The Lottery of Fate

Every Christmas Eve, the heir of the Marco mafia family—Adrian Marco, must follow the family tradition:

Draw a name to decide whether he’s allowed to marry me.

Because I, Irene Cast, am not mafia-born.

Unless he draws the slip with my name on it, he can’t take me as his wife.

For four years, Adrian has drawn four times.

And not once did he draw my name.

I always thought he fought with his family because of me—

that he was willing to risk losing his position as the Don, just to choose me.

Every time he failed, he held me so tightly and whispered,

“It’s okay. There’s always next year.”

And I loved him so much it hurt.

Hurt enough that I was willing to wait, year after year.

This year, I told myself:

If he still doesn’t draw my name…

I’ll secretly switch the result.

I sneaked to the door of Adrian’s study, and heard his younger brother ask:

“Don… every year you do draw Irene's name. Why do you pretend you didn’t? Is it because you still can’t let Sera go?”

But he simply said, in a flat voice,

“Sera needs me for something urgent.

Do what you always do: swap Irene’s name for a blank one.”

He walked out without looking back.

Instead of swapping, he tossed the blank slip into the trash,

left the one with my name on the table, and hurried after Adrian.

I went inside, picked up the blank slip from the trash, and replaced the one with my name.

Watching my own name fall into the garbage.

Adrian…I don’t want to wait and marry you anymore.

I’ll grant you your choice.

Adrian came back from seeing Sera and found me waiting for him in the living room.

He shrugged off his coat, pulled me straight into his arms, his voice low and aching:

“Waiting this early for the results? My principessa.”

The butler brought over the slip he’d drawn.

And just like every year, Adrian held it with that same careful, heart-aching tenderness, ready to open it for me.

I stared at him in a daze.

All these years, I thought the disappointment in his voice, every time he said “I didn’t draw it”, was real.

I never imagined it was all a performance.

He cupped my face in both hands.

“No matter what it says, my love for you doesn’t change. You know that, right?”

I gave him a smile, soundless, strengthless.

The butler opened the slip.

A blank one.

Exactly the one I had put there.

And I stayed perfectly calm.

Adrian’s brows drew together.

He noticed something was wrong—noticed how I wasn’t reacting like every other year,

not crying, not breaking down, not begging him to hold me.

He tried carefully, almost gently:

“Irene? Why are you so quiet this year?”

He brushed his fingers through my hair.

“We’ll get it next year. If I don’t draw your name, I’m not marrying anyone else.”

I tugged at the corner of my lips.

“There’s no need. Not anymore.

You… should just follow the family’s plan and marry Sera.”

Adrian froze.

His expression darkened, bit by bit.

“Irene… you really don’t trust me?”

“My principessa,” he murmured, gentle but firm,

“yes, the elders keep saying marrying a Moretti heiress would secure my position.

They’re terrified Sera might marry the Detroit heir and make my position collapse overnight.”

He let out a quiet, almost helpless laugh.

“That’s exactly why none of them could ever be the Don.”

His thumb brushed my cheek as he spoke, voice low, calm, and absolutely certain:

“Power isn’t built by who I marry.

It’s built by the casinos I own, the ports that run under my name, and the money I move—enough that even the Feds think twice before knocking.”

He sighed, reaching for me.

“I only love you. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to marry.

Why do you think I fight them every year?”

I stepped away from his hands without making a sound.

Then I asked quietly, “You never felt guilty toward Sera, did you?”

Adrian stopped.

Then let out a soft, helpless laugh.

“Of course not. Love can’t be forced.”

“I’ll admit it, she has sacrificed a lot for me.

Born a Moretti heiress, yet she stayed by my side as nothing more than my assistant.”

“One time she got drunk, clung to me, crying… saying my wedding day would be the darkest day of her life.”

“But she and I both know the truth. She knows I don’t love her.

She knows I only love you.”

“All I can say is… maybe the reason I haven’t drawn your name all these years is... God’s will.”

My chest went cold.

And suddenly I understood.

This was why he agreed to that stupid “draw-a-name-and-marry-her” rule.

If he drew my name, he’d have to marry me—

and everyone would think he was breaking the families’ agreement.

Trouble. Pressure. Questions he didn’t want.

But if my name never showed up…

he could keep me, but never have to put a ring on my finger,

never risk his position as Don.

My four years of waiting weren’t loyalty.

They were his way of smoothing things over with Sera,

and keeping his title as the Great Lakes Don steady.

He’d already cut me out in his head, already used me where it benefitted him—

and still had the nerve to look at me like he was the one who loved deepest.

When we had just started dating, Sera was forced to put her engagement with him on hold because of me..

At a banquet, people pointed at her, mocking her for being cast aside by Adrian.

I stood at the end of the hall, watching her surrounded, pale, clutching her glass.

And Adrian?

He gave her nothing more than a chilly glance, then closed his hand around mine and pulled me away.

Back then, I thought that was devotion.

Thought he was choosing me with unwavering resolve.

All those soft “My principessa” had felt like love.

But now it’s painfully clear:

If he married Sera, he’d lose me.

If he married me, he might lose his title.

So he chose to marry neither—

and disguised it as “God’s choice” through that draw,

so he wouldn’t have to lose anything at all.

Christmas had always been my personal day of suffering,

but this year…

this year is the worst.

And yet—

as much as it hurts, at least I finally see the truth.

And I’m done staying trapped in this.

I slipped into an empty corner, pulled out my phone, and dialed my mother.

“What was the draw result this year? ” she asked, her voice full of concern.

“Can you two get married? ”

“Mom… I’m coming home.

I’ll go through with the engagement you and Dad arranged.”