For God's sake, who the hell ever invented high heels? And who got the bloody idea to make them even thinner and taller? It would be more comfortable to walk on actual stiletto's as shoes. And panty hoses: who got the idea to make nylon pants which can't even stay in one piece for more than … A day? An hour? How long do those things last?

Why do I have to wear these things again? I know it's Natalia's wedding, but would it really mean the end of the world if I wore something that wasn't a dress? Well, no matter how good the argument, it's not like mother would listen. That woman would make me wear a skirt even if it meant the death of me.

What else did she say about today? Probably the usual: act like a lady, be mature, watch your language, more stuff like that. Public appearance is everything with these people. No wonder she rarely lets me attend social gatherings. Not that I try to be this perfect daughter she has in mind anyway.

The car pulled up into the driveway of a way to extravagant mansion with an elaborate garden to match. Some people could only dream of holding their wedding here. Guess my sister got lucky. Although belonging to a mob family does wonders for, well not just wonders, but it shapes and influences one's whole life, from the day one is born to long after one's six feet under.

I nodded to the driver as I got out of the car. Still can't believe I had to arrive here as a normal guest. Every other female relative got invited to help Natalia with pretty much everything. Not that I would do much good helping, it's not like I have any substantial experience or talent in the make-up or fashion department or anything of the like. But it would be at least polite to have been offered a part in this whole charade anyway.

I cursed the gravel stone path to the entrance to the mansion, since the only thing worse than wearing heels is having to wear them while walking on a shifting unpredictable surface. Somehow I managed to make it inside without falling. The inside of the mansion was predictable: antique décor, expensive looking decorations, and as a wedding exclusive ever inch of surface had been used to place glasses of wine, champagne, bottles containing said drinks or other liquors and if there was not liquid placed on the tables, it was food, small appetisers or anything else remotely bite sized.

Voices came from further inside. It seemed there were already a few early guests on the scene and since there was no way nobody noticed the sharp sound of heels clicking on the marble floor – although it might just be expensive tiles – I had to go over there and pretend to be happy to see people I barely recognised.

"And there is our Max!" My mother walked up to me. In short the typical mobster wife: acts important, dresses too revealing for her age and don't forget the too red lipstick. And, although 'Max' is indeed my complete given name, my mother resorts to calling me Max only if the circumstances demand it; at home I am constantly named Maxime. But this means that either my father or grandmother are here, which they cannot possibly be – they're both diseased – or someone very important is present.

Looking around the room I could see my brother and his wife, a number of aunts and uncles along with with cousins, nieces and nephews. My oldest sister wasn't there, which was expected. The rest of the room was filled with vague acquaintances with one exception. By the window overlooking the garden stood a tall man, dressed in an Italian black suit, with long silver hair. It was a matter of simple deduction to reach the conclusion that this man must be this important person in the room.

Mother pulled me aside slightly. "That man is from the Vongola family." The Mongolia family, if someone hasn't heard of them, they're either far removed from the world of wise guys and made men or just plan ignorant. After that my mother simply continued her ways, probably returning to see if Natalia's dress up game was going according to plan. What she said was meant as a warning: don't do anything to rub this man the wrong way. Freely translated as: Max, just act like a good girl.

My brother, one of the last persons alive to treat me as a human being rather than some kind of doll, waved his hand at me. At least I had an excuse to talk to him without having to greet every individual personally first.

"Max!" He began before I could even start, "How are you? Those pastel colours look great on you." He looked carefully at the dress I was wearing. A 'cute' dress in lavender with light blue details.

I rolled my eyes, he knew how I felt about all these … girly things. "I'm doing alright. What about you? Everything good with the family?"

He chuckled. "I'm fine, just fine. Collin's a delight, but we left him at home with the nanny. We thought it'd be more convenient for everybody else to nit bring him." I nodded and he continued: "You have to visit soon though. Your nephew misses his aunt." He nudged me in the side with his elbow and it was my time to chuckle. All the while my sister-in-law sat next to him, softly smiling all the while.

She was a sweet, quiet woman, always forget her name though. When my brother was younger he never dated girl like her. It's easier to picture him picking on girls like that. But around five years ago he took exactly that kind of girl home to meet the parents. Father took a liking to her almost immediately. He didn't like the idea of dragging an innocent woman into the world of the mafia though. They got married around three years ago and shortly thereafter they were expecting. And now I'm aunt Max. Jeez, that makes me sound old.

I told my brother that I was going to walk to the place the ceremony was going to be held. So I went. Everything was set up in the middle of the flower garden right on top of the grass. Between the seats, on which a couple of people had already taken place, a pink carpet had been rolled out, obviously the choice of my mother. It went well with pink roses that decorated the arch under which my sister was to be wed. Everything was broken white and pink, that covers it.

The ceremony itself was in no way exceptional. Natalia looked gorgeous in her dress but made us wait for half an hour, as it appears is a tradition of some sort almost. The whole vows thing took longer than necessary. During all this I took a look around and noticed the man with the long hair standing off to the side. He wasn't sitting on a chair so he was not an invited guest. Otherwise there would have been a seat reserved for him.

His presence bothered me a little bit. He barged in her uninvited and unannounced. He wasn't talking to any of the other guests. There had to be a reason why he was here. Why go through the trouble to show up when he has no business here? But when people started to get up from their seat, it became more important to stay on my legs than anything else. Dwelling on strangers over not breaking any freaking bones? Yeah not going to happen.

The plan was that the bride and groom would have some wedding pictures taken before dinner was served. This meant that for everyone but the the bride, the groom and the wedding photographer there was a gap of somewhat around an hour or two in between the scheduled gatherings. This was of course the time used by guests to catch up with one another. This wasn't something I looked very forward too, so I tried to occupy myself by walking a few rounds through the garden. Halfway trough the first round I already concluded that this decision wasn't a good one, since my feet already hurt after the first ten steps I took.

In the end I found a couple of chairs around a table no one was occupying yet, thankfully. I sat down and started to take off my heels. I would have to put them back on when I needed to move from my spot, but it seemed to me that that wouldn't immediately be necessary. The people around me were occupied with talking to each other. The men were most likely talking business if they weren't simply making polite small talk. The women acted nice to one another but gossiped about everybody the moment they were out of earshot. The children played with each other in the garden, free of any cares. I had passed the age were it was fun to play with the children, neither did I feel the need to partake in the charade the other women used to kill their time.

Somewhere through my musings I heard footsteps behind me. Gravel stone does wonders for not being able to move around silently. They held still, so I suppose someone else didn't want to deal with others. I waited for a moment but when I couldn't hear any other form of movement, I looked over my shoulder.

I saw who I expected to see. The longhaired man was standing a couple of yards away, his eyes focused on me. When I continued to meet his gaze he set a few steps forward. He walked confidently, with the sort of pride only very few can make a claim to.

"You are Max, right?" He spoke without the uncertainty most people have in their voice when they say my name. There are not that many girls with boy's names on this planet after all. I nodded once in return. He reached into the pocket of his suit jacket. I tensed up. There was no direct reason why someone would order another person to put a bullet through my brain. This does not mean there are no reasons to think of, revenge and payback are strange things when put into motion.

He pulled out an envelope and held it out in front me. I chide myself for thinking a hit man would be foolish enough to simply shoot his victim at such a big social event as a wedding. It's not unheard of, but a rare thing to happen. I stared at the envelope for a while. I could see my name written on it. Graceful calligraphy in ink. A fountain pen most likely, unless someone bothered with an inkwell and a quill.

I looked up at the man. "Who are you?"

The man looked rather irritated. Wonder if it was because I didn't take the envelope right away or because I asked who he was?

"Squalo Superbi." I kept looking at him until he continued. "Second in command of the Varia assassination squad." So he is an assassin after all. The Varia … they're allied or something with the Vongola so his story checks out. It's either true or he simply hasn't slipped up yet.

"And why would someone use someone as important as you as a delivery guy?" Mother's not anywhere near here so why bother being the sweet polite princess?

"I was told to deliver it personally to you. By the Ninth." He was getting more irritated. Note to self: Don't anger the assassin. Even if it's fun.

I took the envelope from this Superbi. A normal envelope all right, made of slightly coarser and heavier paper than the average one though. Someone made a point of being fancy. It had to be pretty important if it had to be handed to me in person by this walking shampoo commercial. So I opened it.

At first glance there was nothing wrong with it. Inside was one sheet of paper, the same kind that the envelope was made of. The writing was in the same manner as on the envelope. What bothered me was what was in the letter. About the only thing right about the whole letter was my name. No 'Maxime' or any other possible variation of 'Max,' just 'Max.' The letter stated something about meeting me personally after having thought over the possible position of fiancée and possible wife of some mobster as proposed by …

"Mother." As obvious as the sky is blue. I started putting on my heels again. There was no way this would turn out to be a civilized conversation or that I would be able to hold it in until the end of this wedding, which only left one possible option.

I have no idea if that man bothered to stick around to watch me open the letter and leave. Doesn't matter anyhow. At that moment all I wanted was to get far away from that place.