15. Christina
Christina
15
The only sound filling the space of the dining room comes from the rain pattering against the half open windows. I glance around the ornate dining room. Some overpriced decorators clearly designed the space. The lush velvet fabrics and carefully curated artwork is a tell-tale sign of poorly spent wealth.
I push the food around my plate. At this point, I’m unsure if I have the appetite to finish it, even if it’s delicious. I glance over at my mom. Her posture mirrors my own, seemingly reflecting my own feelings of uncertainty and loneliness. I don’t know how she’s going to do this.
I guess on the upside, at least I’m not spending dinner alone.
I don’t want to admit it, but without the guys, I’m starting to feel kind of depressed. I don’t know where they went or when they’ll be back. It’s creating this constant sense of dread and I hate it.
I don’t know if I want to sign up for a lifetime of waiting to see if the men I care about return home at the end of the night.
My chest aches, like it so often does now. Maybe I should see a doctor?
My mom looks just as sad.
I’m not even sure I recognize the woman sitting across the table from me. She looks… empty.
Like this house.
Houses like this should be filled with laughter and people who love one another and want to actually live in their home. They aren’t supposed to be used as prisons or as a command center for a small army. They’re for families who go to Disney World and have dinners together and share what’s happened in their days.
I laugh quietly to myself at the thought of Albert or the boys doing any of that.
That will never be us.
And it’s definitely not meant for someone like me.
I sigh. Despite the dryness on my tongue, I try to swallow a forkful of pasta.
The food is good at least.
One of the maids returns to the room to refill our waters and my mother speaks finally, but only to thank her.
I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when she and I truly stopped speaking to each other, but I miss her. Just like I miss my friends.
I miss my Sunday night hangouts. There’s nothing appealing about spending yet another night of worry, all alone, surrounded by bodyguards.
“There’s a charity gala next week,” Mom says, breaking the silence after several minutes.
“Oh,” I say, not bothering to look up from my plate. I’ve taken to sawing at the chicken breast, making the bites into the smallest sizes possible, just to have something to do.
“We’ll attend as a family,” she says, continuing on as if immune to the awkward tension building between us.
Despite living here nearly a week, we’ve never talked about what living here means.
“A family,” I repeat the words, using all my self-control not to burst out in laughter. A family.
What a fucked-up bunch we are.
“I bought you a dress,” she says.
“How considerate,” I say into my plate, refusing to meet her gaze.
“Christina,” she snaps. “You can’t talk to me like that.”
I look up. Her face, which looks so much like mine, crumbles slightly. Her brow is furrowed, and I can’t help but notice that despite the sorrow overtaking her features, her skin and her appearance actually look more beautiful than ever.
Maybe she really is happy with him.
“Please, you can’t stay mad at me,” she continues. Her lower lip trembles slightly.
“Sure, I can,” I say, refusing to back down or show weakness. “You’ve upended my entire life and brought me here against my will and now my future is being taken away from me.”
“But you don’t understand,” she says, her voice pleading.
“Oh, please,” I spit out. “Explain it to me then.”
“I… I—” she stutters.
“That’s what I thought,” I say beneath my breath, desperate to hold onto my own anger. Anger, I am comfortable with. It’s whatever simmers beneath that I want to avoid.
She slams her silverware down, the sound jarring in the quiet room.
“You can’t talk to me like that. I’m still your mother.”
“I’m sorry. I am. All these rules are new to me, you’ll forgive me if I don’t get everything right.”
“Christina.”
It’s a low blow, and I know it.
“Tell me I’m wrong, then.” I cross my arms against my chest, the tension between us thickening with every passing second.
“Go ahead. Tell me I’m wrong.” My voice is loud but not as loud as I’d like it to be. Anger shakes through my body.
Nico and Enzo and I are something. I don’t know what, exactly – but we’re growing into it. I like them. I actively want to be around them. I love what they do to me.
And Albert? I can tolerate him well enough. He’s kind of goofy when he’s not being scary.
But it’s hard to forgive what my mother has done to us. What she has knowingly done to us.
She shakes her head, unshed emotions contorting her features.
“Christina…” Tears gloss over her brown eyes. Eyes that used to remind me so much of my own.
Now, it’s difficult to even look at her.
“Please—”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Don’t.” I push back from the table. “Save your breath. I don’t want to listen to whatever lies you have for me next.”
I thought I wanted this conversation. I’d ached to have it. But now? I can’t hear it. I can’t actually hear the words that she has come up with to justify this.
“Wait,” she says, standing as if she might come after me.
I pause, torn between the desire to run over and hug her and the urge to run away.
“I love him.” Her face crumbles before me.
I wipe my own tears away with the back of my hand. Does that make this all okay? Does that make any of this worth it? Is he worth more than I am?
I shake my head. “I’m happy for you, Mom,” I say softly, “But I don’t know if that’s enough.”
The tears spill over now, hard and fast. She’s quick to brush them away from her cheeks with the back of her hand but it’s not fast enough to keep them away.
“I hope you never have to understand what you might do for love,” she says. The words ring heavy in the space between us. The despair on her face dissolves any resolve I have to be mad.
“I can’t do this,” I say, breaking a little. I swallow down my own emotion. “I can’t. Not right now.”
As I walk away, the weight of my mother’s words hangs on my heart. I feel guilty walking away from her but not enough to stop.
Love, loyalty, and sacrifice, are all things required for a life in a Mafia family. Am I willing to endure those requirements for the sake of those I care about?
As I round the stairs, I’m really not sure of the answer.
I retreat to the solitude of my room, the rain outside a small comfort to the storm raging within me.