She's Crazy But She's Mine

"Let's run faster than the wind, Astra!" Martina commanded, her voice a mix of excitement and a playful challenge as she urged her beloved Arabian horse forward. Astra, as if understanding her mistress's desire, surged forward, her powerful legs churning the earth beneath them. The wind whipped through Martina's hair, carrying the scent of fresh grass and morning dew, a symphony of nature that filled her with a sense of exhilaration. For those brief moments, galloping across the vast prairie, Martina felt truly free. She was the queen of this wild kingdom, her spirit soaring alongside Astra. But as the sun climbed higher, and the familiar silhouette of the Fontana mansion emerged in the distance, the reality of her life crashed back down. Astra let out a loud neigh, as if reminding Martina of their destination. "I know, Astra... I know," Martina sighed, her voice laced with a touch of melancholy. She dismounted, the weight of her reality settling upon her shoulders. She was back in the palace, back to being "The Second Princess," the "Spare" of the Fontana family. Just as she was about to lead Astra back to her stable, a frantic voice pierced the morning calm. Italy, her assistant, came rushing towards her, her face etched with worry. "Senorita Martina! I've been looking everywhere for you!" she exclaimed, breathlessly. "What's the matter, Italy? Why are you so flustered? I just went for a ride with Astra..." Martina replied, her brow furrowed with confusion. "You must have forgotten! It's a special day today! Senorita Matilda---!" Italy began, but Martina cut her off. "How could I forget? Everyone's favorite is finally coming home!" Martina said, her voice laced with a hint of sarcasm. "Everyone loves you too, senorita. Please, don't ever think that your father only favors Senorita Matilda. He loves you equally..." Italy said, her voice sincere. She had been Martina's caretaker since she was a baby, and she ached whenever she saw the young woman so downcast. "Thank you for trying to make me feel better, but I know the truth... Well, since my dear sister is coming, I guess I should be choosing my wardrobe for her welcome party?" Martina said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. The weight of the family rivalry, the constant comparison to her older sister, and the looming pressure of the "Capo Dei Capi" succession weighed heavily on Martina's heart. Even as she reveled in the freedom of the open prairie, the reality of her life within the Fontana family's walls was a constant reminder of the battles she faced... Martina decided to end the conversation about Matilda before it went any further. "Let's just say I'm not in the mood to talk about Matilda, Italy," she said, her voice clipped. She turned to the stable hand who had been watching the exchange with a stoic expression. "Marco, please put Astra back in her stall." As Marco led Astra away, Martina turned back to Italy, a heavy silence settling between them. They walked back towards the palace, the marble floors cool beneath their feet. The place buzzed with activity, a flurry of servants preparing for the grand homecoming celebration. Decorations were being hung in the banquet hall, tables were being polished, and everywhere Martina looked, people were scurrying about, their faces filled with anticipation. A pang of jealousy stabbed at Martina's heart. Everyone was so excited for Matilda's return, her arrival treated like a royal homecoming. As the second daughter, Martina was always relegated to the sidelines, a shadow in the spotlight. As she grew up, it had become increasingly clear that Matilda was destined to be the head of the Fontana Mafia Clan. She was the favorite, the one who always seemed to have their father's approval. Martina often found herself wondering if she was truly their daughter. Maybe she was adopted? Or perhaps her father or mother had a forbidden affair, and she was the result of that secret. She shook her head violently, trying to banish these thoughts. "Are you alright, Senorita?" Italy's voice pulled her back to the present. Martina realized they were already standing in front of her room. "Uhm, yes. I was just thinking what should I wear for today," she lied, feeling a pang of guilt for her earlier outburst. As Italy opened the door, Martina's eyes were drawn to the king-sized bed, draped with an array of expensive silk dresses. "How about trying this one first? Let's see if this color suits you," Italy suggested, carefully holding up a gown of deep emerald green. Martina simply nodded, her mind still swirling with thoughts of her sister's imminent arrival and the weight of her own uncertain future. She stepped into her spacious walk-in closet, the luxurious fabrics and gleaming mirrors offering a temporary escape from the anxieties that plagued her... ============================== After a few hours. The air hung heavy with the scent of cigar smoke and unspoken tension in the opulent, dimly lit room. Fabrizio "Fireball" Fontana, a man whose name instilled both fear and respect throughout the country, sat at the head of a long mahogany table, his gaze sweeping over the assembled men. They were the most powerful Mafia dons in the land, gathered for a momentous occasion: the announcement of the new "Capo Dei Capi," the Boss of all Bosses. Fireball, a man whose fiery temper and ruthless ambition had built him a formidable empire, had finally decided to step down. His retirement, however, was not a simple passing of the torch. It was a contest, a battle for supremacy, a fight for the ultimate power. And the contenders were not seasoned veterans, not hardened criminals who had clawed their way to the top. They were his own daughters: Matilda, the eldest, a woman as cold and calculating as her father, and Martina, the youngest, a woman whose fiery spirit and rebellious streak had always been a source of both pride and concern for Fireball. "My daughters," Fireball began, his voice a low rumble that resonated through the room, "as you all know, I have reached a point in my life where I must step aside. The time has come for a new leader to guide our family, to carry the torch of La Familia into the future." He paused, letting his words sink in, his gaze shifting between his daughters. Matilda sat ramrod straight, her expression impassive, her eyes reflecting a cold ambition that mirrored her father's. Martina, on the other hand, sat with a restless energy, her gaze flitting around the room, her hands fidgeting with a silver locket that hung around her neck.