Chapter Sixteen – Lunetta
The moment we step out of the car, I feel like I’ve stepped into another world entirely. Just when I needed to cling to my rosary, the maid said I couldn’t wear it with my dress.
Vieri’s arm is linked with mine, his fingers pressed just enough against my wrist to remind me I’m not free. That this is a performance. That I belong to him—for now.
We walk toward the sprawling lawn, where elegant tables fan out beneath glowing chandeliers strung from wrought-iron hooks.
Behind us, his brothers follow. I hear the faint scuff of shoes over grass, the occasional low murmur between them.
My heartbeat drums beneath my ribs.
We approach the grand entrance, and my gaze shifts upward. The mansion looming before us is just as big as Vieri’s. Columns, balconies, flowers climbing up trellises. People in gowns and tuxedos sip champagne, their laughter floating.
At the door, the old man from the mansion—the one who smiled too much—steps forward.
He and Vieri exchange an overly polite greeting, same with his brothers.
“Uncle Bellandi,” Vieri says, his voice as easy as a knife sliding through butter. “Sorry I didn’t do this earlier. Meet my girlfriend—Lunetta.”
Girlfriend.
The old man lifts his eyebrows and offers his hand with a tilt of his head, amused. “You move quick boy,” the man says. Then he turns to me. “I believe we’ve met, haven’t we?”
I manage to nod, ignoring the tight pinch behind my eyes. My fingers curl into his palm. “It’s an honor, sir.”
He studies me for half a second longer than I’d like, then turns to Vieri with a chuckle. “Come, the families are waiting.”
We enter the heart of the event. Vieri keeps me close—his fingers wrapping just slightly around my arm, as if he senses I might float away if given the chance.
He moves through the crowd with sharp confidence, stopping to exchange words with powerful-looking men, all of them dressed to kill. Literally, maybe. Their faces blur together—sharp jaws, narrow eyes, smiles that don’t touch their mouths.
I smile too. I don’t know who I’m smiling at. I just keep smiling.
Inside my head, I pray.
Madre Celeste, fammi forte. Fammi saggia. Fammi invisibile se devo essere invisibile. Please, God. Let me make it through this night.
A man appears with a woman who is his opposite in every way—tall, slim, her hair pinned in a knot so severe it pulls her forehead taut.
“Lapo,” Vieri says with a smile that feels alien on his face. “Just the man I was looking for.”
His uncle chuckles. “I’ll leave you to talk, I’ll be with you in a minute.”
The old man walks off, signaling to a man dressed in guard uniform.
Vieri leans down, takes the woman’s hand, and kisses it. “You’re looking stunning tonight,” he says, tone sugar-slick.
Lapo chuckles and starts talking, already full of himself. I tune out his words, because Lapo’s wife is watching me. Closely. Her gaze slides down my frame like I’m a product she doesn’t want.
“Aren’t you a chubby one,” she says lightly. “Vieri, I didn’t know you liked them like this.”
Her words pierce, soft and sharp like a thorn hidden in silk.
Heat creeps up my neck, spreading across my cheeks.
I don’t look at anyone else, but I feel the tension behind me. Enzo’s discomfort is like a breath held in. Riccardo’s poorly suppressed laugh. Vieri’s grip stiffens as he answers.
“Not everyone wants skin and bones, you know.”
The laughter around us is quiet and awkward, as if no one really knows how to respond. I keep my eyes down, the smile frozen on my face like porcelain.
Then the woman’s voice returns. “While the boys talk,” she says with a smooth smile, “let’s get some wine.”
I glance up at Vieri.
He nods and leans in, pressing his lips to my chin.
My body jerks.
“You know how to act,” he murmurs.
His mouth is warm. His breath sends goosebumps down my spine. I can’t move, so I smile the best I can, then turn and follow the woman into the crowd.
We reach the drinks table, and everything changes.
The brightness in her face dissolves. Her lips tighten into a grin that no longer pretends to be friendly.
She picks up a glass, sips, and tilts her head toward me. “How did you do it?”
I fumble with the wine glass, gripping it with unsure fingers. I’ve never held one. I’ve never even tasted wine.
“How did I do what?” I ask softly.
“Get a man like Vieri,” she says, her voice low and dry.
I use the lie again. The one about the café. About him being kind.
She hums. Laughs. “You’re comfortable knowing what he is? How violent he can be?”
I hold her gaze even as something tightens in my chest. “We all have our flaws,” I whisper.
Her eyes sparkle with something mean. “Just giving you a heads-up, sweetheart. Men like Vieri—especially men in the families—don't settle. They take. Then they move on. Usually to women with better connections. You might just be his little game.”
I nod slowly. Because I don’t know what else to do.
I take a tiny sip of wine. It’s bitter. My throat closes around it.
She smiles wide again, her tone bright. “Well, we don’t want the boys to worry. Let’s go back.”
I walk beside her. My steps are steady, but my heart isn’t. My skin itches beneath the dress. My thoughts start to spiral.
I picture Vieri smiling at another woman. Touching her. Kissing her. Whispering things into her ear the way he whispered to me.
Something inside my chest twists.
And I don’t know what to call it.
Lapo is chuckling beside Vieri, his red face animated with whatever story he’s telling.
As we near the edge of the group, I feel someone step beside me.
“Are you okay?” Enzo whispers, his voice barely louder than the hum of the party.
I nod, curling my fingers tighter around Vieri’s arm. “I am,” I whisper back, though my heart’s hammering so loudly I’m sure he can hear it.
Almost immediately, a waiter crashes into me. Liquid runs down the front of my dress, soaking through the thin fabric and into my skin. I gasp softly, my hand flying instinctively to cover the wet spot.
Around us, the crowd stirs.
“Are you alright?” Vieri’s voice slices through the noise. He’s already turned around, eyes narrowing as they scan me. Concern—forced or not—I can’t tell. But it’s there, in his face, in the twitch of his jaw as he sizes up the waiter who is cowering and apologizing.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, glancing at Enzo whose brows are drawn together, sympathy in his eyes. “Can I go clean up?”
Vieri hesitates. His eyes flash—I hold my breath, waiting for him to say no. But instead, he looks over my shoulder.
“Alfio,” he says, his voice cool. “Take her.”
Alfio nods once and gestures for me to follow.
I walk with Alfio. My heels tap unevenly against the marble as we move into the corridor. My heart beats faster with every step, not from fear—but hope.
The bathroom is large—larger than any room I’ve ever slept in. The lights are soft above a gold-framed mirror. White marble tiles stretch from wall to wall, polished and cold beneath my feet. Alfio lingers outside, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Inside, I turn to the mirror.
My reflection meets me—a face that looks too grown—and my dress, stained and sticking to my curves. My arms look too full, my chest even fuller beneath the cling of the wet fabric.
I sigh.
A stack of soft towels sits beside the sink. I grab one, folding it against my chest and pressing it there, the cold fabric biting into my skin.
And then I see it. A door.
At the far end of the bathroom. Painted white to blend into the wall, but unmistakable. A small silver handle gleams beneath the light.
My throat tightens. Is it real? Could it...?
I inch toward it, my bare feet silent on the tiles. My hands tremble as I turn the latch. It clicks. My heart stutters.
“Everything alright?” Alfio’s voice floats through the half-open bathroom door.
I force my voice steady. “Yes. Almost out.”
My fingers close around the handle. I crack it open. A whisper of night air brushes against my cheek.
The door leads outside.
I slip my heels off silently and tuck them under my arm. My bare feet touch damp grass as I push the door wider and step out. The sound of music fades behind me.
I crouch and move across the lawn, the grass tickling my legs as I pass under the soft glow of a garden lantern. There—up ahead—a wall. High. Covered in ivy and shadows.
I reach it, breathless, the soles of my feet aching from the cold stone beneath them. I look down at my long, wet dress. I can’t climb like this.
I bite down hard and yank the fabric, ripping it with all the strength I can muster. It tears jaggedly, the sound of it ripping like thunder. I hike the dress up past my knees, tying the fabric loosely at my thigh.
Bea taught me how to climb. Years ago. At school. We used to sneak out over the back gate to get hot bread from the little bakery before morning mass. I remember her laughing, egging me on.
I grab the lowest ledge, fingers slipping. I fall back onto the grass.
I try again desperately, asking the angels to help me.
I bite back a cry as I hit the ground again, the wind knocked out of me. My elbows are scraped now, my palms raw.
Once more. I grit my teeth. Wrap my fingers tight.
This time, I get higher. My knees push against the stone, my thighs straining. One more stretch, then it becomes easy.
I hold on to holes and cracks, pushing myself up, testing the ivy with my weight before I climb on to it. I get to the top, panting and covered in sweat.
“What the hell?” a voice barks behind me. “Che diavolo fai?! How did you even get up there?!”
It’s Alfio running towards me and pressing his phone desperately.
I can’t stop now. I increase my pace as he begins to climb behind me, cursing.
I swing my leg over the edge and he shouts again. My dress snags. I tug hard, and I jump.
The ground hits me hard.
Everything explodes—pain in my back, stars in my eyes, the world turning.
When I open my eyes, the sky above me is too far and my lungs can’t catch enough air. My arm screams in protest when I move it, and my ankle throbs.
But I’m alive.
I push myself up, vision spinning. My hair’s in my eyes, my skin wet with grass and something hot trickling down my leg—blood?
No time.
I drag myself up to my knees, body trembling. The wall towers behind me.
My feet slap against the cold dirt, the sharp sting of pebbles biting into my soles. There’s a warm wetness seeping down my shin where the fall tore my skin, and each step sends a jolt of pain up my leg. My breath comes out ragged, loud in the quiet of the night. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know if anyone’s looking for me.
All I know is that I have to run.
But I don’t make it far.
Rough hands grab me from behind, thick fingers clamping hard around my arms. I scream, but it’s swallowed by the woods around me. My body jerks back and I slam into something soft but unyielding—a wide chest. The stench of sweat and old tobacco hits me like a slap.
“Well, what do we have here?” a voice rasps near my ear, low and amused.
“Looks like a stray,” another voice says, higher-pitched, snake-like. I twist toward it and see a man—tall and thin, his cheekbones sharp, his eyes gleaming with something cold. Beside him, the man holding me is massive—round and greasy, his breath thick with garlic and beer.
“I—I’m from the party,” I manage to whisper, my voice shaking. “Please—I’m with the Tavano family. I was just trying to—”
They laugh. “The Tavano family?” the thin one mocks, stepping closer. “What are you, some party favor they left behind?”
“Or a cheap little hooker,” the fat one snorts, yanking me forward and shoving me hard to the ground.
The impact knocks the breath from me. My knees scrape against the gravel, and pain shoots up my thigh. I try to push myself up, but a boot presses down on my back.
“No!” I cry out, my voice cracking.
“Shut up,” the fat man grunts, and I hear the unmistakable sound of a zipper coming down.
Terror floods my chest like ice water. My body goes rigid.
Please. No. God please.
I open my mouth to scream—
A sharp whistle cuts through the night.
Everything stops.
The pressure on my back disappears. The two men jolt upright like startled dogs, cursing. One grabs me by the hair and drags me roughly toward the bushes. He shoves me into the brush, and twigs scrape across my face as I tumble into the thorns.
“Don’t make a sound,” the skinny one hisses. “Or we’ll put a bullet through your pretty little head.”
I clutch my chest, too stunned to cry, barely able to breathe. My heart is pounding so hard it aches.
I hear footsteps and then a new voice.
“Is it done?”
“Yes, sir,” the fat one says quickly. “The car’s rigged. Motion sensor’s set. First sign of movement and boom.”
“Good.” The voice is sharp, commanding. “Because if this backfires, Bellandi will have your guts strung across the lawn. And the Tavanos will feed what’s left to the dogs.”
There’s nervous laughter. “It’s perfect,” the thin one says. “The Tavanos won’t even know what hit them. They’ll all be in hell by midnight.”
My mouth dries. I press my shaking fingers to my lips to keep from sobbing.
The man gives a final warning, and then his footsteps fade.
The two return. I hear them, crunching through the grass like hunters. One of them chuckles.
“Now, where were we?”
“She’s got a mouth on her. Bet she’s got other tricks too.”
I look around, desperate. My hands claw the ground and brush something hard and cold—a jagged rock, heavy and sharp.
I close my eyes, and my lips begin to move in prayer.
“Santa Madre… Blessed Mother… If it is Your will that I die like this, defiled and far from home, then let it be done. But if it’s not… then please—please give me strength.”
The men call for me again, laughing.
“Come on, sweetheart. Don’t be shy.”
I rise slowly from the bush, blood on my knees, thorns in my skin. My fingers curl tighter around the rock.
“I’ll be quick,” the fat one grins, stepping forward.
I let out a scream and swing.
The rock crashes into his face with a sickening crunch. His head snaps back, blood spraying across my arms, hot and sticky. He howls, stumbling back, clutching his face.
“Fucking bitch!”
The skinny one lunges. His boot collides with my wrist, knocking the rock free. He tackles me to the ground and his hands find my throat.
I kick. Claw. I can’t breathe. His grip tightens, and my vision begins to fade.
No. No, not like this.
My hand fumbles against the ground—and finds a glass shard.
I grip it and scream as I jam the shard into his face.
He shrieks and jerks off me, blood pouring from the gash across his cheek. I scramble backward, sobbing, choking on air. His body collapses beside his friend’s.
Both are groaning. Bleeding.
I sit there for a long moment, frozen, staring at my shaking hands.
They’re soaked in red.
My knees buckle as I rise. I stagger, limbs trembling. My chest heaves with broken breaths. I look down at the men again, then back at my hands.
And I break into sobs.