Chapter Fifteen
Vida
M y mother was right, it does feel like an actual cult initiation. Everyone is dressed in black clothes, and there’s a tattoo seat in the middle of the room. As I look around, the only faces I recognize are Carmela, a cousin of hers, Cito, and of course Ciro. I didn’t want to look at him, let alone let him hold my hand. I wanted to punch him a few minutes ago and slap the words out of his mouth. I hated how he addressed Adam like he was some stupid cop. Adam was a smart and good man, better than anything Ciro would ever be, and he had no right to talk about Adam like that.
“This is weird,” I whisper to Carmela.
“You look nice,” Carmela giggles, her gaze dancing over the black lace dress I’d been given to wear.
“I feel like some vampire queen waiting for her husband in a lost abandoned castle,” I reply, looking down at the dress.
“I see why Izzy told me to keep you away from your books.”
“She said that!?” I gasp, eyes wide.
“Shhhh,” Carmela shushes, turning to face the man who just walked in.
“Matteo will not be joining us today and his son cannot open the ceremony because he will be with his wife. So I will begin,” he says. “Shall we say the Balleran oath, please.”
“With the scorpion’s sting, we strike as one,” the crowd begins, sending goosebumps across my skin as I watch them recite this in unison. “Blood binds, loyalty defines. In shadows, we rise.”
I look at Carmela, the words leaving her mouth like it was their home, familiar with her lips as they danced on them.
“Venomous, unbroken. To our kin, protection.”
I look at Ciro next and his eyes lock onto mine, like he was already looking at me. I can’t help but wonder why he’s looking at me as I watch him finish the oath. “To our foes, destruction.”
“Vida Ballera!” the man shouts, bringing my attention to him.
It takes me three seconds to remember that I am no longer Vida Thorne. I have a new name now and it’s one that holds a lot of power.
“Yes,” I answer, too afraid to walk or move.
“Have you chosen where your mark will go?” he asks, his intense gaze making me swallow hard.
Why is he watching me like that? I wonder, but then again, everyone is watching me.
“Where will it go?” I ask in a whisper to Carmela, my eyes still on the man who stands patiently, waiting for my answer.
“Right here,” Carmela says, pinching the back of my neck.
“Ouch! You’re kidding, it’s too visible,” I try to protest.
“She’ll have it on the back of her neck,” Ciro’s words echo from where he stands a few feet away from me.
“Someone’s paying attention,” Carmela smiles, nudging me with her shoulder.
“How did he . . .”
“Shall we begin?” the man asks, walking to stand next to the tattoo chair.
Do I really have a choice? I didn’t get a say earlier so how could I possibly make one now?
“Yes, yes we shall,” I reply.
“Come and sit, child,” the man says, gesturing to the tattoo chair.
I close the distance between us and take a seat, smiling at the girl who is going to give me my first tattoo. I don’t want to turn to face Ciro, nor do I want to give him my hand. Looking around the room though, I know this isn’t the time nor place to put up a fight.
“You can take her hand, and then we’ll begin,” the girl says, smiling at Ciro warmly. She seems nice and looks like she is familiar with these sorts of things. Initiation and family oath-taking, that is.
At the first sting of pain from the needle piercing into my skin, I want to scream and tell everyone to fuck off, but I close my eyes instead and hold onto Ciro. It isn’t a conscious decision, but a reflex. I do my best to keep my head glued to the chair and take as deep of breaths as I can, trying to think of all the happy things I know, though nothing seems to make the pain any better.
How long does it take to draw a damn tattoo?
I squeeze Ciro’s hand tightly as she hits more sensitive spots, not knowing how much strength I’m putting into just one squeeze, but it is the only thing that seems to help. My hand in his and him holding me back, really holding me.
“Shit,” I mutter to myself. The pain in my neck is getting worse but not just from the tattoo, from the position I’ve been stuck in too.
Why is everyone so quiet? I want to sit up and see what’s going on, but all I can look at is the darkness when I close my eyes and the floor when I open them. I wish it was Isabella or Carmela holding my hand, at least they would say or do something that would make this moment more bearable.
“Why do you defend the cop so much? Was he a friend of yours?” Ciro asks, his voice low, but loud enough for me to hear.
The universe has a funny way of working. Just when I’m thinking about needing a distraction, it gives me one. This is the last conversation I want to have though, especially with this man.
“He was a good cop, and it’s only right to respect the dead,” I say, my reply muffled by the chair.
“The dead don’t need respect, they’re dead,” he shoots back.
Fucking fool! Why did he throw a fit when he saw me wearing his mother’s necklace? She’s dead too?
“Okay,” I reply, guilt eating me up as my thoughts about his mother cross my mind.
This is what Ciro does to me. He makes me angry, so angry that I begin to project that anger towards people who don’t deserve it.
“Fuck!” I curse, the pain from the needle intensifying. I squeeze his hand harder, a part of me applying more pressure to hurt him because he deserves it.
“It’s almost done,” the lady says, which is the last thing I want to hear. I need this shitshow to be over so I can go to bed.
“How did you know Carmela picked my neck for this?” I ask curiously.
“She didn’t.” His grip on my hand tightens, like he can sense how much I need the comfort. “I did.”
“What? Why?” I wish I could see his face and he could see mine. He has no right to make that choice for me!
“Because . . .” he sighs, his grip firmer and tighter now, like he can feel my anger radiating through me and he’s trying to keep me from hitting him. I can’t move to look at him with her working on my neck, but I can practically hear the wheels turning in his head as he plans to dish out an answer that will either make me hate him more or dread this new life. “Your neck is the most vulnerable place on your body. Anyone who sees that mark will know you’re mine.”
His breath fans against my skin, distracting me enough that the pain in my neck is almost non-existent, and before I can take another breath, he adds, “But more importantly . . . you will know, too. Everytime the wind brushes against it, when you touch your neck like you always do, when you hold up your hair or look in the mirror . . . you will remember who you belong to, who you are now a part of.”
“All done!” the girl says just as Ciro’s last words hit me, leaving me panting and breathless. She slowly helps me sit up straight so I can try to stretch my neck. “It’ll be healed in a few days. Rub this on it every time it itches. Try not to scratch it.”
“Thank you,” I say with a small smile as I take the balm from her.
Standing up next to Ciro, his words replaying in my head like a new song I’ve just discovered, I watch as the crowd begins to applaud, their eyes fixed on me like I’ve just won the Olympics or something. I feel a mix of emotions settle into me, weird, because I’m not used to this, but very much proud, like I now belong. But most of all, frightened, because somehow, I find myself believing Ciro’s words and the extent of them.
As I try to walk towards Carmela, something stops me. Looking down I realize my fingers are still intertwined with his. I quickly pull my hand from his hold and whisper a “sorry” before making my way to where Carmela and Cito are standing.
“You did great,” Cito says, making me smile at him.
“Thank you, it took forever,” I complain, still feeling the sting and pain in my neck from the whole thing.
“She cried also,” he adds, gesturing to Carmela.
“What? Wait, really?” I laugh.
“It was so beautiful! You’re no longer a tattoo virgin,” Carmela replies dramatically.
“Shut up,” I laugh, shaking my head at her.
“Now, Ciro Ballera will say a few things before we end the ceremony,” the man from before says, bringing everyone’s attention back to him.
“That’s it?” I ask Carmela.
“What?”
“The initiation, that’s it? I get my tattoo and he gives a speech?”
“Yeah, what did you think would happen?” Carmela giggles.
“Well, I don’t know, maybe y’all would kill a goat and we’d drink its blood or something?” I say, only half joking. I have no idea what the hell was supposed to happen. No one would tell me anything.
“And have an orgy to seal the deal,” Carmela adds, making me burst into a fit of laughter, causing the whole room to turn to look at us.
“Sorry, sorry,” I say to everyone, embarrassment taking over me, making my face heat.
“Thank you all for being here,” Ciro starts, getting everyone’s attention again. “My father sends his apologies to both my wife and all of you. He sends his respect and gratitude as well. So do I.”
I watch him as he talks, almost entranced by the way he owns the room. He possesses something I can’t quite grasp yet. It isn’t confidence or fear, nor is it respect or intimidation. Maybe it is all of them at once combined into the dark and mysterious man in front of me. There is just something about him that has me not able to take my eyes off of him, just like everyone else in the room.
“With that being said, I would like to make this clear, Donato Romano has decided to wage a war against us.”
“Impossible.”
“Outrageous.”
“He wants death.”
The crowd responds, the tension in the air rising as anger begins to flow through them.
“Today, he sent one of his men after me and my wife.”
“What!” Carmela gasps, turning and looking at me with both worry and anger in her beautiful blue eyes.
“I’m fine,” I whisper before turning my attention to Ciro again.
“He wants her dead and he can’t do that without killing the whole Ballera empire.”
Am I worth that much to him? Or is this not for me, but because he enjoys watching Donato suffer? Deep down I feel like I already know the answer to that.
“I want the house on high alert. No one goes in and out without Cito’s approval. Father will be away for a while, so all business should be directed to me.”
“I have to ask for Cito’s permission to go out too?” I ask, everyone’s gazes landing on me.
“Excuse me?” Ciro asks, his fiery gaze landing on me with a look settling on his face that tells me I’m in trouble.
“You said no one goes in and out without Cito’s approval, I want to know if that includes me,” I reply. It’s too late to take my words back now, so why not ask.
I have nowhere to go anyways, heck I’d be in my room all day reading a book or playing a piano if I could. But this is a taste of his own medicine! He loves to get under my skin every chance he can get, so why not do the same and what better moment to do it than now?
“Yes, that includes you,” he replies, his expression giving nothing away as he continues to stare at me.
“I don’t need permission to go out, especially not from Cito or you,” I say, turning to Cito with an apologetic gaze.
“We will have this conversation later,” Ciro says dismissively.
Is he dismissing me?! Who the fuck does he think I am? Some dog? Yes, I’d wanted to rile him up, but now I’m mad too!
“No, we will have this conversation now,” I grit out, my eyes piercing into him.
“Any further questions, you know where to find me,” he says to the crowd, ignoring the fact that I even said anything. Asshole.
I watch as he walks towards me, his steps long and measured like he’s stalking his prey, before he grabs me by the wrist and starts pulling me towards the stairs.
“Let go of me,” I order as I try to pull my hand free, but his grip is so tight that no matter how hard I try, he doesn’t let go.
“Let me go!” I yell, hoping someone will hear me and come stop him. Before I can say another word, he walks us into his room and slams the door shut.
“Are you fucking mad?” he asks through gritted teeth. His body is almost vibrating with his anger and I can practically see the steam coming out of his ears.
“What?” I ask as I stand facing him.
“How dare you fucking question me in front of everyone like that?” he asks, his voice getting louder with every word.
“I asked you a question.”
“And it fucking couldn’t wait?!”
“Well it would have been resolved faster if you had not answered me like you did,” I shoot back and roll my eyes at him.
“Do not fucking mess with me. You do not want to get me mad,” he warns.
“But you’re mad right now,” I point out, loving the way his jaw ticks as I state the obvious.
“Vida!” he growls, grabbing me by my hands and pushing me back against the door with a thud.
“What are you . . .”
“I will not repeat myself,” he says, his face just inches from mine. His breath smells like mint as it dances across my skin; a really calming mint that makes you feel relaxed after a long shower.
“And I will not ask for permission to leave this house,” I state, standing my ground.
“I see you’ve gotten bold,” he smirks, his hands leaving mine, though he leans in a little more. “Next time you pull that shit again, I promise you, butterfly, I’ll break you.”
“Butterfly?”
“Yes, that is what you are; easy to put an end to.”
“I hate your brother,” I mutter as I sit in my room with Carmela.
“I know.”
“I hate being married to him!” I grit out angrily.
“I know that too.”
“I hate that I’m here, away from my family, with a bunch of creeps who don’t care if I’m manhandled or not.”
“I . . . I know,” she answers sadly, my words piercing her unintentionally.
“No, I didn’t mean you too Carmela,” I try to explain, regretting how that sounded and my choice of words.
“I know what you meant, Vee, you don’t have to apologize,” she says softly before getting up.
“You know I wouldn’t . . .”
“Vida, it’s okay. I’ll give you some space. I have to go see Father anyways,” she says, not turning to look at me as she walks towards the door.
“Cam,” I call for her, wishing I could take it back.
“I know it sucks being here and I get that my brother is a douche, I hate him too, but I didn’t think you’d hate everyone too just because of Ciro.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You know, we didn’t put you in this mess to begin with. We’re helping because of Uncle Luca, and now you’re family, whether you like it or not. Is it so hard to see us as that?” Cam stops, shaking her head.
“I see you as a sister, Cam,” I say truthfully, hoping she can hear just how much I mean it in my voice.
“I hope you believe that too,” she says before leaving me alone in my room.
As Carmela’s words float through my head again, I sigh. She’s right, my anger really is only towards Ciro. It’s unfair of me to transfer that aggression to the people who have tried to make me feel at home.
“Hey!” I call, running out of the house and towards Carmela.
“Hey,” she says as she turns to face me, closing the car door she was just opening.
“Can I come with you? I’d like to see your dad and maybe show him my tattoo,” I say, the words tumbling out of me. This wasn’t the approach I had planned in my room but I still hope it’ll work.
“Sure,” Carmela shrugs after a moment, turning to face the car again.
“Wait,” I say, taking her hand, “I am sorry. I was out of line and I’ve been letting my emotions run wild. I didn’t mean what I said about you or your family.”
“Look, you don’t have to explain. I understand.”
“No, not all of it. Adam was my whole world and my life back home was all I knew. I was whisked here and am now married to an obnoxious, arrogant . . .” I start, pausing to take a deep breath when I realize my anger is taking over again. “And now I’m living a different life and it all happened in a week! It’s not a justification for how I’ve been acting, but I promise I didn’t mean it. I wasn’t thinking straight, that’s all.”
“You talk too much, Vee. I already said I get you,” Carmela laughs, the sound making some of the tension in my body melt away.
“But you were acting . . .”
“Can’t a girl seek some attention?” She winks. “Get in.”
Seeing her playful side again, I smile and head towards the passenger seat.
“Do you guys have smaller houses?” I ask as Carmela pulls up in front of a house I’ve never seen before.
“We have a lot of properties. Ciro’s house is not even as big.”
“Really? I can’t imagine him with anything smaller than that.”
“He lived in . . .” she pauses, taking a look around.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, noticing her body tensing slightly.
“Something’s off,” she replies, carefully studying the environment around us.
“What?” I ask, turning my head from left to right but still not seeing anything wrong. Tension fills the air, making the car feel like it’s getting smaller. “You’re scaring me, Cam, what’s the matter?”
“You know where the spare gun in the car is?” she asks, opening the car door.
“Yes?” Not again!
“Take it out,” she orders, her voice low and urgent as she pulls out a sleek black gun with practiced ease from the side of her seat. “Close the door gently. Ciro said you handled yourself well this morning.”
“He said that?” I whisper, finding it hard to believe he is actually capable of saying something nice about me, let alone praise me for something.
“Stay closely behind me, Vee,” Carmela orders, slowly moving towards the front door.