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[ofatropas]

arescalderone‌:

The first Ares had heard about his bride to be, a heavy contract was thrown into his lap. Called into his father’s office half way across town, he knew he wasn’t going to be on the receiving end of good news. Alessandro’s office, let alone presence, never elicited faith. However, an arranged marriage to foster peace between the Abernathy’s and the Calderone’s seemed beyond preposterous. “You want me to get married? To a fucking Abernathy?”

He voiced his opinions to his father, how fucked up it was that this was what was required of him, at his age nonetheless, even when he had already given so much to the family business. And also how he didn’t think that marriage was going to dissolve any tension between the families who had been at war for generations. And he didn’t even want to remember all the havoc he had wreaked on those Abernathy pussies Izak had the nerve to call his son’s. Though despite his firm opposition to the idea of getting married, he knew he couldn’t tell his father ’no’. No one ever told Alessandro Calderone ’no’ and lived long enough to brag about it. Ares had learned from a very young age that even though he had a temper and confidence that raged inside of him, his father’s anger had an infinitesimally short fuse, and because of this Ares was expected to do things his father wanted - and he abhorred.

So as he stood outside the Catholic church - one affiliated with the only two prominent crime families in the city - in the back garden, finishing his last cigarette as a single man before his presence was requested inside, he couldn’t help but contemplate about his soon to be wife. Belladonna. From the few photos that had been given to him along with the contract, they were grainy and what he thought could be almost purposefully pixelated, he couldn’t help but wonder what she was like in the flesh. “I’ve never seen her.” Wyatt, Ares faithful right hand man and best man on his special day, blew smoke from parted lips. “But we’ve all heard the stories. Maybe it won’t be so bad?”

Stories? He suppressed the dark chuckle that wanted to escape his chest. Ares couldn’t help but wonder if they were more rum ours than actual veils of truth. If she was so beautiful then why the fuck was her father pawning her off to the sworn enemy? Ares sighed, sparing a look to perhaps his one and only true friend he would contemplate trusting his life with. “I’ve had to do worse.”

A vibration from Ares pocket signaled he had received a message, and pulling his phone from the pockets of his finely pressed and perfectly tailored black tux, he saw his father’s name flash on the screen. Where the fuck are you? She’s almost ready. He pulled another hit of nicotine from his marlboro red, throwing it into a bed of roses in the church garden before nodding his head to the entrance signalling it was time. The two of them popped some peppermint gum into their mouths, Wyatt insisting that Belladonna wouldn’t be keen to kiss a man who smelled like freshly smoked cigarettes. Ares grunted, stoically keeping his nerves in check with caustic casualness. “She better get used to it sometime.”

They made their way through the large church, so elaborately decorated he wondered exactly how much of his inheritance took a beating, the two of them found their way to the start of the aisle. Both sides were full, one of people he knew well, though still thoroughly despised, and the other side… full of people he also knew well, and even though he was getting married to the heiress of the Abernathy crime family, still wanted to destroy. Spitting his gum into his hand, and pressing it against the back of a church pew behind one of his father’s lower echelon grunts - happy that he had never been affected with religious faith and catholic guilt - he walked down the aisle with Wyatt following close behind. He ignored the few whispers from the crowd as they saw the groom arrive on the scene, and as he neared the priest his dark eyes met his father’s own and they shared a look that said more than any words between them ever could.

The priest, who’s name he was told numerous times and just never bothered to remember, smiled at him and held his hand out for Ares to shake, which he met with a grip so firm he was sure he almost broke his hand. He stood in front of him, feeling Wyatt’s presence behind him as they waited, and he contemplated the thought that his life was soon to be over. About to spend the rest of his days in a loveless marriage with a woman he had nothing in common with. He contemplated the idea that perhaps if he was lucky enough, he would be shot down the next time he went on a weapon run. Ares was running a hand through his raven coloured hair, a sigh leaving his lips as he wondered how much longer he was going to have to wait when wedding bells assaulted his senses. Almost ominously he felt his friend lean closer before he whispered. “Good luck, Calderone.”

He grunted in response, still too livid and equally nervous - though he would never admit it - to respond with a coherent sentence. More whispers could be heard from the crowd and Ares turned his head, looking down the aisle, his eyes finally falling on Belladonna in her white dress. A petite vision, compared to Izak Abernathy who walked with her down the aisle. Ares gaze left the bitter old man to fall on her face, who he realized was already looking intently at him, her light eyes never faltering from his own, and suddenly… his focus was solely on her. Everyone else disappeared. One look and they shared something that was bigger than words. She was fair, with light blonde hair that no shitty photo he had been given could have ever done justice to, and for a split second whatever worries he had melted away, at the gorgeous woman soon to be his. Ares couldn’t help but think he was lucky before his nerves and anger set back in - but in spite of the horrible situation he was suddenly thrust into, he had to praise the vision that was Belladonna. He was pulled from his thoughts as she neared, her father touching her hair before leaving to find his seat. As she found her place next to him, staring up at him with a small smile and a soft gaze he could fully absorb the fact of just how small she was compared to him, even in her heels. The word left his mouth before he could even think about it, quiet enough only for her and the priest to hear. “Hi.” His voice was deep, raspy, and devoid of any emotion a part from slight surprise and faint abhorrence of the situation they had been put in together. Meeting for the first time at the altar on their fucking wedding day.     

A few months ago, any sort of peaceful interaction between the Abernathies and Calderones was wholly unbelievable for her ; how many times had she been told growing up what they were like, how ‘wasteful, selfish and disgusting’ they were? How many times had operations gone wrong because of their interference, new markets over-saturated? Though Belladonna held no personal disdain towards any of them, residual dislike and frustration still lingered at the sight of their side of the chapel, filled to the brim of people she was sure would rather see her dead than marry their own heir.

The planning of the wedding had been absolutely nothing to do with her, and she doubted to do with her husband-to-be either. Both gang leaders were too enthralled by their own power to ever let their heirs make such crucial decisions like the venue, guests or even the spouse. Her mother, who she rarely spoke to and actively avoided, had likely chosen most things on their end and consulted her father for permission. Permission, she would always snicker to herself, like I would ever allow anyone to tell me what to do with my fucking life.

Still, there she stood at the altar — effectively on the orders of both gang leaders, for it seemed that the two most powerful men in this city always got what they wanted. Though she may have been venomous, divine-looking and member of one of the wealthiest families in the country, she was just as much a slave as any of the other people in this chapel, in this city. Born to be a both a walking advertisement and a human resource, she had long since learned to swallow the bitterness that always managed to ravel its way around every aspect of her life. Looking at her in that moment — like the finest goddess ever conceived — she was glowing from head-to-toe. An impeccable smile graced her features, like getting married was something she did everyday.

Coming back to the present, the priest burbled on some greeting. Bella could see his lips moving out of the corner of her peripheral, and yet couldn’t drag her gaze away from the sight she saw directly across from her. Everybody here was at some level of esteem within both gangs, personally related to the Abernathys or Calderones, so they all knew about this arrangement. Surprisingly, this actually had made her slightly less nervous ; pretending that this was a man she was truly in love with would have made the whole thing more nerve-wracking than it was. Whatever holy acts had occurred in this chapel would likely be cancelled out by the end of the night. Both gangs were notorious for their damage while drinking, and she wasn’t foolish enough to think that only alcohol was being served tonight.

Ares stood only a few feet away from her, Belladonna having to crane her neck to properly observe him fully. Thank god. Being stuck with somebody ugly for the rest of her unfortunate life would have been grave indeed, creating an even worse fate than she could have dreamed about. While she still had little indication of what kind of man he was, she was vain enough to see that at least she didn’t have to pretend to be attracted to him. Tall men were her unashamed weakness, her body coming alive at the sight of him. He was magnetising, whether it be something piercing about his gaze, the firm lines of his body or even just the stoic way he held himself. Her fear and fury wasn’t quelled, but it was certainly tamed for the moment.

The priest muttered some joke to break the velvety silence that had encroached the chapel, but she didn’t bother attempting to listen. “Hi,” she sighed back, the finality of their situation clamping down on any wild last-minute hopes. Her slight smile remained, intended to look as inviting as she knew she was expected to be. “Like the suit,” Bella purred, eyeing him up and down once more. Seduction was a balance between overt sexuality and allowing them to feel in control — as she had learned since she was an adult — and he didn’t appear to be an exception, from the way he was looking at her.

Vows were being proclaimed next to her, the priest still rambling on about the sanctity of marriage or whatever else he was legally obligated to say, but the two of them still remained staring at each other, as if trying to memorise each other’s faces. Don’t worry, she wanted to hiss, we have the rest of our unfortunate lives. People clapped every so often, some tears were seemingly shed and finally, the only vow that mattered was said. 

“And by the power vested in me, you are now pronounced husband and wife! You may now kiss the bride!” Belladonna didn’t hesitate, one last thought of freedom running through her mind as he grasped her face, kissing her as though they weren’t surrounded by tens of people who likely wanted at least one of them dead. Slowly, she kissed him back as though it was truly a first kiss somewhere, something innocuous and slow that was meant to be private. He held her close, her heart beating intently once more. It almost seemed like they could stay like that forever.

Thunderous applause interrupted them, her pulling away suddenly and giggling coyly like she was supposed to. Her entire family was on their feet, clapping away madly — like she had chosen this — and a mix of revulsion and satisfaction came over her. It’s done. There was nothing either of them could do about it now. Ares, her now husband, took her hand and led her down the stairs carefully, as she looked ahead and ignored the eyes still on them.

Finally, they were the first outside of the venue, ebony-tinted limo held open by some of her father’s goons she still hadn’t bothered to learn the names of. The two were being taken to wherever the reception was being held. Bella’s stomach dropped, as now they were truly, completely alone, as the car door shut behind them. A few moments past. “So, tell me honestly — do you agree that our priest has the most monotone voice in all of existence?” She was light, airy, sardonic ; she was trying to see if Ares held any sort of promise as a partner. “I wonder who he must have blackmailed to officiate,” she simpered, all luminous eyes up at him as she brushed his hand putting in her seatbelt.

/ FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS /

[ofatropas]

/ FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS /

“Ares Calderone,” Belladonna’s father had groaned at her after pestering him for a number of hours. Though it was a mere fortnight before the wedding, she had not been informed about the actual identity of her husband — dread bloomed heavily within her whenever that word was summoned to the forefront of her mind. She knew what was coming ; she had read the contracts, given legal consent, knew that their union was intended to bring ‘much-needed unity’, or whatever other trite her father had conceived. Izak Abernathy was never a man to listen to anyone else’s view but his own, and thus had surrounded himself only by those who echoed his own views absolutely. Still, it was quite a surprise to hear that her father had decided she was to marry someone so [powerful in rank in their opposing clan. Though she only knew her future husband by name — and grainy covert shots in his file — Bella had heard countless stories about how much havoc and violence he had wreaked on their clan, even towards her own brothers. At least he has some resemblance of a reputation, she tried to think. At least he’s smart enough to not get killed by those buffoons.

Almost two weeks later, she was glaring at herself in the jewelled mirror that some uncle or cousin had gifted her just this afternoon. It wasn’t the dress that concerned her, nor the platinum diadem that was encrusted with real crystals. Honey-toned hair was complemented flawlessly by the off-white gown she wore, embroidery every few inches and a train that she already knew would be admired from every angle of the chapel. Still, her sour expression didn’t recede ; this was what being treated as a living object did to someone like her. “Cheer up,” Chiara proclaimed, telltale smirk already planted on her face. “It’s not like he’s killed your brothers! Just — mortally wounded them a few times.” Her cousin looked every bit as beautiful as Bella herself did, wearing the matching silk gown they had both chosen. “Would that he had killed them,” she mumbled, “maybe the damn thing would have been called off.” A roll of her eyes and a squeeze of the arm by her cousin, and she knew she would go through with it. ( As though she had any choice. )

Wedding bells began to clang ominously just as she stepped out of the attached dressing-room, a contrast of modern and ancient architecture rising to meet her as the summer air stroked her bare arms. The chapel wasn’t nearly as large as she had expected, but just as domineering and gaudy as Bella’s family wanted ; arrangements had been going on for months without her knowledge, and she had no doubt that millions of dollars had been spent to ensure that neither gang looked cheap. Her father waited by the door, as dashing as always. Chiara kissed her cheek for a moment, her lemon-scented perfume following as she strutted away. So this was it. She was completely and utterly at the mercy of her father, of her husband — this was it. As she took her father’s arm, she didn’t even blink. His daughter smiled, as she was supposed to, gripping her father��s arm as lightly as she could. “You look gorgeous, Bella,” he cooed, like she was still five years old. All she could do was continue to smile to hide her grimace.

She could feel all of their eyes on her, the moment they entered the chapel. All of the relatives she barely knew, all of her close family she severely loathed, the rival gang and all of their companions — being under a microscope was something Bella was more than accustomed to by now. Instead of meeting any of their gazes, hers was instantly and singularly planted on her husband-to-be. He was... tall, obviously, taller than most of the men around him. Raven-haired, pale-skinned, standing completely solid and stoic as though nothing in the world could ever defeat him. There was something frightening about him, something magnetising that she knew her father and brothers should possess and yet so clearly lacked. Tall heels clacked against the marble floor, though she barely heard it ; her heart thumped aggressively in her ears, and it felt like they were the only two people in the chapel. Her father stopped suddenly, stroking her hair as all fathers were supposed to do and found his seat. Utter silence enveloped them, and all Belladonna could bring out in herself was a lilting smile and the softest gaze she could muster up at him.

[ofatropas]

3 days to kill (2014) dir. by McG