My name is Antonella Rossi.

I am the youngest daughter of the Rossi family, one of the oldest and most respected families in the Italian mafia. I grew up amidst silent dinners with unspoken codes, glances that said more than words, and an etiquette that was taught to us from our first steps: speak softly, smile moderately, always obey.

I got used to observing. To being the shadow at parties, the forgotten face among so many glittering dresses and enchanting voices. Unlike my sisters, I never knew how to charm a room.

Valentina, the eldest, is the pride of the family. Brilliant, elegant, persuasive. She gets what she wants with a simple look. She is respected among the men of the mafia, but not out of fear. Out of admiration. She is the kind of woman that families want as a wife for their heirs.

Bianca, the middle one, is the opposite. Competitive, sharp, ambitious. She always looked at me with a mixture of boredom and disdain. We grew up side by side, but she always made me feel... smaller. For her, being sensitive is being weak. Being kind is wasting time.

And then there's me. The silent daughter, with light steps and a soft heart.

I like flowers, sewing, and piano. I never learned to shoot, nor am I interested in mafia strategies. My world is made of details – a cup of hot tea, a piece of porcelain, the smell of lavender in the garden.

Perhaps that's why no one ever looked at me twice.

And I was at peace with that. I never wanted to be noticed. I never imagined being anyone's choice.

Much less... his.

The summit meeting took place on a cold night, in the hall of the Vitalle mansion.

The main bosses of the Italian mafia were present. Seated at a long dark wooden table, the patriarchs discussed the future of the empire in firm voices.

"The succession is near," said Don Alberto Vitalle, head of the family and Giancarlo's father. "And the heir needs a wife."

Everyone looked at each other.

"Giancarlo is efficient, respected, he has the iron fists that this organization needs. But he lacks a woman by his side. Someone who unites families, who brings balance, who produces heirs."

"We agree," said Don Matteo. "But will he choose alone?"

"Of course not," replied Don Alberto. "We have prepared a party. A formal ball. Allied families will be invited. And their daughters... too.

Let him observe. Let him choose. Or... let her conquer him."

The announcement spread like wildfire through the mafia families. The news reached the mansions, the women, the dressmaking salons. It was official: Giancarlo Vitalle was looking for a wife.

And everyone wanted to be the chosen one.

Except me.

Antonella

The hall of our house turned into a parade of fabrics, jewels, and perfumes. The seamstresses multiplied throughout the corridors, bringing custom-made models for me and my sisters. Valentina smiled mischievously as she tried on provocative dresses. Bianca rolled her eyes and demanded something more daring, something that "would catch Giancarlo's attention."

"Are you really going, Antonella?" Bianca asked, with a tone that seemed more like mockery than curiosity.

"Mom asked me to. It's not my choice," I replied, keeping my eyes on the light blue lace I was holding.

Bianca gave a dry laugh.

"You can go... but you know you have no chance, don't you? He will choose someone who imposes themselves. Who has presence."

Valentina interrupted, sitting in front of the mirror, retouching her lipstick.

"What if he wants just the opposite? Sometimes men get tired of too much glitter."

They argued, competed, disputed a throne that I didn't even want. To me, that ball seemed more like an auction disguised as a dream.

But what I didn't know yet was that, even trying to hide, someone had already noticed my absence in the center of the hall.

Giancarlo

Parties. Fake smiles. Expensive clothes. Barbs hidden between toasts.

None of that interested me.

Since my father announced the idea of the ball, I have been bombarded with advice, pressure, and "suggestions" of names.

Daughters of allies, influential young women, beautiful as shop-window dolls. That's how they described the candidates to me. None of them aroused anything in me besides boredom.

"It is necessary, Giancarlo," my father said. "We need to strengthen alliances. You need a wife. One who knows how to obey and represent our family well."

I agreed in silence. I would do what was necessary. I always have.

But, deep down, I knew that party would be just another empty night. A parade of interest and appearance. And I hated appearance. I detested flattery.

Until I heard her name.

"The Rossi sisters will come, of course," one of the capos commented during the party planning meeting. "Valentina, Bianca... and the youngest... what's her name again?"

"Antonella," another replied. "Too quiet. She even seems mute. A pity... she has a delicate face."

Antonella. I never heard that name with attention before.

Delicate. Quiet. Invisible.

Curious.

Something in me was bothered. Not by the subtle compliment. But because... unlike the others, she didn't seem to want to be there. And that, for me, was a novelty.

The others desired me.

She, from all indications... didn't want me.

And perhaps that's why, for the first time, I really wanted to see her.

The Vitalle mansion had never been so full.

Crystal chandeliers cast golden reflections on the marble-clad halls. There was music in the background—a discreet string quartet—and dozens of waiters parading with glasses of red wine and trays of delicacies. The mafia families were all there: imposing men, wives made up like porcelain dolls, and daughters in their best dresses, smiling as if the world were a stage.

And that night, it really was.

Anticipation hung like mist: they all hoped to be seen by Giancarlo Vitalle.

Antonella

I held tight to the hem of my dress. Purple, delicate, almost ethereal—chosen by Valentina, who swore it was "the only shade that doesn't completely fade you out, Antonella."

Bianca descended the main staircase as if she owned the ball. Valentina came right behind, with light steps and a captivating smile. I was last. As always.

My heart was pounding. I didn't want to be there. The party, the stares, the loud voices—it all suffocated me. But my mother's eyes, firm and proud, told me I needed to play my part.

Little by little, I moved away towards the side columns of the hall, where the dim light offered some relief.

That's when I felt it.

Someone was watching me.

I turned my face slowly... and saw him.

Giancarlo

I was bored.

The girls passed before me like items in a shop window: they smiled, bowed, offered empty conversations, rehearsed compliments. Some were beautiful, others confident. But all... predictable.

"Bianca Rossi," a woman announced beside me, as if that should impress me. "One of the most sought after."

I observed. Beautiful. Intense. She smiled with perfect teeth, but there was something aggressive in her gaze.

"And there, Valentina. Diplomatic, elegant. Very influential among the wives of the bosses."

Once again, I looked... and looked away. They wanted too much. Almost begged.

That's when my eyes landed on her.

Antonella.

She wasn't dancing. She wasn't smiling. She wasn't showing off. She stood still, in silence, near a column, as if begging to be forgotten.

But there was no way to forget her.

The purple dress lightly outlined her body. Her hair was tied in a loose bun, with some strands escaping as if they hadn't been tamed. She wasn't an obvious beauty. She was... subtle. Fragile. Real.

And, above all, she didn't look at me like the others.

Not with fear. Nor desire.

Just... cautious curiosity.

I approached slowly, unhurried. My steps calculated, as always.

When I stopped in front of her, Antonella raised her eyes.

Clear, firm, but not arrogant.

For the first time that night, I felt something vibrate inside.

"Antonella Rossi," I said, as if confirming a discovery.

She hesitated for a moment before answering, in a sweet voice:

"Signor Vitalle."

My last name had never sounded so... human.

Antonella

"Signor Vitalle."

That's all I could say.

He was close. Tall, impeccable in his dark suit, with a cutting gaze that analyzed me as if trying to decipher me. He didn't seem like a man used to hearing "no." But, curiously, it didn't intimidate me. It disconcerted me, yes. But it didn't frighten me.

"You don't dance?" he asked, his voice deep.

"I prefer to observe," I replied.

"Observing is an art... few do well."

His gaze lowered discreetly to my hands—firm, clasped. Then, it returned to my eyes. Quietly, I sustained the look. Outside, calm. Inside, chaos.

For a few seconds, we were silent. But it wasn't uncomfortable. It was... dense.

When he moved away, he said nothing more. He just continued among the guests. But not without casting one last glance at me.

And I realized: he would return.

Valentina watched.

Disguised among a group of girls who were laughing loudly, she saw Giancarlo stop in front of her younger sister—the invisible one—and exchange words with her. Few, but significant.

Valentina pursed her lips, thoughtful.

Bianca saw.

And she didn't like it.

She quickly approached Giancarlo minutes later, offering him a seductive smile.

"Signor Vitalle," she said, with the same tone as someone who already felt part of him. "May I keep you company?"

He accepted. They talked for a few minutes, until another girl pulled him away. He went, polite, but impersonal.

And, from time to time, he looked at Antonella.

No matter where she was—near the piano, the dessert table, or in a discreet corner of the garden.

His eyes sought her.

Don Alberto Vitalle, in the distance, watched his son.

With a glass of whiskey in his hand and an attentive expression, he quickly noticed the pattern. His son greeted everyone, smiled at some, talked to others. But he only looked at one.

Antonella Rossi.

"Interesting," he murmured in Don Enzo's ear, patriarch of another family.

"The youngest daughter? I thought she was just a shadow of her sisters."

"Perhaps that's exactly what attracts Giancarlo," said Don Alberto, with an almost imperceptible smile. "A shadow is difficult to capture. But when you succeed… it becomes valuable."

Later, at the end of the ball

The music faded. The farewells began. The servants collected empty trays. The hall still shone, but the charm of the night began to dissolve.

The decision was not announced.

And that generated rumors. Comments. Tension.

In the Rossi family car, before leaving, Bianca couldn't contain herself. She turned to Antonella with a forced smile and a venomous look.

"You shouldn't get close to Giancarlo, understand?" she whispered. "He's not for you. He belongs to another woman. One who knows how to handle power, not a bookworm like you."

Antonella swallowed hard, but didn't answer.

Valentina huffed, impatient:

"Don't start. We're all being watched."

Their mother, Dona Francesca, was smiling. The kind of smile that only appears after a good feeling.

"What a night, isn't it?" she said, excited. "Antonella, you looked beautiful. You caught attention. I saw it!"

The father, Massimo Rossi, finally spoke:

"My daughters will not fight over a man. Whoever he chooses, is chosen. And that's enough."

The car continued in silence along the cobblestone path, carrying with it not only three sisters, but three restless hearts. One out of jealousy. One out of calculation. And one... for something that she didn't yet know how to name.

Meeting at the Vitalle Mansion

The oval hall was fuller than last time.

Heads of families sat in their carved chairs, with tense expressions and attentive gazes. It was time to align alliances. Giancarlo stood, hands behind his back, calmly listening to what each one said—until her name came up.

"Antonella Rossi," Don Matteo mentioned, with a raised eyebrow. "The youngest. They say she's caught your attention."

"They say... many things," Giancarlo replied, impassive.

His father, Don Alberto, watched everything in silence, but couldn't help but notice that his son didn't deny it.

"It's time to visit the families. Look into their eyes. Feel the environment where this woman was raised," Don Alberto said.

Giancarlo nodded. He wasn't against the idea. In fact... he already had in mind where to start.

Rossi House

The arrival of the black car was enough to mobilize the entire house.

Giancarlo Vitalle had come for a formal visit.

He was greeted with respect. He exchanged words with Massimo, answered Francesca's questions politely, and with a slight nod, greeted the Rossi sisters.

But his eyes were looking for someone else.

"Antonella hasn't returned from the field yet," Valentina said, with an almost provocative smile.

"And what does she do in the field?" Giancarlo asked.

"She rides horses," Don Massimo replied, before his daughters. "She's always liked nature. She likes to get away from the hustle and bustle. It's her way."

Giancarlo looked out the living room window at the open field that stretched behind the property. In the distance, among trees and dirt tracks, something was moving.

A horse.

And on it, came she.

Antonella

The wind whipped my face. I felt the rhythm of the horse beneath my body and the smell of the earth invade my lungs. I've always loved this freedom. It was my refuge, my world. Only there could I truly breathe.

I was wearing trousers, riding boots, a light blouse and over it a red corset fitted to the body. A dark hat protected my face from the sun. I had no idea I was being watched.

Until I saw.

Him.

Standing on the porch, next to my father and sisters, Giancarlo Vitalle stared at me as if he were seeing a mirage. There was no rigidity on his face at that moment. There was... surprise. And something else I couldn't name.

I pulled the reins slowly. My horse slowed down, until it stopped.

My heart... didn't.

"Antonella!" my father called, his voice loud and firm. "Come here!"

I swallowed hard. dismounted carefully and walked to the porch, still panting, my hair slightly disheveled by the wind, my cheeks flushed. Giancarlo's eyes didn't leave me.

"Senhor Vitalle," I murmured, taking off my hat, politely.

"You ride well," was all he said.

"Thank you. It's... a way to breathe better."

He gave a slight smile. One of those that you hardly see, but feel.

"Maybe that's what I need," he replied.

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. The sisters watched the scene, Bianca with narrowed eyes, Valentina with an attentive expression. Dona Francesca was delighted. And my father Massimo... just watched with the look of someone who knows that destiny begins to be fulfilled in the subtext.

Still in the garden of the Rossi property, after the brief encounter with Antonella, Giancarlo remained silent for a few seconds, observing her. It was as if he were measuring every gesture, every word he hadn't yet said.

"Do you have time now?" he asked, breaking the silence with his deep voice.

"For what?" Antonella replied, with a restrained tone.

". I want to see what it's like... to breathe as you breathe."

She hesitated, surprised by the proposal. She didn't imagine that he would agree to leave the safety of control, the concrete of the city, the tactics of meetings, for something so... simple.

But she just nodded her head.

"

Minutes later, already mounted on different horses, the two rode side by side along the trails that skirted the boundaries of the Rossi property. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable—it was full. Laden with unspoken things.

Antonella kept her eyes ahead, trying to control her breathing. His perfume mingled with the smell of the earth and the breeze. And he… he watched her with an intense calm, as if each of her movements revealed a new truth.

"You're different from the others," Giancarlo said suddenly.

"Is that... a compliment or a warning?"

He laughed, softly. The rare laugh.

"I'm still deciding."

She smiled slightly, surprised by the answer. And for a moment, the atmosphere between the two became light. Natural. Almost... intimate.

"Do you really think I can be a good choice for the position of... senhora Vitalle?" she asked, unable to contain the question that was pounding in her mind.

Giancarlo looked at her, and then stopped the horse.

She also stopped, turning slightly in the saddle.

He leaned his body slightly towards her, his eyes fixed on hers. The tone of his voice lowered, almost like a secret:

"I wouldn't waste my time with a woman I didn't consider for that."

Antonella felt her heart race. But... there was no confirmation. No "yes, it's you." No decision. Just a strong enough signal to shake her certainties, and subtle enough to leave her more confused.

"Then... why don't you just say it?"

Giancarlo looked away at the field.

"Because sometimes, what is said in haste breaks easily. But what is built in silence... lasts longer."

She didn't answer. And neither did he.

They continued riding side by side, as the sun went down in the sky, tinging the field with gold. Antonella knew that something was being born there—she didn't know if it was danger, feeling, destiny, or everything together. She only knew that, for the first time, Giancarlo Vitalle made her feel... visible.