Chapter 14 Zarina #2
I don’t know when she became boss, or how. It never occurred to me that it might be anything more than a violent crawl over dead bodies. The usual ascent. And I’m not sure what it matters to our current predicament.
Father takes my silence for what it is—a denial. “Who did she steal from to rise so high, so quickly?”
“God, Father, you might as well be some old white dude complaining about immigrants stealing our jobs.”
He tilts his head. “Is that not what she is?”
And that cracks my facade more than anything else. I narrow my eyes, allowing the full force of my unimpressed resentment to flood my body. “Not any more than you.”
Father steps backward like I slapped him. He studies me, head to toe, and hardens the more he sees. His lips pull into a grimace. “She was a Gallo once.”
“What?” I half-scoff, half-frown at him.
“Before she was a gangster, Andrea Tamayo was a Gallo.”
“That’s not possible,” I murmur. But I glance to the photos behind him, to the one of Darius and Tamayo on the steps, mean-mugging the camera. It’s the same one Rita showed me in her personal album the first time I visited. Taken months after Tamayo left for a year and came back barely breathing.
“Ask her. See if she tells you the truth.”
I whip my gaze back to him, hot anger burning under my skin. “Like you tell me the truth?”
“Withholding is not lying,” he snaps.
“It’s not honest, either.” And this kernel of information could be dishonest, too.
Meant to sow distrust, to push me away from Tamayo and back to him, to the family.
And it only shows what he and Mother don’t understand—I don’t want to betray the family.
I want to help. I want to keep us from whatever fate we’re hurtling toward.
I want to do that without sacrificing myself.
I don’t know how to convince him. I’ve been asking since that night he and Mother ambushed me, and neither have yielded an answer. Either they don’t trust me, or something else is keeping their tongues tied.
“You want to apologize?” I challenge.
Father squints at me, his brown eyes almost disappearing with the force of his suspicion.
“Actions speak louder than words, wouldn’t you agree?” I ask.
“Spit it out,” he says through clenched teeth.
“I want to see the contract.” This is the one thing I can think of that will let me see the whole picture of what the fuck is going on with my parents, with the Gallo family. “With the Accardis. Show me the marriage contract.”
“Absolutely not.”
Heaviness drops into my stomach. He doesn’t trust me. “I can ask the Accardis.”
He snorts with a lazy wave of his hand as he says, “Go ahead. I’m sure that will work out well for you.”
I try his favorite tactic—guilt—and lower my gaze, let my shoulders fold inward. “You used to include me in these things.”
“Doing so was inappropriate,” he mutters flimsily.
I almost let loose an acerbic retort but bite down on the impulse before the words can form on my tongue. Anger doesn’t get me any answers. And I need answers more than I need him to apologize and take responsibility.
“Please, Father.” I let my voice soften even further, like I’m the little girl who used to play in his office while our consigliere updated him on the latest shipping numbers. “Let me help.”
“You can’t.”
“How can you know if I haven’t tried?” I ask.
The quiet between us lengthens and grows until it feels as solid as the tile beneath my shoes. It’s the sound of breaking, whether to finally give in to my requests or not, I don’t know. All I know is that there is pain in it. All I know is this is the most honest answer he’ll ever give me.
Father’s eyes shutter closed, his shoulders straighten, and he levels a look at me that is heavy with the power of his position. “You want to help? Marry Marcus. Allow us to close this deal.”
And that’s it. His answer, final and true and horrible.
His words are like a trigger, opening up that deep maw of black within myself.
I shove the girl down further, hold her under the inky void until she can’t feel anything other than ravenous hunger.
To garner power, to seek revenge, to bite back until she tastes blood.
“I’ll find out.” Cold bites across my tongue, my words a vicious promise. “Whether from you or other means, I’ll find out. And I’ll find a way to fix this that will condemn you and Mother with as much careless cruelty as you’ve shown me.”
“Zarina—”
“I swear it on my Gallo blood.” The family words are death before dishonor after all.
Father heaves a frustrated sigh like I’m the one acting childish, like he’s the one being reasonable.
And that is my last fucking straw. I will the tears behind my eyes to stay, the sobs in my throat to die.
And I let the rage rise and devour the pain, the betrayal, the desperate desires of the little girl at the bottom of that black hole inside of me to be loved and valued and seen.
When all I can feel is pulsing fury, I turn on my heel and stride through the door, the beeping egg timer in one hand and my burning heart in the other.