Chapter 2
Trilby
Vomit rushes up my esophagus and splashes into the toilet bowl. I can feel a hand rubbing my shoulder blades, and another one holding the hair out of my face. I press the back of my wrist to my mouth before another retch brings up more fluid.
My head pounds all over again at the sight.
It’s blue.
“Ugh, Trilby. What were you drinking last night?”
I reach behind me and grasp my sister’s hand. After I’ve expelled every possible thing from my stomach, I slide from my ankles onto the floor.
Sera passes me a glass of water, then joins me on the tile, crossing her legs. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head. It’s fuzzy—which, at this time of year, I’ve found is preferable to it being crystal clear.
Crystal clear means I remember.
Every. Vivid. Detail.
And I don’t want to, because it hurts.
Five years ago today, I sat in the back of my mother’s car and watched as she was brutally murdered right in front of me. Whoever said time is the greatest healer has never had to wash their dead mother’s blood off their face.
“I can’t imagine what it must be like,” Sera says softly, “reliving it over and over.”
I sip the water and feel the instant coolness soothe my throat.
I’m the eldest of four sisters, Sera being the second eldest. She’s only one year younger, so Mama’s murder affected her as much as it affected me.
But for one thing, she wasn’t there when it happened, and for another, she doesn’t like to talk about it, preferring to bury her head in horoscopes and tarot cards instead.
Contessa was twelve when Mama died, and Bambalina was ten.
Tess has grown into an angry teenager for whom black is the aesthetic of choice, disgust the mood du jour, and anarchy the weapon of justice.
Bambi is still a child. A sweet, kindhearted, pony-mad girl who’s been raised and swaddled by three strong-willed sisters and a slightly unhinged aunt.
I sigh heavily. “I keep hoping the visions will fade as time goes by, but they don’t.”
Sera tips her head to one side. “Maybe when you finish school you should move somewhere new. Get a change of scene. It can’t be helpful to be around all these places and people constantly reminding you of Mama and what happened.
I would miss you enormously, but if that’s what it takes to make the visions fade, I’d support you one thousand percent. ”
“It’s a nice idea, but Papa won’t allow it,” I say with a resigned sigh.
“Talk to him, Trilby,” Sera says earnestly. “He knows what you went through—what you’re still going through. He might consider it. Even for just a few months.”
I shake my head.
Though there’s only one year between me and Sera, I know more about Papa’s business than anyone else in the family.
While he hasn’t been sworn in as a made man, Papa’s a valued associate of the Di Santo crime family.
As the owner of Castellano Shipping Co., he runs one of the city’s biggest ports, which has been of some interest to the Di Santos for as long as I can remember.
Until Mama was killed, I was blissfully ignorant of exactly how involved in Mafia activities our family business was. Afterward, I wanted answers, and I found them in Papa’s office. Turned out we shipped a lot more than “consumables.” Unless you put firearms, ammo, and cocaine into that category.
“It’s too risky. Especially now Gianni is dead. Papa has to reestablish himself with whoever succeeds the former don.”
Sera strokes a thumb over my palm. “Who do you think it will be?”
I shrug. It’s not as if I’m an expert on all things Mafia, but there are a few names I overhear often in Papa’s conversations. “Augusto Zanotti? Benito Bernadi?”
Sera wrinkles her nose. “Isn’t Benny Bernadi their consigliere?”
An image of his scarred face and iron-rigid jaw crosses my lids, and I suppress a shudder. A consigliere usually advises the family on legal matters, but it’s obvious when looking at Bernadi he takes the law into his own hands—literally.
“I think so. And Augusto was Gianni’s second-in-command. He’s perhaps the more likely option.”
“Not his son, Savero?”
I hadn’t thought about him. He generally keeps a low profile, so I don’t even know what he looks like.
“Maybe,” I murmur. I don’t actually care.
“He was here yesterday,” Sera says, watching warily for my reaction.
“Who was here?”
“Savero Di Santo.”
A chill raises the hairs on my skin. “When?”
“While you were, um . . . out.”
My pulse thumps, and a bad feeling settles in my gut. “Why was he here?”
“I don’t know. I tried to eavesdrop, but Allegra shooed me away. He was in Papa’s office for at least an hour.”
“It must be something to do with the port,” I say. “That will be it. There were contracts . . .” I don’t want to say too much. I don’t want Sera to worry about our family’s livelihood like I now do. “Maybe Savero just wants to be reassured business is continuing as normal.”
“That makes sense.” She seems appeased—until her brows knit together. That look on Sera is never good.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Last night was a solar eclipse.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes. Astrology is her language, and though I don’t understand it, I respect the way she uses it to make sense of the world.
“What does that mean?”
“New moons often signal new beginnings,” she explains. “But an eclipse is particularly powerful.”
“Maybe Papa has signed a new contract,” I suggest.
“Hmm. Maybe.” Her focus drifts.
“You don’t have to stay with me, Sera. I’m going to be fine.” I know she’d rather be alone in her room surrounded by textbooks and tarot cards.
“You sure?”
I squeeze her hands. “I’m sure. And thank you.”
She cocks her chin like she has no idea just how wonderful a sister she is for staying with me while I puked my guts up.
“I really appreciate you being here.”
Sera stands and strokes a hand through my hair. “Anytime, Tril. See you for dinner?”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Go back to bed,” she says with a smile. “You could probably use a bit more sleep.”
I nod and watch the bathroom door close as she leaves.
I’m barely on my feet when the door bursts open again. Sera reappears, her face flushed this time and her eyes wide.
“Trilby . . . Papa wants to see you in his office. Now.”
My heartbeat sticks at the base of my throat. Papa never wants to see me in his office.
“Did he say why?”
“No, but it sounds urgent. And serious.”
Oh crap.
A second hangover lowers itself onto me like a pregnant rain cloud. Did I do something bad last night? I drink to forget, but that means there’s always the chance I’ll do something regrettable.
“Do you want me to come with you?” she asks. “I could stand outside the door . . . give you some moral support.”
I smile weakly. “No, it’s fine. But thanks for offering. What would I do without you?”
“Probably everything you do already,” she replies in her sweet voice. “There’s nothing you can’t handle on your own. You’ve got a thicker skin than any of us.”
That might have been true once upon a time, but not anymore.
Now, I look twice before getting into a car.
I’ve developed a genuine fear of the dark, and I have such bad nightmares I can’t remember the last time I had a full night’s sleep.
I only hope I can summon some measure of resilience, because I have a feeling my ability to pretend everything’s okay, that I can handle whatever life throws at me, is about to bite me in the backside.
Ten minutes and three coffees later, I’m sitting in my father’s office, the Advil hasn’t touched the sides, and my ass hasn’t just been bitten, it’s been one hundred percent annihilated, and I can’t breathe.
“I’m what?”
Papa doesn’t move a muscle, but a twitch escapes his right eye. “You’re getting married.”
I feel his words again like a punch to the sternum.
He averts his eyes to some papers on his desk. The sheet at the top of the pile bears a crest that looks unnervingly familiar. It’s a dove in flight amid a tongue of fire. The symbol of saintliness.
Of Saint.
Di Santo.
He sighs with a heaviness that betrays his true feelings. “I know you’re aware of some of my . . . business partners, Trilby.”
I feel a tremble hardening my spine as I glance back at the crest. It’s an image we’ve been raised to fear.
My lids slowly lift back to my father. “Yes, Papa.”
Papa’s jaw ticks. “Savero Di Santo came to visit me yesterday. He doesn’t just want to continue the agreement I made with his father to ship occasional goods through the port—he wants to make things more official.”
I have to force myself to listen, because I don’t like the way this conversation is headed.
“In fact, he wants the majority share of the port.”
A dark and desperate feeling settles in my stomach. “I didn’t think it was for sale, Papa.”
He swallows audibly. “It isn’t, but that’s not how Savero Di Santo operates. He doesn’t look for things he can buy—he looks for things he can take.”
“Papa . . . I don’t understand.”
“I can’t afford for him to take the port from under me. And I’m under no illusions, Trilby. He has thousands of soldiers working for him now. If I fought him, I wouldn’t stand a chance, and I have to support my family and protect the livelihoods of my workers.”
Regardless of how many times I swallow, the dryness in my mouth doesn’t abate. “So?” I croak.
“So we came to an agreement. You are to marry him to keep the port in our family.”
I fight to hear his words over the sudden ringing in my ears. “You want me to marry Gianni Di Santo’s son. The son of the don.”
“Yes.” Papa’s tone is firm and nonnegotiable. “But you are not marrying the son of a don, my love. You are marrying the don himself.”
“Savero is the new don?” I whisper. My head feels light while my stomach has dropped with the weight of inevitability.
I’m getting married. To Savero Di Santo. To a Mafia don.
I can’t stop my nostrils from flaring. “Why me?” My voice inclines to a high pitch. “I haven’t even met him, Papa! He probably doesn’t have a clue who I am.”
Papa clears his throat. “He knows exactly who you are.”