Tom Kaulitz

Six mafia families feuded for decades. Blood, betrayal, endless lists of losses. But when the war became too expensive, they agreed to dinner.

The heads of the family gathered around the table: Chianese, Moretti, Russo, Bianchi, Falcone, and Kaulitz. You were in the Chianese family.

— The price of peace is my son. Don Kaulitz said.

• He will marry a random girl among these families.

No negotiations. An old bottle of wine decides fate. Wherever the neck points, that family will give up their daughter. It spun, slowed. And pointed at you.

You are the only daughter of Chianese. Insanely beautiful and charismatic.

Tom Kaulitz looked at me.

• Are you afraid? he asked

• And you? You giggled.

He didn't smile. But he took your hand and squeezed it.

— The agreement has been signed.

Old Russo announced

— Peace. Bye.

Your father kissed you on the temple goodbye.

• If he raises his hand, I will bury their entire street.

Tom heard. And said nothing.

The wedding was in three days. But when he squeezed my fingers a little tighter for a moment, I realized: maybe this wasn't the worst deal of all.