Chapter 2 – Gabriella
Relief rushed through my veins as I cracked the back door.
The homey scene helped ground me after the terrifying run through the dark.
I swore he’d chased me, but every time I risked a look over my shoulder, there was no sign of the masked devil.
And now I was back. Safe and sound, saints be praised.
The sight of the old woman standing beside the dryer made me want to sob with joy. The feeling of being hunted fell away, and I stepped into the laundry room where the scent of detergent and softener welcomed me. I survived a brush with death, and I would live to fight another day.
Cesca paused while folding the stack of pink sheets—too many. A fluffy reminder that there was no son to make our father proud, and we were all destined to be disappointments.
And I was the worst.
“Home early. Everything okay?” The woman, who played the role of housekeeper, lady’s maid, and nanny looked over at me. “Mama mia! Is that blood?”
“Merda!” I lifted my hands to cover my face. “It’s not mine!”
Muttering curses, Cesca snatched a clean rag from the bin under the utility sink, wet it, and handed it over. “Do you want to tell me whose it is?”
“No.”
Soft brown eyes studied me, seeing more than I ever told her. “You’re home early. What is going on, cara mia?”
I scrubbed at my cheeks until they prickled. Might as well tell her something. She wouldn’t stop pestering me until I did. Since I didn’t dare tell her about my encounter with my fiancé, I opted for a blanket statement and broke the news with: “Papa and Signor Morelli have found a husband for me.”
Dio, just saying it sounded ridiculous! Like something out of a bad movie with girls in corsets. Yet that was the mob. Unevolved. I mentally touched the dollar bills I’d hidden in my bra, reassuring myself that it wouldn’t always be like this.
“Oh, saints be praised!” Cesca murmured, clasping her hands. “A good man? Yes? The don wouldn’t hand you over to just anyone. Oh, this is wonderful.”
“It is,” I said tightly.
Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Does it have to do with the blood?”
“No!” I breathed. “That was…an accident.”
Cesca hummed. “Well, if you don’t want to talk about that, fine. We’ll focus on the good news. Finally married—ah! You’re getting old, Gabby.”
I balked. “I am not!”
A weathered finger reached out and caressed my cheek near my eye. “Time to use night cream, cara.”
This woman was something else entirely. I came home bloody, and she was instantly able to distract me.
“I do not need night cream,” I protested, but laughter bubbled up a moment later.
Cesca pulled me into her arms for a hug. She barely came up to my boobs. I might have inches on her, but I felt like I was six again with a skinned knee. Nothing was going to hurt me so long as this woman hugged me.
“Francesca,” my mother called. She sailed into the mud room, glancing over the still unfolded laundry, and then saw us. “What’s this?”
I stiffened, hiding the dirty rag at my side.
“Oh, Gabby came home early.” Cesca pulled away and resumed her work. That was the thing about the grandmotherly figure, she always knew when to speak and what to say.
Mama bounced my youngest sibling on her hip. Cherry-red cheeks said that Baby Carolina was teething. I plucked the baby from my mother and nuzzled her. Molars were a nasty business.
Mama swiped an elegant hand through her hair. “Your father is home. I was going to send Francesca in with his evening coffee, but since you’re here, you can take it to him, Gabriella. He said he wanted to speak with you after your shift.”
I tried not to fidget.
“Did….” Mama hesitated. “Did something happen?”
There was no blood on my face. She would never know how close I’d danced with death tonight. As a wife to the capo, she refused to acknowledge the uglier parts of the crime business. Her ability to compartmentalize and exist solely as a stressed-out, upper-middle class housewife was astounding.
“You’ll have to ask Papa. It’s not my news to share,” I hedged, not wanting to get into the events of the evening with her. She’d weep with joy. Hell, she’d probably start measuring me for a wedding dress. And I desperately wanted to escape to my room.
But first…. I went to the kitchen and waited by the tray with a plate of biscotti already placed next to the saucer. The espresso brewed too quickly for my liking. The moment Mama set it down and took Carolina from me, there was no more excuse.
I didn’t dawdle. Papa was grouchy the best of times, and when he had to wait for something, saints have mercy.
Balancing the tray with ease, I rapped my knuckles on the study door.
“Enter.”
I braced myself and ventured into his sanctum.
A recliner was parked next to a side table where he’d thrown his computer bag.
A coffee ring was dark against the red-stained cherry wood.
Scratch pads, notebooks, and a cup of pencils rested on the shelf under the coffee table, where a second coffee ring rested.
That was his workspace. On the other side of the room, next to a metal filing cabinet, there was a small writing desk and a simple wooden chair pushed against the wall.
Both were stacked with folders overflowing with bills and other miscellaneous paper.
A shredder was tucked under the desk, bits of paper making confetti on the forest-green carpet.
I’d never seen him sit at that desk in my twenty-two years.
“Gabriella.” He glanced at the clock, which was surrounded by other paraphernalia on the wall. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”
“The crowds were light, and I wanted to come to pray over the good news.” Pray for deliverance.
He didn’t nod with approval. “I hope you know what an important position this puts you in.”
“I do.” I opened an oak TV tray, set the service tray on it, and turned it so he didn’t have to reach for the miniature cookies. Clasping my hands in front of my stomach, I studied the floor.
“Don’t fuck this up.”
Didn’t he see me shaking? I was still his daughter! He had to know McDonagh’s reputation. The man wore a mask, for crissakes! He’d murdered someone in the abandoned lot like it was nothing. How could Papa be so callous? Liam was called the masked devil for a reason.
The beast might as well have had horns.
But Papa didn’t care.
Because you are his greatest regret.
I was his firstborn child. A girl. He swore I cursed my mother’s womb, because they were only able to conceive a gaggle of sisters after me. And then there was the sin neither of us spoke about, but my father would never let me forget. The one that tarnished me for all eternity.
I swallowed thickly.
Papa moved close. His evening brandy was sticky, clinging to his skin like a shirt. It leaked from his pores. It blew on my face as he leaned in. There was no need to look at the shelf on the wall, where the bottle would still be open next to a glass that hadn’t been washed in ages.
“Did you make any tips tonight?” he demanded.
I tried not to show my hatred as I reached into the pocket of my slacks. “Si, signore.”
His chubby paw swiped the cash. With a lick of his finger, he began to count. “This was all of it?”
The same question every night. “Si, signore.”
He grunted and threw the lump of crinkled bills on the recliner. It was just shy of three hundred. So much money….
I fought the urge to look at it, focusing on keeping the wistful longing from showing in my eyes as I stared into the thick, green carpet.
“You won’t have to work much longer,” he huffed. “Your only concern will be making a good wife.”
My pulse beat double. “Si…signore.”
“You’re getting off easy.” He snorted. “I should have given him Carmela. Found someone who knows how to control a deceitful girl like you.”
At the thought of my next sister being sold, I felt sick. She just turned twenty. But there was nothing I could do to stop it, just as I was powerless to prevent my own nightmare.
“I’m sure McDonagh will beat me regularly,” I muttered. “He’s a cold-blooded killer.”
I didn’t mean to say the last part.
It just…slipped out.
I regretted it instantly as my father lunged for me. Meaty fingers dug into my upper arm. My father shook me hard enough to make my teeth clack before slapping my face. Pain cracked against my skin. The bastard knew just how to hit without leaving a lasting mark.
“I hope he does beat you; it’s what an evil woman like you deserves,” he spat. “Get out.”
He shoved me toward the door. I tripped over my feet, hustling to escape. Celeste, Pia, and Daniella raced down the hall. I reared back so as not to collide with the little things. They were all under eight years old, and their pink- and white- striped pajamas painted the picture of pure innocence.
“It’s Gabby!” Pia exclaimed.
They looked at me, eyes wide with excitement. We didn’t see much of each other since I became the manager at the restaurant. And then there was the stint where I “studied abroad.”
As one, they skidded to a stop, eager and ready to tell me about their day. But then they saw something through the open office door. They instantly stilled, dropped their gazes to the floor.
At least he doesn’t hit them…yet.
“Buona sera, Papa,” they chimed as one.
“Buona sera, ragazze. Prego!” Papa opened the study door. “Come have a cookie and tell your papa about your day.”
There was a fine line between the military respect he demanded of everyone else—and whatever the hell I endured.
From the haggard, haunted look my mother wore, she’d tasted the brutal side of my father I was most familiar with.
I’d never seen him lay a hand on her, but I had ears.
The harsh whispers jabbed her in private.
The makeup she spent a small fortune on was top brand.
My nine sisters just had a healthy fear for their great and powerful papa, who did very important work in the city.
Someday, they would see past Mama’s artistically painted face as well.