Chapter 10 – Serena
Although I was curious about an Orthodox Church service, sleep was more enticing than attending.
The few extra hours I managed to snatch were worth the scolding for missing church.
Sunday dinner, however, was not optional.
I sat with Evangelia and her mother at a long communal table and gorged on the flavors of traditional Greek dishes.
The meal was heavily seafood based, and I couldn’t get enough of the grilled catch of the day. It was so fresh! So perfect.
The whole community gathered in the center of the village, sitting at three long, wooden tables.
Children ran about, playing and nibbling off the adults’ plates.
The old timers gabbed in their native tongue, and happiness flowed like an unseen energy through the space.
Even as an outsider, the majority of people were friendly to me, and I stopped being self-conscious about the fading bruises on my face.
Quite a few ladies pressed me to try their soups, swearing it was the best in the village.
It was hard to give the first place to any of them, they were all divine in their own way.
But despite the few interactions, I felt like I was looking in on their gathering rather than participating.
Many shot curious glances in my direction, and I knew they still whispered about the strange woman staying in Markos’s cottage.
The Black Tide, they called him. An ominous name for my absent host.
I noticed four adults sitting toward the head of one table. They hadn’t been in town before. Of that, I was positive! As they ate, they seemed to hold court over their area. Every so often, the villagers around them would change. Each time, there was a new, animated discussion.
“I’ve never seen them before,” I commented to Evangelia, nodding subtly to their section.
She didn’t need to look. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “They are part of the leadership.”
Translation: they were mobsters.
“Even the woman?” I glanced curiously at her.
Long black hair cascaded down her back, and the smile on her face was damn near feral as she leaned toward a villager and whispered something in the man’s ear.
“Well, yeah, of course.” There was that look again.
I resisted the urge to check if I’d sprouted two more heads.
“She’s really a leader? Not married to a don—” I caught myself “—a boss?”
Evangelia blanched. “Oh, that’s dangerous. Don’t ever say that in front of her!”
“What is?” Iosif quipped, appearing behind us and ruffling his sister’s hair.
Evangelia squeaked and dodged his touch, accidentally knocking into my glass of lemonade.
I snatched it before it tipped.
“Telling Iris that she’s only valuable if she gets married,” Evangelia answered, giving her brother a salty look.
Iosif laughed. “Yeah, dangerous is the right word.”
Curious...a woman mobster. That was unheard of in the famiglia, and I would bet other organizations didn’t have women bosses. But this syndicate didn’t operate in any sense of the word normalcy.
Iosif fidgeted with a piece of bread, tearing the corner. He didn’t look like he’d been at sea for the past three days, which was where his sister said he’d been. Weren’t sailors supposed to be swaying and wobbly on land? I didn’t dare ask, not wanting to sound dumb.
“Serena, would you come take a stroll with me?” Iosif asked suddenly and offered me his arm.
The suddenness of his suggestion, the soft tone of the lanky man, and the way his sister had somewhere else to look, her face reddening, sent a peal of warning bells through my mind. He was so friendly, it was hard to see him as dangerous. Yet, I didn’t want to go with him.
Oh, holy mother, what now?
“Where are we going?” I gulped.
“Just a short walk. I want to talk to you about your situation.” His smile was boyish, making him look impossibly young.
There was no good reason to refuse him. Rising, I side-stepped the man and began to walk away from the table. Iosif bounded after me, pulling at my hand.
I ripped it away from his clammy grip.
The whole interaction felt off. There was some detail I was missing. They’d finally decided what to do with me. But...what was it?
My pulse hammered in my throat. I was both hot and cold at the same time.
“Come to the orchard,” he offered, not perturbed at my unenthusiastic participation.
Right before I crossed through the picket fence, a chill slithered down my spine. I turned and searched the crowd, but there was no piercing blue gaze staring at me. Markos hadn’t been at the meal, and I didn’t see him now.
But I could have sworn he was there. That feeling only came in his presence.
“I wanted to talk to you. Alone,” Iosif explained.
There was an adoring reverence in the way he looked at me. Dread pooled in the pit of my stomach.
“Okay,” I said cautiously.
“Your situation here is...tricky.”
I stopped short under an orange tree. “Spit it out.”
“I’ve been chosen to marry you,” he said awkwardly.
The words hung in the air like a grenade with the pin removed. I blinked rapidly, certain I’d misheard him.
“You’ve been what?” My voice came out strangled.
Iosif shifted his weight, his lanky frame suddenly seeming too big for the space between the orange trees. “It’s been decided. I’m to marry you.”
A laugh burst from my lips before I could stop it. “Is this some kind of joke? Did Evangelia put you up to this?”
His face fell, genuine hurt flashing across his features. “No joke. It’s been decided. Your presence here requires....” He searched for the right word. “Legitimization.”
“Legitimization?” I repeated, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. “I don’t need to be legitimized. I’ve been kidnapped!”
Iosif stepped closer, reaching for my hand again.
This time I let him take it, too worked up to do anything else.
This was the thing I dreaded most growing up.
While my brothers swore they wouldn’t marry me off as chattel, in the mob, arranged marriages were common enough to make me wake up in the dead of night screaming.
“I’ll be good to you.” He squeezed my fingers with a surprising amount of strength. “I’ll protect you.”
I blinked up at the man—the boy—wearing a Batman tee. This was not my fate. I did not break from my brother’s gilded cage to be trapped here.
“No!” I ripped my hands away.
Iosif’s face crumpled. “Serena, please understand—”
“No,” I repeated, backing away from him. “I don’t care what’s been ‘decided.’ I’m not marrying anyone.”
The afternoon sun filtered through the orange trees, casting dappled shadows across his crestfallen face. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
“It’s not so simple,” he said, lowering his voice. “When you came here, things were set in motion. You’ve seen too much. They determined you’re a risk.”
“Who’s they?” I demanded. I wanted it in the open. I wanted to hear him admit this was a criminal organization. At least then we could have an honest discussion about my options.
“Um, the people?” he hedged.
Chicken. “Well, they can go to hell,” I snapped, my heart hammering against my ribs. I stormed away, headed for the cottage that was my temporary dwelling. It seemed less like a place of captivity, and more like a haven from this madness.
A breeze rustled through the orange trees, carrying the scent of citrus and the distant laughter from the village center. The contrast between that joy and my sudden panic made me dizzy.
“It’s going to happen one way or another,” Iosif called out, jogging after me.
I rounded on him. “It’s not. I’d rather die.”
Iosif looked as though I struck him. “Okay, if you really feel that strongly—”
“I do.” Why? Why! Did he have to look like a kicked puppy? “Look, I’m sure you’re a great guy, but this isn’t up for discussion.”
He only nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Good.” I began to walk away, not wanting to see his hurt expression anymore.
I was pissed, but I didn’t need to take it out on him.
After all, he was only the messenger. I would find someone else to give an earful to, and if worse came to worse, I would run away.
That was probably my best option anyway.
I hadn’t felt the need to leave before this; the fairy tale had been unfolding so beautifully. But now came the true colors.
If I went back to Alessandro, my brother would never let me leave Chicago again. My chest tightened as I burst into the cozy kitchen of the cottage. I never felt more free than in this place. Why did it have to stop? Why couldn’t I have a happy ending?
I stopped short.
“No,” I breathed.
But my brain couldn’t help but wonder: Was Iosif the happy ending I needed to keep my freedom?
“Oh, madonna, no,” I prayed. There had to be another way. Otherwise, I was just trading one prison for another.