Chapter Fourteen
Vida
“V ee!” Carmela calls excitedly as I enter my room.
“Look who’s back,” I joke, wrapping my arms around her.
“I’ve missed you too! I’m sorry I couldn’t go with you to the airport and say my goodbyes,” she apologizes.
“It’s okay, they didn’t mind. How’s Matteo?”
“Father is fine, he’ll be staying in the house closer to the hospital for now. He needs rest and after tonight, it’s back to work mode around here,” she explains.
“What is work for you . . .” I pause, not sure what to call the people who work in a mafia, and hoping my words don’t come off as offensive.
“You people?” Carmela laughs. Too late! “It’s okay, Vee, I know what people say about my family and I know you’re dying to know.”
“So what is it you do?” I ask with a smile, relieved she’s not upset with me for asking.
“A lot. You’ll find out soon enough, but for most people, we run casinos, hotels, bars, shipping, and whatnot,” she says as she shrugs, like she’d just said something normal and not something that has my head spinning slightly.
“And to other people?” I continue, wondering how dark she may be about to get.
“Like I said, you’ll know soon enough. So, where are you getting your tattoo?” she asks, changing the subject.
I have so many questions, but Carmela is right, I’ll find out soon enough. I’m stuck here now, so I have time to find out.
“I haven’t decided yet, it’s my first, so I’m not sure where would be a good spot,” I admit with a shrug, my cheeks heating slightly.
“Oh heavens, you’re a tattoo virgin?”
Amongst other things, I think to myself. “Yes! And a scorpion wasn’t what I was going for for my first one.”
“Let me guess, something about reading or your weird-ass obsession with butterflies?”
“Exactly! That was the plan! Either a book behind my ear or a butterfly on my back. That was the plan,” I say in frustration, watching Carmela burst out laughing.
“It’s not funny, Cam,” I whine.
“Oh, but it is! I understand your obsession with books, authors have wild imaginations, they honestly do it better than they do in porn,” she laughs, only laughing harder as I glare at her, “but what is it with butterflies?”
“I can’t place it, Cam, they’re so poetic. They remind me of life and death, beauty and utter ugliness. Something about their contradictions gets me. It reminds me of life itself,” I blurt out, my voice higher pitched in excitement.
“Let’s pretend I understand all of that, it must feel nice to be drawn to something and connect with it,” Carmela says, getting a far off look like she’s thinking deeply about her own life.
“Aren’t you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m still figuring it out,” she says as she shrugs.
“I think you are and that’s okay.”
“I got it!” she yells suddenly, startling me.
“What?” I ask.
“Where you should get your tattoo!”
“Okay? Tell me,” I ask, dying to know where she thinks will work for me.
“I will when they ask you where you’ll get it. I’ll whisper it, so I can see your expression then,” she laughs mischievously.
“I am not putting ink on my boobs, Cam,” I scold, glaring at her to show her I’m serious.
“Some men dig that shit! One time, when I . . .”
“Okay, let’s get something to change into,” I say, standing up and covering my ears to block out whatever nasty story Carmela was about to dive into.
Ciro
I stand here, holding the door open, as I watch her fiddling with her dress like a child. She’d knocked on the door and I opened it, but she hasn’t said a word since. How did I end up here with this woman as my wife?
“I just wanted to say thank you,” she says softly, finally breaking the awkward silence.
What is she thanking me for now? It’s only a few minutes until her initiation and here she is thanking me?
“What for?” I ask, irritated that this is taking longer than I’d hoped.
“What you said to Donato at the wedding yesterday.”
The wedding. It was OUR wedding the last time I checked. But she must have hated the idea so much that she couldn’t even say it properly. I don’t care, I hated it too.
“That’s all?” I ask, checking my suit pocket for my phone.
“Yeah. I realized I hadn’t said it, so I’m saying it now,” she shrugs.
There is nothing to thank me for.
“I didn’t do it for you. I like to see the blood leave Donato’s face. It’s fun to watch,” I reply honestly . . . somewhat honestly.
“Oh! And the finger?” she asks casually, like she’s asking about a piece of jewelry and not a human being’s finger.
Jewelry, the thought takes me back to how I reacted when I saw Mother’s necklace around her neck. Should I be apologizing for how I’d reacted? No! My actions were justified and it was none of her business. Plus she did look better with . . . What the fuck am I thinking?
“Your wedding gift? Yes, that was for you,” I reply, ready to move on from this.
“Well then, thank you for that too.”
“You like that I cut a man’s finger off, don’t you?” I ask, taking a step closer and watching her closely.
“No, I liked that Raphael must’ve felt some pain when it was chopped off,” she replies confidently, not backing away from me as I get more in her space.
“Why do you hate him so much? Because of the silly cop?” I ask curiously, watching as her expression changes to something more than anger. Something I could relate to.
“He isn’t a silly cop,” she blurts out angrily.
“Wasn’t, he’s dead, is he not?” I correct, trying not to show my amusement to her getting riled up.
She squeezes her hands into tight fists, trying her best not to react, I assume. But why is she holding back? I hate that she’s holding herself back like society expects her to. If she is mad, she should fucking punch me to make that clear. Yet she doesn’t, she just digs into her palms with her fingers. Those brown-painted nails that almost match the color of her hair and skin, likely leaving marks in her palms.
“I came to say thank you, and I’ve done that. I’ll go now.”
“Be down in five. I don’t have all day.”
“You’ll be there?” she asks, turning to face me again with a look of surprise on her face.
“Everyone will be, and the husband is expected to hold his wife’s hand. A symbol of being with her through the pain.”
“Poetic,” she says sarcastically.
“Unnecessary,” I correct before closing the door and once again, creating a barrier between us.