we gotta go down to Mulberry today. Some Irish punks been causing problems down there. See if we can't help the shop owners out and maybe pick up some new business. Let's go."

Our third stop of the morning is at Monteleone's Grocery and I could already tell this stop is going to be more enjoyable than the last two. Upon entering the shop, I am floored by a gorgeous black haired beauty who looks like she's dressed more to go out to dinner than work at a grocery shop. She's tall for a woman, probably 5 foot 6 inches, with cherry red lipstick on her luscious lips. Yeah, I already like this place.

She looks up at me, licks her lips, and says, "Can I help you gentlemen?"

"Yes, Mrs. Monteleone, is it?"

"That's Ms. Monteleone. Angelina Monteleone. At your service." She sets out her nicely manicured hand to me, which I take and kiss lightly. Boy, this girl is one sexy kitten.

"Is your father here?"

"Um, yes. He's in the back. Shall I go get him? Unless, I can, um, assist you gentlemen directly." The way she says these words sends a bolt right down to my cock. Holy shit, this girl is something else.

But business first. "I think we need him, if you don't mind, miss."

She spins on her heels and walks away, swaying her hips to show off her ample ass to us. Nico and I exchange a look and we both smile.

One minute later, a small Italian man, no taller than his daughter comes out of the back. He's dressed reasonably well, but has a harried, hurried look about him.

"Mr. Monteleone, it's a pleasure." I extend my hand. "This is Nico and I'm Roberto Raffaelli. Perhaps you've heard about my family."

By the look on his face, I already have my answer. "Oh, sure. Oh sure, yes. Yes I have heard of you. But I haven't done anything have I? I mean, I didn't think I had."

I hold up a hand. "Mr. Monteleone, please calm down. We're here to help. We know that some hoodlums have been knocking over stores and causing problems around here lately."

"Well, yes, that's true."

"We can make that go away."

"You can?"

I nod.

"You will?"

I nod again. "A small weekly fee is all. Trust me, you'll be saving money. Those micks won't be bothering you again. And, what's more, there's benefits to having us as, um, friends. We'll send more business you're way. And if my family needs something special and you help us, even better for you and your family." I nod to his bella daughter standing behind.

Good lord, she's good looking. It's hard not to imagine her wrapping those luscious red lips around my thick cock.

"Well how can I say no?"

I wake up from my reverie.

"Exactly. Exactly, Mr. Monteleone."

Dammit, Roberto, you gotta get a hold of yourself. You're not after a girlfriend; you're after a wife. Stop thinking with your cock. Still, Angelina Monteleone is as good as place as any to start with my wife hunting.

Chapter 4 (Isabella)

It's been busier than usual lately at the shop. In fact, so busy, that Angelina has been working the cash register way more often than she usually does. And she actually seems happy about it, which is a bit weird for her. But, today, she's off getting her hair done, so my father and I are manning the shop. It's getting close to closing time when my father shoos me into the backroom.

"Go in the back and stay there, Bella. I'll wait on these customers."

I slip into the back but station myself where I can hear what they say and see them through a crack in the wood paneling. Both men are tall and impossibly well dressed.

"Oh hello," my father calls out happily. "And how are you today?"

"Just fine, Mr. Monteleone. And your store? No problems?" The one speaking is clearly in charge. He towers over my father in an almost comical fashion. It's not just his height, which I would guess to be a little over 6 feet, but his shoulders are very broad as well. He nicely fills out every inch of the suit he is wearing.

"No, none at all."

"And business is good?"

"Better than ever!"

"That's good to hear. Though must admit that I am a little disappointed today." The big man gets a big smile on his face. Why is it so hot back in the store room all of a sudden?

"You...you are?" My father stumbles his words. He almost sounds a little scared.

"Yes, I was hoping to see your lovely daughter today. And I can see she is not here."

"Oh yes, sorry. She, um, had to go out. But, but I can try to have her here more often."

"That would be nice. She's quite lovely, you know. Unmarried, is she? Your daughter?"

"Uh, what? Oh, yes, unmarried." My father is no tough guy, but he's especially nervous around these two fellows. I wonder why.

I move back further into the store room for fear of getting caught. Why is my heart beating so fast? Was it because of my father's disposition with the tall, dark man? Or was it because of the man himself?

Asking my father afterwards yielded very little information.

"We are, uh, business partners, little one."

"I thought you said they were customers, father."

"Ah, yes, that's true. He was getting something today. But his family, uh, we import olive oil from the old country from them."

Further questions were shut down by my father, but he assured me the men help and make sure the store is running well, whatever that means. I wonder truly who the men were and even more so wonder about the tall, big one and why my stomach feels so weird right now.

Chapter 5 (Roberto)

I can't wait to visit Monteleone's Grocery again. Nico knows I come with him for this pickup more than any other place, but he knows better than to give me shit about it.

We again show up just at closing.

"Mr. Monteleone, my friend," I announce big and loud. "How is business?"

"Very well, sir. Very well. My brother and I have never done better as a matter of fact."

"That is great to hear."

"This is for you, Mr. Raffaelli." He starts to slide the envelope across the counter. I stop it halfway.

"Actually, you can keep this week's payment. Angelo? May I call you Angelo?"

"Yes, of course Mr. Raffaelli."

"Roberto. Call me Roberto."

"Oh, yes, of course. Roberto."

"You see, I have a problem. One you are uniquely positioned to help with I think."

"I am?" A worried looks crosses his face. "I don't want to do anything illegal."

"Oh, no. Nothing like that. You see, Angelo, I am in need of a wife and I noticed your lovely daughter from the first time I was in here. You have other daughters?"

He nods.

"And maybe nieces?"

"Well, yes, one, but she is recently married. But, but, I have two other daughters."

"Splendid, Angelo, splendid. I would like to meet and get to know your daughters. If you would invite me to dinner for Sunday, that would be much appreciated."

"Well, I don't know." He pauses and realizes you don't say no to a man like myself. Being in The Family has its advantages. "I mean, yes of course."

"Great. I think this arrangement will work out well for the both of us."

We work out the details. I will come to Sunday family dinner for at least a month and then perhaps take his daughters on dates if I so choose. At the end of three months if not sooner, I will choose one as my bride.

If all of his daughters are as pretty as the one I have already seen, I should have no problem picking one as a wife.

Chapter 6 (Isabella)

"What?!?"

I was the first to say anything. "You did what? Father, we are not meat at a butcher shop! Nor are we slaves to be auctioned off!"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Bella." Of course Angelina would like the idea of it. She's always man hunting. All the better for her when the hunter has their prey enter their den. She actually has a big grin on her face.

"Besides, it's not like he would choose you," Madonna pipes in.

"Yeah, that's because he's going to pick me," Angelina says confidently.

"Oh yeah, you think he wants just a pretty face. Men want more than that, you know." Madonna points down to her ample bosom.

My sisters fight back and forth while I steam. I love my father, but this is ridiculous. I can't believe he would agree to this. This is not Italy! This isn't the old times. It's 1912 and we are in modern times and in America, no less! Uggh, he's so backwards sometimes.

"But father..." I start again.

"Isabella, you WILL behave and you WILL treat Mr. Raffaelli with the utmost respect."

I look over to my mother, but she gives me her usual shrug like there's nothing she can do about it.

"Che palle!" I shout as I stomp out of the room.

"Young lady, I will not tolerate language like that!"

I slam the door to my bedroom, but I never have my bedroom to myself for very long, so soon I come out and announce to the family, "I'm going for a walk!"