I Unknowingly Stole The Mafia Don's Daughter

Vera's POV

I had learned long ago that love was conditional. At least the love that was given to me.

My parents, Vincent and Angela, were not cruel in the loud, violent way some parents were. Their version of cruelty was colder, silence as punishment, shame wrapped in sugar, and affection traded for obedience. If i cried too much, they said I was “dramatic.” If I disagreed then I was “disrespectful.” And when I needed comfort and support, my mother would tilt her head and say, “Is this how you’ll behave when you get to your husband’s house?”

So when Andrew criticized me, when he shut me down or mocked my choices and ideas, something inside my said this is normal. This is love, my kind of love.

That weekend, I had gone to pay my parents a visit out of obligation. Sunday lunch was a family tradition. Andrew hadn’t come, he always found an excuse to avoid it, and for once, i was glad.

“You’re still too soft, Vera,” my mother said, picking at the salad with practiced elegance. “You don’t argue, but you also don’t control the house.”

“I don’t want to control anything,” I said, her voice quiet.

“You should,” my father cut in. “A woman’s power is in how her husband sees her. If he doesn’t respect you, that’s on you.”

I stirred the soup in my plate. “I try dad. I cook, I take care of the home, i don’t nag him.”

“That’s not trying, that’s surviving,” my mother said with a sigh. “Andrew is a man Vera. You have to manage him. Learn how to hold his attention.”

My father shook his head, while scoffing. “Back in my day, women knew how to keep their husbands close. Now it’s all feminism and laziness.”

I stared down at my food, throat tight. “So… if he cheats, it’s my fault?” I asked the question that had been weighing on my mind for a while now.

Both my parents turned and looked at me like I had asked something absurd.

“If he goes to other women,” my mother said slowly, “then you need to ask yourself why. Men don’t just wander for no reason. You would have to have been the reason.”

I nodded numbly expecting the answer. It was always my fault. Never his. That was the lesson and the golden rule of every wife.

As i drove back home, the conversation kept playing in loops in my mind. It was the same every time , the constant pressure to bend, to be smaller, to take blame as a badge of honor. Sometimes, i wondered how my mother lived with herself, how she was able to peacefully sleep at night. But maybe she had been bent so long, that she thought the shape was normal.

That night, Lara came over to the house uninvited, as she always did. I had thought Andrew would have been furious when she first started it but she was the only one he allowed without any stress. He often told me how much of a good friend Lara was and how much I should learn from her.

“Hey, babe,” Lara sang as she walked into the living room, her pencil heels clicking on the tiles. “Is Andrew at home? I didn't see his car outside.”

“No. He went out with some of his work friends,” I replied while folding the laundry on the couch.

Lara laughed as she plopped down in the couch beside me “Does that man ever take you anywhere?”

I forced a smile. “He’s busy.”

“Mm. And you’re just here being his little house mouse. Honestly, I admire you. I couldn’t do it. I need attention.” she said flipping her hair.

I smile cracked for a while but I pretended like nothing had happened. “its not a big deal, like taking care of him.”

“You mean he likes being taken care of,” Lara said, moving closer to me, legs crossed. I couldn't help but stare at her. She wore a skintight mustard dress that hugged every curve like a second skin. Her makeup was flawless. Her ride scented perfume left a trail in the air.

I glanced down at my own worn T-shirt and leggings. I felt invisible.

“You know,” Lara said, tilting her head, “Andrew told me last week I’m the kind of woman who commands a room. That I ‘light it up.’”

I paused in place. “He said that to you?”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Lara said, smiling. “It’s not like he meant it like that. He was just saying I have presence.”

I nodded and folded another shirt. “He never says things like that to me.”

“Well,” Lara said, leaning in, “you’re… subtle. You’re not a ‘wow’ kind of girl. You’re the safe type. And there’s nothing wrong with that! You’re like… like warm soup. Comforting and familiar.”

I stared at her, trying to decide whether that was a compliment or an insult wrapped in sugar. But I was probably overthinking it, Lara was my best friend and she was really blunt.

“Anyway,” Lara continued, checking her nails, “you should come out with me sometime. Get a new dress. Let Andrew see what he’s missing. Or... what he already has, but takes for granted.”

“He doesn’t like me wearing flashy things.”

“So?” Lara grinned displaying her pearly white teeth. “Wear it anyway, then maybe he’ll stop looking elsewhere.” she mutter that last part underneath her breath.

The silence between us thickened. I stood and began gathering the laundry basket.

“Where are you going?” Lara asked.

“To hang these. I need to set the ingredients for Andrew's lunch for tomorrow.”

Lara sighed dramatically. “You’re too good for him, you know. But also… maybe not enough. Does that make sense?”

It did. Too good but still not enough. That was the summary of my whole life in a single sentence.

After Lara left, I sat in the laundry room, surrounded by neatly the folded clothes and the soft scent of detergent. I slid down to the floor and cried quietly.

Not because Lara was cruel, but because she was right.