Chapter 3
Willow
Every cell in my body pleads to leave, to disappear somewhere far away. But leaving is not an option. My father is the host, and the important men in the family are present.
Goose bumps sprout, and I curl my arms around my waist, compensating for my dress’s thin fabric. The breeze carries a chilly undertone. It’s a direct contrast to the summery hues of the crystal blue Mediterranean.
A four-piece band plays a cheerful instrumental tune, and young, naive children laugh and dance along the lawn. The wives cluster in groups, sipping cocktails and gossiping. The men lurk somewhere indoors discussing business matters. This scene could have played out fifty years ago. Nothing has changed. There’s no progress.
In an ideal world, my father would disassociate from the Lupi Grigi. Titan Shipping has grown exponentially under my father’s guidance. He doesn’t need blood money. A legitimate businessman, he’s not like these men. But he’s loyal. As much as I wish it otherwise, he’ll never stand up against the family.
I should be grateful. That’s what my mother says. I attended university, a rarity for women in our world. My father’s success means that, unlike some of the other women, my marriage won’t be crafted to deliver business connections or to rise in the ranks. My father is a billionaire—on paper, at least—and he has no interest in being an underboss. My cousin Scarlet told me there were rumors father’s name had been bandied about for capo, but he declined consideration.
Unease coils through me so tightly I can’t possibly mingle. There’s no need for me to be anxious, but my anxiety doesn’t listen to logic. It doesn’t matter who approaches Papa. He won’t barter me away to one of these monsters.
He’s loyal, but he loves me. My mother says I’ve had him wrapped around my finger since I was two minutes old. There’s no need to be nervous.
Orlando steps out from the shadows, and I jump. My younger brother grins, pleased with himself. At fifteen, he hasn’t yet become a man, but Scarlet says his ceremony will be soon. I hope she’s wrong. I hope Papa gives him the chance to go to university, so he’s in the best position to lead Titan Shipping. My little brother admires the men for maintaining harmony throughout Italy, but they do that through fear. He wants to become a made man, but that’s not what I want for him. He’s not a killer.
“If we didn’t sell drugs, someone else would.” Orlando said that to me once, on the day I realized I could only guide him so far without risking my freedom. Of course, made man or not, Papa is grooming him for the shipping business. He’ll follow in Papa’s footsteps, growing the legitimate business, and will hopefully skirt the darker corners of our world.
If I weren’t so on edge, I’d return Orlando’s boyish smile and suggest we find Scarlet.
“What’re you doing by yourself?” Orlando asks, sidling up to me. The ill-fitting suit jacket he’s wearing over his linen shirt crinkles around the shoulders.
“You should’ve gotten that taken in. It’s too big.” Mamma complains he’s impossible to dress these days, and when she alters his clothes, he can only get one wear before he’s grown more inches. But today, other than the shoulders of his jacket being too broad, his clothes fit well and he could almost be mistaken for a man.
“Did Mamma pick that dress out for you?”
Avoiding Orlando’s ribbing, I hold the terrace railing and take in the expanse of sea. The breeze lifts my hair and circles my exposed décolletage. If the scooped neckline were any lower, my nipples would show, and yes, my mother purchased and forced me to wear this dress. It could be worse. Other than the neckline, the dress is demure, falling to my calves. In the mirror, I told myself the pastel floral pattern made me appear younger. It’s the push-up bra she forced on me that undercuts my hope and feeds my anxiety.
“How’re the meetings going?” I do not wish to discuss my dress.
“Eh, they’re smoking cigars and drinking. If any business is getting done, it’s behind closed doors.”
“Is father mingling?” He’s far too approachable at gatherings like this one.
“I haven’t seen him in hours.”
My stomach plunges like it does on the freefall ride at the Universal theme park in Spain.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I answer.
“Dinner will be soon. Look, the meeting is breaking up.”
Men, some in jackets, others in linen button-down shirts, all in trousers, filter onto the stone patio through the series of French doors that line the hotel exterior.
“Are you like this because of Scarlet?”
“What do you mean?”
“Afraid. Nervous. You don’t need to be, you know? Papa would never choose a man like Vincent for you.”
I cut an eye at Orlando. He’s heard what happened, but that’s not the same as seeing. He was too young, but I saw.
“Don’t look now, but Leandro De Luca is headed over here.”
The brother of our capo, Leandro De Luca, infamously quartered an enemy, and soaked with blood, sat down to dine. All the Grigi men are killers, but that one story will forever set him apart from the others. Papa disagreed with Massimo stepping in as capo because he believed Leandro would be a distraction for Massimo, as he’d always be cleaning up his messes. He believes Leandro’s hotheaded and lacks impulse control. But Papa didn’t fight the decision for Massimo to take over. He told Mamma it is best to choose your battles.
Black shades hide Leandro’s cruel eyes, and gold necklaces glitter above curly white chest hairs that spill from his black linen button-down shirt. He steps close to me, and my unsettled stomach churns.
“Appreciating the view, bella ?” he asks in Italian.
My brother and I speak English at home. My father insisted we both perfect the language, as in father’s business English is important. Thanks to the booming tourism industry, his mandate felt quite normal growing up. Lots of children are expected to learn English, but it’s more common in my generation than Leandro’s.
I nod meekly, shifting to face the banister so my breasts aren’t on direct display.
“Alessio didn’t mention what a beauty you’ve become.” He disregards Orlando, and my cheeks burn as he steps closer and his gaze lowers. I slouch, and the fabric dips, exposing my bra. I quickly straighten. Damn this dress.
The stench of cigars fills my nostrils. His fingers brush over my hips. Bile rises in my throat. I have to get away. If I don’t, my upset stomach will release everything. I mumble in Italian as polite of an excuse as I can muster and clasp my jaw closed, breathing in my nose, one foot in front of the other, until I’m at the stone steps and I break out into a run.
Mamma will yell later. She’ll say I must show respect, but her wrath is preferable to getting pawed by a dirty, creepy, old man with a serial killer vibe.
It’s not until I reach the paved street below that I risk a glance over my shoulder at the railing above. Dark, circular shades stare down upon me, watching me above an unsettling grin. If you added clown make-up, he could be mistaken for the joker.
Heart racing, I don’t stop running until I reach the shore and inhale the sea air. I remove my heels and let my toes sink into the sand.