Chapter 3
GIANNA
Only twinkling, slow music was chiming on the line when Matteo handed me the phone, kind of upbeat, kind of sad. Despite its calming, bright tones my heart started racing faster and faster, skipping beats while I waited for someone to pick up.
By the time a nurse’s voice said, “Here’s the doctor for you,” I was so lightheaded it felt like I was standing on water and not the firm hardwood floors of this bedroom.
“Your sister made it through surgery fine,” the doctor said. “There was another little bleed that we hadn’t caught the first time, caused by a small bone fragment, but we managed to find it in time, before it did a lot of damage. She’s in observation now, but improving greatly.”
I’ve been holding my breath while he spoke and I exhale now, so loud it sounds like gusting wind.
“Could you… could you repeat all that?” I stammer, putting the phone on speaker so Matteo can hear too. He’s just been standing there by the balcony door, immobile, like a stone statue, watching me.
The doctor goes over everything again in a more annoyed tone.
“So she’ll be fine now?” I ask once he’s done.
“Yes,” the doctor says, sounding like he’s tired of repeating himself. “She’s strong. And she’s awake already. Why aren’t you here? You should be.”
“I… I want to be,” I say and look at Matteo. I’m sure my eyes are full of pleading, begging even and I hate that.
Of course he won’t let me go see my sister.
No matter how much I beg. I tried to kill him last night, if nothing else.
And I won’t ever ask him for anything. So I hate that my first instinct was to look at him pleadingly.
Or that I needed him to hear what the doctor said so I’d be sure I heard it right.
Matteo takes the phone from my shaking hand.
“We’ll be there as soon as we can,” he says. “Can you put her on the phone.”
The doctor grumbles then says, “I’ll get the nurse back on, see what she can do.”
Then the calming music comes back on and this time the sweet melody lightens my mood, which I’m sure is the whole purpose of why this particular song was chosen.
To give people waiting for news about their loved ones some hope, an echo of happiness.
Even if the news they end up getting is terrible.
Which in my case it is not. And the relief over that, the happiness is only just starting to sink in.
“Ms. Gianna?” the nurse says. It’s Tanya, the kindest of all the nurses I met at that hospital. Thank God. “There are no phones in the ICU room, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you,” I breathe. “I want to talk to my sister so much.”
“I’ll bring her my own phone,” she says. “Can you call back in five minutes? I’ll send you my number.”
“Yes! I’ll call. I’m so sorry I can’t be there. Thank you!”
“It’s my pleasure,” she says and I can hear her smiling wide. “Talk soon.”
Then she hangs up and the dial tone sounds like an alarm blaring. I look at Matteo whose eyes are positively glowing with a light I can’t feel. No heat, just brightness.
I didn’t even ask him if we can call back. I just assumed. What if he says no?
The silence between us starts to drag. I’m still holding the phone and it vibrates and chimes as the text with Tanya’s number comes through. The silence swallows it up.
“I really, really want to speak to my sister,” I finally say. That’s not the same as asking him for something. Or demanding it. That’s just stating exactly what I need.
The silence drags and his gaze isn’t growing any hotter, not even warmer.
Then he finally nods.
And it’s like a whole mountain has rolled off my chest.
I dial Tanya’s number before he can change his mind, pressing the phone to my ear. I turn away from him as Tanya picks up, telling me to hold on.
And a few moments later, I hear her talking to Chiara, explaining what is going on and that she has me on the line.
And the next voice I hear is my sister’s.
A groggy, hoarse, “Hello,” barely louder than a whisper.
I never thought I’d hear her voice again. I didn’t even know how true that was until this very moment as my throat is all closed up and my eyes are so itchy it’s like they’re full of sand.
But I clear my throat and say, “Hey, baby sister. I hear you’re doing great,” as cheerily as I can.
She scoffs, a faint, wispy sound, but it tells me I’m right all on its own.
“Fine is overstating it,” she says. “But I think I’ll live. And if I never have to go into surgery again, I’ll die happy.”
My heart starts racing again at the thought of her dying. That possibility is still too new, too raw, too possible. I wish she wouldn’t joke about it. But she wouldn’t be Chiara if she didn’t.
“Where are you?” she asks. “Why aren’t you here? Are you OK?”
In the background, I can hear a machine start beeping louder and faster. Must be her heartrate monitor. I shouldn’t upset her.
I glance at Matteo who is still just standing there like he’s made of stone. But stone warms up when the sun shines on it and his gaze is still nothing but cold.
“I’m in LA… with Matteo. Dad is fine too.
And Mom and Lidia. Everything is turning out for the better,” I tell her.
And Matteo’s gaze turns warmer. In fact, it explodes with all the heat of the sun, just like I’ve gotten used to it doing.
Good. Finally. “I’m sorry you’re all alone there. I’ll come as soon as I can.”
That’s a tall promise. One I might never get to keep. Though if the sunshine in Matteo’s eyes is anything to go by, maybe he doesn’t hate me so much for trying to kill him last night that he’ll destroy my life now.
“Good, come soon, I miss you,” Chiara says. Then she scoffs again. “But I’m not exactly alone. My husband’s been here all night apparently. And now that I’m awake he wants to be in the room with me all the time.”
I get the distinct feeling that he just walked in as she says that. It’s a tension that translates even over the phone from all the way across the country.
“Be careful,” I tell her. Wishing I could give her better advice, wishing I could help her.
Because her husband is Angelo Ferro, the man who destroyed our family so that he could take over running the New York Mafia. And he forced her to marry him. He’s too old, too ruthless, too cold, and dark for her. And he’s the one who shot her.
By accident. Sort of, because Chiara leapt in front of the bullet that was meant for our father. But still.
“I’m still waiting for the curse to get rid of him for me,” she says.
“One of them will,” I say and smile. “Either the one hanging over me or the one I cast.”
My curse makes it impossible for any man to marry me, they all die soon after we become engaged.
We once feared the curse extended to my two sisters as well.
Now we hope it does. But Ferro is still alive, and they’ve been married for a while now.
That’s OK, though, because I cursed him again during his wedding to my sister.
“What did you curse him with again?” she asks.
“That he will live a short life full of suffering and die soon and painfully.”
She repeats it and I’m sure it’s for Ferro’s benefit.
“Be careful, Chiara,” I warn her again. I wish she wouldn’t be so brave with him, because Ferro is a very dangerous man. Deadly dangerous. But my sister has never been meek. Not even for her own good.
I hear Tanya’s voice tell her that she should end the call now.
“I am careful,” she says. “Say hi to the fam for me. Tell them I miss them. Tell them I’ll see them again soon.”
“I will,” I promise her.
Then Tanya takes the phone, says goodbye and the line is silent again. After the conversation, the silence is deafening. Because it’s not just silence, it’s the absence of all that is right and good in my world.
Matteo takes the phone from me and slips it into his pocket.
“Happy now?” his voice is sharp, but his eyes are not.
“I won’t be happy until I’m with my family again,” I tell him.
He shrugs. “Get ready. We’re going shopping now.”
I almost tell him I don’t need anything from him.
But the plain and simple truth is that I need everything from him. Because he’s my only link to the outside world, to my family, to a life that’s not the life of a prisoner.
Adapt. Make do. You will learn to accept your lot and your life.
All wise words spoken by generations of women in my family. Spoken as advice passed down woman to woman to make the arranged, loveless marriages easier to enter into. To make our lives of very limited freedom easier to bear.
And if it worked for all of them, it will work for me too.
“I’m ready,” I say. “Take me shopping.”
The look he gives me is like the noonday sun caressing my skin. But if he thinks I’ll ever forgive him, he has another thing coming.
I may be at his mercy. I maybe be unable to kill him. I may need him. But I am not his. And I never will be.