Chapter 3
Vivi
SOFIA RUMMAGED THROUGH Mama’s gowns. There was a room full of them, and still she gravitated toward my favorite. The waist of a light pink Alexander McQueen was clenched greedily in her fingers.
“Not that one.” I snatched the hanger from her hand.
She huffed, flipping the length of her hair over her shoulder. “Why not? It’s the prettiest thing here.”
Clutching the silk to my chest, I snapped, “Because there are a thousand other choices. Find something else.”
The truth was that this gown was special, and she was not.
But I didn’t wish to hurt Sofia’s feelings; I only wanted to preserve my own.
I stared at her drawn brow and crossed arms without added objection to her clothing choice.
She acted like a petulant child, one with an hourglass figure that skipped my genetic makeup.
“Wearing that dress is only fair, Vivi. No one will care what you have on, but they’ll expect the world of me. Mamma especially.”
Stung by her honesty, I hid my prized gown in a corner and blinked from the extravagance of the clothing to my cousin, whose hands landed on her hips.
“You’re right, of course you are.” I bit my bottom lip and paused in hopes the waiver in my voice would too. I didn’t want the men who’d be in attendance tonight; she could have them all. I wanted that dress for a special event. Maybe my wedding if I was ever lucky enough to capture a prince.
Sofia tapped her toe, drawing my attention back to her.
“There’s a much better fit to show your curves. This one,” I said, taking a step to another rack full of blues and silver. “The color matches your eyes.”
The glint in Sofia’s irises gleamed as brightly as the crystal embroidered details. She beamed while snatching the frock from my hands.
“It’ll have to do. We’re running out of time, and we still have makeup and hair. I want drama. Curls, braids. Maybe half-up, half-down.” She sat at the vanity so I could get to work. “Yes, that’s exactly what you should do. Everything’s got to be perfect. Have you heard who’s coming tonight?”
“A monster?”
“A legend, Viv. Deadly hands.” She shivered. “Scarred face. Hot as sin.”
“You speak like he’s a god.”
“Not a god.” She rubbed foundation on her cheeks. “Nothing touches him. Not pain or fear. They say he’s empty—like a ghost.”
“A ghost?” I whispered, my heart stumbling. Stefano’s interrogation burst into my mind. “Who says this?” I combed through her thick waves with my fingers, watching her reflection in the mirror.
“Mamma.”
Zia Beatrice. I rolled my eyes. “Gossip then.” Unless I was to believe what I learned in the cellar.
“It’s not.” She handed me a brush. “Mamma hears the men talk, and Papà too. The ghost is celebrated among all the soldiers for the work he does with a gun.”
“Where’d he come from? Why are we just hearing about him now? I mean, Sof, most men are born into the underworld. They don’t submit an application to become Satan’s wingman.”
She huffed, drawing dark lines in stripes everywhere on her skin. Contour or some merda pazza. Totally ridiculous. “He didn’t apply, Vivi. The family sought him out so no one else could have his skills. Smart, if you ask me, and I plan on having him all to myself.”
“You do?” I laughed, then shut up when she glowered at me.
“Do you doubt he’ll be interested?”
With her curves? “No, but you have Tommy.”
“Tomasso,” she spat, as if her infatuated guard was dirt on her tongue. “He’s a child, and I need a man.”
“Okay, but how are you going to capture one that is more spirit than flesh?” I teased her, yet she remained serious.
“My papà will get me what I want, and I want the untouchable.”
I let her dream, droning on without telling her she was wrong.
As sick as it was to think, our fathers would make our match when they needed a connection and with whomever they chose.
Nausea swirled in my stomach as I wrapped her thick mane through the hot iron.
When I was done with Sofia, I half-heartedly added a few curls to my own hair.
Then I gave up and wound the length in a bun.
Maybe I should’ve agonized over my appearance, as my cousin did.
She primped and painted her face in hopes a made man would find her appealing. I wanted to volunteer at the mission, where we cared for people. My father plotted to own them, or at the very least to rule the Cosa Nostra.
Instead, we donned borrowed gowns, wove our hair into knots, and layered mascara onto our lashes. In Sofia’s case, she added a set of falsies to extend their length, plumped her mouth with liner, and spritzed Mama’s expensive perfume in her cleavage. My own remained on display, scent free.
We rose from our chairs at the same time.
Sofia was a picture of chic elegance in that fancy gown, the gaping weave showing her bronzed skin.
Standing next to her left a familiar tingling of inadequacy dancing up my spine.
The feeling grew when her gaze bounced to me, then to herself in the mirror.
Pouty magenta lips pursed before her eyes returned to mine.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, tugging on the hem of my skirt. “Is the dress too small?” I glanced down, making sure my burgeoning chest was covered. Puberty had hit late, but once it did, the hormonal arrow targeted my boobs and missed everywhere else.
“You’re nothing.” Her tone was tight, her chin notching up, though she towered inches above me. “Nothing to concern me. I’m just thinking of strategy. We should make a separate entrance. I’ll go first.”
I stifled the sting of rejection as she picked up her skirt and called over her shoulder, “Give me ten minutes. Better yet, fifteen.”
Gritting my hands by my stomach, I followed her cinched waist and swaying backside to the exit of Mama’s suite. The moment she disappeared, I spun to stare through the large windows and the ocean churning beyond the pristine lawn.
I sighed, hanging my head.
“Why the dour face, daughter?” Mama’s voice was light yet full of the strength I missed. Just the sound tugged my pout into a smile.
“Sofia,” I said while turning to find her.
“Ah, no further explanation is needed.” She made her way to me with the posture of a queen.
She looked like one too. Diamonds dripped from her ears.
A few strands of hair escaped the pins binding an elegant twist, dusting her bare shoulders.
All that was missing was a crown. Most bowed to her without one anyway.
I straightened my shoulders. “Sofia seeks a husband.”
“And you do not. Mia dolce ragazza, ora una donna agli occhi dell'uomo. (My sweet girl, now a woman in the eyes of man.)” Her finger grazed my cheek, a soft smirk curving her lips. “You shall have your pick when you’re ready. You will decide.”
“But Father—”
“Is not your worry. This is my decision, and he’s allowed it.”
“How?” Thoughts of his hands on her raced through my mind. Not a soft touch, but the wicked pinch of pain that had me wincing and searching for bruises on her ivory skin. This was not the first time I’d seen her since the cellar incident, but it was the first we discussed the outcome.
“I’m fine. Vigo and I came to an understanding through words.”
“Words?” I scoffed. He knew about fists, guns, and torture techniques. Father knew nothing of negotiation. At least not where I was concerned. I had my own rebellious streak that was quite the opposite of Sofia’s. She wished to secure her place in the mob, and I sought absolution for its evil ways.
“Yes. A vow he’s made to me. No man will have you without permission.”
“Mine or his?”
The smirk fell. “Yours. Your choice. While I live and breathe, you will at least have the freedom to choose.”
Suspicion prickled like needles along my spine. For eighteen years, I’d been under his thumb—a king before he was ever a father. Vigo didn’t do anything without having a reason of his own. And the meaning of this decision hit me like a punch to the gut.
“He’ll make sure to keep me pure, so he can trade my virtue away when he needs it the most.”
I was a mule after all.
Her lids fluttered, closing for a second before opening to glare at the circumstances surrounding us. “I won’t give him the opportunity to use you.”
I snickered in disbelief, walking toward the windows where I rested my forehead to look at the sky.
Blood-red ink swirled into the deep plum of dusk above the horizon, proof the world held promise.
But where was its promise to me? “We don’t have choices in this life.
We have him and his desires, never our own. I don’t wish to marry a monster.”
“Because I did.”
My heart thrashed a violent beat against my ribcage. The reality was, I didn’t fear my father. I didn’t fear his business or his soldiers, or even marrying one of them. I was afraid of who I would become if I did. A participant in deceit. By birth, I had no choice. In marriage, I made a vow.
But my future rose before me like an inevitable promise of the treachery to come. The sky offered its forewarning.
Still, Mama was the last person I wanted to hurt. That truth burned through me with spiteful shame. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she implored. “There is no disgrace in asking. I don’t regret this life, for in my sacrifice came freedom… and you.”
My head snapped up, searching for her reflection. “Freedom from what and who?”
A sad, wistful smile tugged at her lips. “In time, you will know the whole story. Today we celebrate your birth, and when you have your own child, you’ll understand the power of this love and the ability to forgive even the gravest sin.”
Her skirt ruffled as she moved behind me. I twisted around to her raised hand holding a small present, the bow pink and pristinely knotted.
“Happy birthday.”
Once the paper was torn away and the lid ripped open, I found a corded gold chain with a medallion on the end.
Mama lifted it from the box, holding the medal so I could see the etching clearly. “Saint Michael,” she murmured. “The leader of God’s army against evil.”
My mystical mother and her signs. I almost laughed, but I wouldn’t disrespect her thoughtfulness. Instead, I dropped the remnants of the package to touch the inscribed details. An angel warrior with a raised sword—a savior.
She opened the clasp, bringing either side of the chain around my throat to refasten the necklace. “Man may rule over us now, but one day you’ll be free.”
“From the sinners.”
She smirked. “Humans. We’re all broken shards; we only differ in the sharpness of our edges.”
“If that’s true, then women are equal to men.”
“And the pinnacle of His creation. We’re smart enough to wait for the right time to reign.”
“How will we know when it’s our time?”
Her head tilted as she considered me. “God has a plan for us, Vivienne. Fate is a direction we cannot fight, but there are signs keeping us on course. What you don’t get from Him, you will have from me.”
Just as I opened my mouth to ask about her mystic wisdom, Father cleared his throat at the entrance to the suite.
Blood ran cold in my veins while he studied us. Did he think we were plotting against him?
“Come, Vivienne.” Mama smiled, unconcerned. “We’ll make an entrance, and men and women may covet your beauty; but none will have you unless it is by your own choice.”
She said this while staring at her husband.
His chin dipped in agreement, but amusement lit his eyes.
No vow was sacred to Vigo Cabello, not even those he made to his wife.
Daughters of the Cosa Nostra married whomever their father’s chose, and I was no exception to the rule. Even if he promised her, I was.
As we descended the stairs, I thought about the two people on either side of me. Good versus evil. Mama believed destiny shaped our future, though God’s plan had brought her to the king. A hell on earth if there ever was one.
At that moment, I swore to myself I’d leave before being forced to marry a monster. But when the bright lights of the ballroom came into view, a thought loaded into my mind. It triggered this awful feeling, popping like a gunshot and then trickling to the ground into a pool of red.
I couldn’t run fast enough to escape fate.