Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Monica
Age 17
“I won’t do it, Papa. I won’t. You can’t make me,” I shout, tears filling my eyes as I stare defiantly at my father. I don’t see his hand as it lashes violently across my face.
“You will do exactly as I say, little girl. I am your father and I run La Famiglia . You will marry Joseph Angelino in two months. It is what you were born to do, Monica. You are the princess. You will marry and carry on the family name,” my father snarls.
I clutch my cheek as pain radiates down to my neck. I glance at my mother quickly, but she averts her eyes. So typical. Heaven forbid she stand up to her husband and demand he does not assault me. As my eyes roam around the room, I see varying expressions across my sibling’s faces. Alessio, Marco, and Dante look similar as they stare at me with disdain. They’re all older, already established within La Famiglia , and are what I’d call ‘chips off the ole block’ as they mirror our father’s decisions and attitudes. My older sister, Lucia, looks sympathetically at me as she gently holds her baby bump but doesn’t speak up. She’s married to one of my father’s captains. She won’t say a fucking word out of fear of getting disciplined by my father and her husband. Salvatore Carluccio is destined to be the next don of the family, according to him. All of my brothers vehemently disagree.
Looking at my two younger siblings, I’m overcome with fear. Giovanni is only ten years old, an unexpected surprise for my aging parents. Isabella, at fourteen, is struggling to find her footing within La Famiglia and even more so within our family. I hate that she feels she’s ‘stuck’ here. Stuck in this ridiculous mafia world that none of us wanted.
As my father continues to berate me, a commotion breaks out in the entryway.
“Let me through, god dammit!”
I try not to giggle but fail. My grandmother is coming. The only person who I know will respect me and fight for me. Rose Valducci Russo is one hell of a force to be reckoned with.
“Mama,” my father sighs, resigned.
“Paul,” my grandmother snaps. “What is going on here?”
“Just making Monica understand her place,” my father mutters.
“And what exactly is that?” Nana asks.
“She’s to marry Joseph Angelino the day after she turns eighteen. It’s been decided, and I agreed to a contract years ago.”
“He’s forty years old!” Nana shouts.
“So? He asked for her hand six years ago,” my father admits. I’m overcome with a wave of nausea. My father allowed a thirty-two-year-old man to contract himself to me when I was only eleven? How completely vile!
“I will not allow this, Paul. I will not,” my grandmother snarls.
“You dare to disrespect me in my house?” my father roars. All of us kids cower, but my grandmother stays steadfast in her posture as she stares defiantly at my father.
“Your father would turn over in his grave if he heard you talking to me like that,” my grandmother mutters.
“Mama, don’t you dare use padre as a scapegoat here. You know how it is in La Famiglia . Marriage contracts are a part of this life,” my father explains.
“I didn’t ask for this life, Papa! This isn’t fair!” I cry out, frustrated, as tears cascade down my cheeks. My mascara is probably running, but I don’t care. I’ve basically just been given a life sentence. Marry a man over double my age and spend the rest of my life stuck in La Famiglia .
“It doesn’t matter what you want, little girl. I’m your father, and I decide what happens to you. You’re marrying Angelino, end of discussion,” my father says as he stares at my grandmother.
“Nana,” I whisper, beseeching her with a pleading look.
“It’s okay, dolce bambino ,” she says as she cups my cheek with her hand and pats it lightly. “Paul Christopher Joseph Russo! I will speak to you in private.”
Uh oh. Nana full-named my father.
My father sighs and rolls his eyes as he follows my grandmother into his home office. Lucia quickly walks over to me and hands me tissues.
“Wipe your face. You’re a mess,” Lucia whispers.
“Jesus, Lucia. You could be nicer to me,” I mutter.
“Your betrothed will be here in thirty minutes to meet you. If you don’t want more violence, fix your face. I’ve heard Angelino isn’t the nicest. Sorry, sis,” she says quietly. Another wave of nausea overtakes me, and I run to the bathroom and empty the contents of my stomach.
After rinsing my mouth out, I stand to take a look at myself in the mirror. Holy shit. I look horrendous. My lip is cut where my dad’s ring caught it, and my cheek is already beginning to bruise. My eyes are puffy, my nose is red, and I’ve clearly been crying. As much as Lucia’s warning is messing with my head, I don’t want to make myself ‘look good’ for some crazy old guy who preys on juveniles. No way does a man contract an eleven-year-old kid with good intentions.
I hear the doorbell ring, and a weight settles in my stomach. He’s early. My future husband is early. Obviously, he’s much more excited about our contracted engagement than I am.
“Monica! Out, now!” I hear my mother not-so-sweetly shout.
I take a deep breath, attempting to calm my nerves, but it’s not working. I’m shaking. I can’t believe this is my life. Most seventeen-year-olds are looking forward to prom, college, and being out of their parents’ clutches. But I’m not most. I’m a mafia princess, a role I clearly didn’t choose, and now I’m expected to play the part.
As I open the bathroom door, I see my mama with Joseph Angelino. He leers at me, taking a very obvious perusal up and down my body and then nodding as if he approves.
“ Stellina ,” he coos.
Fucking hell.
I am not your little star, you pedophile.
“Smile at him, Monica,” my mother hisses in my ear.
I shake my head as I stare at this man. I can see fury developing in his eyes, and I know what my sister said is true.
“Show some respect to me, beloved,” Joseph snarls.
“As you showed respect to me when you asked for my hand in marriage? The hand of an eleven-year-old?” I blurt out. Joseph immediately backhands me, hitting the other cheek. I taste blood.
“You will not speak to me like that. You must learn your place,” Joseph seethes.
I don’t speak. Anything I feel like saying will just result in getting hit again.
I know at this moment if my grandmother can’t talk some sense into my father that my life is over. Joseph Angelino will stop at nothing to break my spirit. I’ll be damned if that is the life I’m going to lead.
I’d rather die.
As my father and grandmother return from my father’s office, I quietly leave the room and sneak off to my backyard oasis. I’ve always loved to hide in my mother’s gardens. She’s an avid gardener, and she has massive floral plants that are perfect for escaping.
I know my grandmother will find me here. She always does. I lie under a gigantic salvia and doze off.
It’s dark when I wake. I’m unsure what time it is, and as I reach for my phone in my back pocket, I hear voices approaching. Male voices.
“You promised her to me, Paulie,” Joseph Angelino snarls.
“Well, things change,” my father responds.
“What the fuck did your mother say to you? We had a deal. A contract. You can’t just change your fucking mind.”
“Our contract was verbal, and I realize the error in my ways. However, it is concerning that you went after an eleven-year-old child, Joey.”
“Well, now you’re gonna give me the younger girl.”
“Isabella is already promised to someone else,” my dad says patiently .
“Well fucking change your mind there, too!” Joseph roars.
As their voices get closer, I slide as far under the salvia as I can manage without making any noise. I fear I’ll be done for if I’m found right now.
“You can find another wife, Joey.”
“Not one that meets my specifications.”
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
“Obviously, I like them young, Paulie. I’d have married her years ago if you hadn’t set up that fucking eighteen-year-old bullshit date. I want ’em young, so I can do whatever the fuck I want, and they’re too stupid to know better.”
“Are you seriously talking to me about my daughter right now?”
“Oh, please. Like you respect women any better. Does your wife know about the number of women you’re fucking on the side? What about the two other kids you have?” Joseph taunts. I cover my mouth with my hand to keep from gasping.
“You watch your motherfucking mouth, Joey. I’m still the fucking don of La Famiglia, and you’re disrespecting my family and me.”
“I’ve been one of your captains for twenty years, and this is how you repay me? Taking my bride away from me weeks before our wedding. You wanna talk about disrespect now?” Joseph asks.
My father sighs. I’ve heard the sigh. It’s the sigh he gives us kids before he either screams at us or beats the hell out of us.
“You could have left quietly, Joey. You could have walked away and gone to lick your wounds in private. But now, this is what you’ve forced me to do.”
“Wait. Paulie, wait! No. No, no, no! I was out of line, I know; I’ll do better, I swear …” I hear a muffled sound, and then a body falls next to me. I turn my head slightly and look directly into Joseph’s open eyes. His unseeing eyes, with a bullet hole right between them .
“Get out here, Monica Rose,” my father snarls.
When I don’t immediately move, my feet are grabbed, and I’m unceremoniously yanked out from under the salvia.
“Stand up.”
I stand up and avert my eyes. I don’t want to look at my father. While I don’t think he’d shoot me, I really don’t know.
“Never forget what I just did for you. Do you understand me? Never forget,” my father says as he pushes my chin up to look into my eyes. I cry out as the gun burns my skin where he’s pushed it against my skin. “Your grandmother sold your inheritance for your freedom. Get the fuck out of my house. You’re no longer my daughter. Don’t ever come back here. Don’t try to contact any of us. You’re dead to us. You and your grandmother are dead. Tell no one what you heard tonight.”
He takes one last look at me before turning and walking deeper into the garden. I don’t wait for him to change his mind. I run back into the house and scream for my grandmother. I find her in my room, already packing my belongings.
“ Dolce bambino , we don’t have much time. Take only what you feel is a necessity. I have a friend in Oklahoma who will allow us to stay with her until we get on our feet,” Nana says as she shoves clothes into a suitcase.
I look around my room longingly, trying to decide what I can’t live without. A stuffed animal my grandfather gave me, a few pieces of heirloom jewelry, and my kindle all make the cut. I debated about grabbing some high school pictures but realized I was never close with anyone outside La Famiglia, so that would be a pointless thing to take. I grab my pillow, way too much makeup and skincare crap, and all my hair products. I might be willing to live without childhood memories, but I’m not willing to go without my hair stuff. A girl has needs.
“Are we taking your car or mine?” I whisper, afraid to speak too loudly and have someone realize we’re leaving .
“Both. We’ll sell them both when we get to Oklahoma and buy cheaper cars that we can register there. We’re going to change our last name, too. We’ll go by my maiden name. You’re no longer Monica Rose Russo. You’re Monica Valducci.”
That’s a lot of information to process in thirty seconds. I love my car. One of the rare things that I actually enjoyed about La Famiglia . We all have nice cars. I’ll miss my little BMW Coupe. And changing my name? Woah. But if it means I’m out of this horrid mafia lifestyle, then it’s worth it.
Nana leaves the room briefly before returning with two more duffel bags. She stuffs both with my clothes still on the hangers, then adds the comforter from my bed.
“I don’t know the sleeping arrangements in Oklahoma, bambino . We need to be prepared. We’ll stay at my house tonight and leave tomorrow morning. I don’t want that horrid Angelino man to find you,” my grandmother says.
“He’s dead, Nana,” I whisper as her eyes whip to mine.
“Your father killed him?”
I nod.
“ Figlio di puttana !” Nana hisses.
I can’t help it; I giggle.
“Nana, you can’t say ‘son of a bitch’ about my father. That means you called yourself a bitch,” I tease. She gives me a halfhearted smile.
“Well, in this case, it stands. Your father … he’s a stronzo ,” she mutters as she continues to jam as much as possible in the duffel bags. “Come on, bambino . We must go.”
As we grab the three bags, I turn to take a look at my childhood bedroom. So many memories here. So many daydreams about my future. Within the past five years, I’ve slowly come to realize my childhood dreams were never going to happen. Now there may be a light at the end of the tunnel, and I’m taking it.