Chapter 20
CHAPTER 20
VALENTINA
T oday I’ll be going back to my family. I should be happy, thrilled, and I try to trick myself into believing that I am. But my insides feel hollow. I watch Emiliano’s retreating back, and I flinch when he slams the door behind him. Swallowing down the hurt and blinking away the burning tears, my hands become slick with anticipation. I try to swallow again, but my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I don’t know how the fuck I’m going to be able to explain my lack of virginity when I go back, because as soon as Nicholas realizes that I am not a virgin, I’m sure he’ll do something in retaliation.
I look down at the dress. It’s an exact match to the one that I was wearing the night I was taken. I clench my fists, trying to stop myself from shaking. Placing the dress on the table, I push down my joggers, then pull my hoodie over my head, my arms and legs prickling as the cold air cools my warm body. I step into the dress, sliding my arms through the straps, but when I reach behind me to try zip it up, I only manage to get halfway, even after struggling with it for a couple of minutes. Opening the door, I find Emiliano standing against the opposite wall, his eyes on his phone screen.
“Are you done?” he asks. I narrow my eyes. I guess we’re both not looking each other in the eye.
“Umm.” I don’t know what to say. His eyes snap to my face, and he scans me from head to toe, confusion crossing his gaze before he shuts it down. “I need help zipping the dress up.”
He dips his head once. “Turn around.”
I move my hair to the side as I turn, and he takes a step closer. His breath fans the top of my head and his warm fingertips ghost over my back. I feel his finger and thumb trap the zipper, his thumb caressing my skin as it ascends. My chest moves slightly faster than it should, and it feels like it’s taking too much effort to breathe.
His breath ghosts the shell of my ear as he rasps, “All done.”
I do what feels like the most impossible thing in the universe and step away from Emiliano. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes for a second before opening them and turning around. Emiliano’s hands are clenched at his sides, but his face gives away nothing.
He opens his mouth to say something, but he clamps it shut and heads toward the door of the hallway. I hurry behind him, taking a step back when he abruptly stops in front of the door, his hand on the knob in a death grip.
He inhales sharply before opening the door, then we make our way out of the house and down the steps.
I spot Romiro and a tall, large man stands next to him. Once we get closer, I notice that the man has curly dark hair and his eyes are the color of whiskey, his skin tan but his face pale; a scar running down his cheek adds to his dangerous aura and his arm is in a cast. Even though he is laughing, something dark lurks in his eyes and red rims around them that make him look sick.
Emiliano comes to a stop next to them, clapping each other on their backs. I stop a couple of steps away, cautious and suspicious. Romiro looks at me and gives me a small smile with a wink. I return his smile with a weak one.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the most beautiful girl in the Outfit.” The gravel crunches beneath the man’s steps as he comes closer to me. I notice he has a strong alcoholic smell. Clenching my fists, I try to stop them from shaking. “I’m Dominico Folonari, Consigliere and cousin of Eli,” he introduces himself, extending his hand, and I just watch it. My eyes flicker to Romiro’s and Emiliano’s faces, finding them both watching us with strained looks. I shake his hand, not wanting to be rude, and he squeezes my palm before letting it go. I rub it, trying to soothe the pulsing pain.
“Leave her alone, Dom. It’s not her fault her ass of a cousin put you in a coma,” Romiro says. He scowls, turning to look at Romiro.
“Mind your fucking business, Esposito,” Dominico growls.
“Enough. You get in the car, and you two get in the other car.” Emiliano points at me first. Pressing my lips together to stop myself from snapping at him, I open the backseat door, when his hand slams it shut. “You’re sitting in the front.”
My nose scrunches in disdain, but I do what he wants. They speak in hushed voices, but the car door muffles what they’re saying even more.
I lean my head on the window and watch them. My breath catches in my throat when Emiliano’s face breaks out in a genuine smile, and he laughs at something Romiro said. I face forward and avoid looking at them again until he opens the car door, and the smell of musk and cinnamon fills the space.
We sit in silence for a couple of seconds before Emiliano shifts and starts the car ignition, but the car doesn’t move. The driver's window rolls down, and I can see from the corner of my eye that Romiro is in another car with his arm resting on the door, window rolled down. They mutter something to each other before Romiro drives down the gravel driveway toward the gates.
The car finally moves, and Emiliano drives in silence.
“Are you not going to blindfold me?” I ask as we speed past the gate’s entrance, Emiliano ignoring me. I sigh and look out the window. I’m surprised to find more houses in a similar style to the Folonari’s house, all far apart with acres separating them. I guess when I tried to escape, I left from a different street.
“No. The Outfit isn’t stupid enough to risk breaching my territory twice, and even if they try, they won’t know where to go, because you don’t even know which part of New Hampshire this is.”
He’s right. I’m not exactly the biggest fan of geography; I prefer history anyway. The drive is long, and we both refuse to talk to each other, tense air filling the silence. Soon, my eyelids begin to feel heavy, and I keep yawning every two seconds. I’ll just close my eyes for a bit.
?The car comes to a sudden halt, and I jolt up, looking around.
“Well, that was fast.” Emiliano huffs out an amused breath, and I turn to him, narrowing my eyes.
“What?” I ask. He shakes his head, a small smirk on his lips.
“You slept for four hours,” he tells me. My eyes widen, and he laughs at my reaction before opening his door.
“Stay in here and don’t get out until I come to get you.”
I look out the window and see that we’ve stopped at some sort of parking lot that’s surrounded by warehouses. Romiro and Dominico are both leaning on the car they came in, positioned diagonally to the one I’m in. I fight the urge to get out of the car and instead wait.
The three men stand near the car I’m in, but only Romiro and Dominico have a gun drawn in their hands. Two cars come creeping in from the other side of the parking lot and stop a couple of inches away.
I hold my breath as the car door opens and my Dad steps out, in a suit, his gray hair slicked back and his belly protruding over his black dress pants. The other car doors fling open, and four bodyguards pile out and stand close to Dad with guns drawn.
Behind him, the passenger door opens, and Angelo steps out of the car next, swiftly walking to the trunk. The driver's door also swings open and Dad’s other guard follows Angelo.
I cover my mouth with my palm as Angelo and Giovanni pull out a tied man with a black bag over his head. They drop him in front of Emiliano’s feet. Dad’s mouth moves, but I can’t hear anything from this far and the car door doesn’t help either.
Romiro steps forward and grabs the bag off the tied man’s head. I gasp into my palm, watching a beat-up Giuseppe slowly blink up at the three men above him. Emiliano turns to the car I’m in and walks toward it, my heart suddenly flying to my throat at what’s coming.
He flings the passenger door open and pulls me out by the arm. I wince at the force of his grip, which he notices and loosens it.
“Valentina.” I fight the urge to hurl at the fake tone Dad uses when he says my name.
“I’m sorry, amore ,” Emiliano whispers in my ear, low enough just for me to hear, and I feel tears welling in my eyes. He doesn’t get to call me that when he’s giving me back.
I force myself to swallow the knot that had formed in my throat as he throws me toward my Dad. Dad’s hands grip me by my upper arms, and he shoves me toward Angelo and Giovanni. I stumble, but Angelo catches me.
“Angelo, take Valentina to the other car and make sure they get her out of here” my Dad orders. I bite my tongue to stop myself from arguing. I let Angelo drag me to the other car, and I try to resist looking back, but once I reach the car door and it opens for me to get inside, I rebel. Emiliano’s icy eyes meet mine, and they soften a fraction before his face hardens and his eyes flick back to my Dad’s.
I swallow and bend my head to slide into the car, the cool leather seats gliding against my warm skin. The car door slams and the silence envelops me into its bitter arms. The guards join me, one besides me, one in the front passenger seat, and one driving. I look to where Emiliano, Romiro, and Dominico are standing to find all of them staring at my Dad with their guns drawn as they watch him get back in his car. As the car begins to move, everything outside becomes a whirl of dull colors as I try to decipher what is what.
The sound of the air conditioner fills the private jet as we step onto it. We’d reached New Jersey state half an hour ago, and once we stepped out the cars, Dad hadn’t spoken one word to me. My palms feel slick as my anxiety worsens over the next couple of minutes. I settle into one of the seats and Dad’s guard stands waiting for him to do the same.
Dad’s narrowed eyes flicker to me before he settles into his seat and leans back, asking for the flight attendant. “Get me some scotch, no ice.”
I lean back in my seat, my muscles all scrunched up and are wound so tight that I think I might snap any second. I stay like that the whole ride back to Chicago, anticipating Dad’s wrath, but it never comes, not when we’re in the jet, not when we’re in the car on our way to our house, and not when we enter the house. Mom, Violette, Monica, Marcello, and Nonna all stand in front of the door. Their faces are full of hope, but something broken lingers in their eyes. I run to Mom, who holds her arms open and squeezes me in her embrace.
I feel everyone else joins in, even Nonna, and Marcello hugs my legs. All the tears that I had bottled up come pouring out of me as an ugly sob leaves my lips. Mom’s shoulders shake as she buries her face in my hair.
“I was…I was so scared that I’ll never see you alive.” Her voice breaks, and she pulls back her palms, cradling my face as she scans me from head to toe for any injuries.
“Valentina, my sweet girl. Those barbarians didn’t torture you, did they?” Nonna’s voice is full of disgust as she speaks about “them,” as if they’re not the same as us.
“No, Nonna they…they didn’t torture me.” I decide against telling my family that, instead of torturing me, they treated me with kindness and respect.
“Let the girl breathe. I’m going to my office,” I hear Dad grumble as he heads up the stairs, his steps echoing around the large entrance hall.
“Come along, we need to get you ready for when you meet your fiancé and his family in a couple of days.” Nonna pulls me from Mom’s embrace as she drags me toward the stairs.
Fiancé…I don’t want a fiancé, not the one my family had chosen for me. I look back and see that Lottie looks dejected and Mon whispers in her ear. Marcello looks at us, his eyes still haunted. Mom just stands there, her face sagging. She looks as exhausted and ill as ever. Nothing has changed…but me.
By dinnertime, Nonna finally decides to let me go to my room. I close the door behind me, and a yelp leaves my lips as I turn to find Violette sitting in one of my chairs. I rush to her, and we collapse into an embrace, both of us silently crying as we feel the despair of the last couple of weeks.
“I didn’t think that I…” Her breath catches as she tries to stop crying to get her words out. “I didn’t think I would see you again. Everyone was saying that the Camorristas are all monsters and that you weren’t going to come back.”
I swallow the urge to admit the truth to Lottie, and instead choose to stay silent, even as the guilt eats at my insides. She pulls back and grasps my hands, pulling me toward the two chairs facing each other.
“Did anything happen while I was gone? Did Dad hurt you guys?” I ask her, and she shakes her head.
“No, he was too busy freaking the fuck out and killing a bunch of people for the shitty security that night.” Her blue eyes bounce around the room before coming back to me, her lips rolling together.
“I also got…” she trails off and I grab her hands.
“What? What did you get?” I ask. Her hands shake slightly in mine before she squeezes mine and pulls back.
“I got engaged to one of Dad’s business partners.”
I grit my teeth, feeling responsible for this predicament that Violette got placed in.
“How old is he?” I ask. Her nonchalant face doesn’t trick me. I know she’s nervous.
“He’s twenty-three. His name is Massimo.” She gives me a small smile.
“Have you spoken to him? Is he nice to you?” I ask her, and the tops of her ears turn a light pink, which gives her away.
“Yeah, I guess you can say he’s nice.” Her fingers twirl around each other. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my sister visibly nervous.
A loud bang hits my door, making us jump, and Nonna shouts, “Come down for dinner!” We huff a laugh before making our way downstairs.
* * *
???
I stand near the stairs that lead down to the party, and stare at the reflection of myself in the mirror, running my palms over my hair.
I look the same as I did before I was taken by the Camorra, but I don’t feel the same. Everybody tries to tell me and show me that everything is the same as it used to be, but nothing is.
I can feel it, in the way that Mom cries when she thinks that I left the room, or when Lottie and Mon whisper among themselves before asking me about the Camorra, and Marcello continues to look more and more emotionless as each day passes.
I can hear the buzz of the little get-together downstairs. My fiancé and his family are all there with my family. I swallow the lump forming in my throat, my skin feeling slightly slicker than I’d like it to.
I grip the railing as I take each step. My chest tightens as the image of Emiliano filters in front of my eyes, and I blink it away. I won’t think of someone who’d give me up so easily. He doesn’t want me, so I shouldn’t want him.
I hate my dad. I hate him with such burning passion that maybe one day the flames will either swallow me whole because of my hatred, or it will burn all those around it. I clench my fists as I try to calm my breathing, the flames of rage flickering against my abdomen. Tears sting my eyes, and the acid burns my throat as the sobs fight to break through.
Death has never seemed so appealing. I just want to be happy, is that really too much to ask for? Straightening my dress, I suck in a deep breath. I might have entertained escaping this life before the Capo of the Camorra had taken me, and then my heart, but now I have people I need to protect, I can’t be selfish. My sisters need me, my brother needs me. They deserve better than this shitshow of a circus my dad calls a family.
My heel clicks against the last step of the stairs, and I steel myself. I wish I had the courage to run away, but I can’t do that. Dad would kill my sisters and my Mom and then me once he got his hands on me.
This will determine my future. The sound of chatter and laughter gets louder the closer I get to where everyone is waiting.
“I suppose you’re one of those ladies who enjoy being fashionably late?” I startle as I spot a man standing off the entrance of the room, leaning into the shadows with his arms folded across his chest. He’s tall and broad. A hint of an accent laced around his words makes them sound seductive. I narrow my eyes at him.
“No. I don’t like being late, and that was incredibly sexist.”
He stands straighter, and I take a cautious step back.
“You’re Valentina, correct?” He steps into the light, and I can see that his eyes are a bright green like a cat’s, and his hair is as dark as the night sky.
“Depends on who’s asking,” I counter. His face remains bleak, as if he finds me a nuisance.
“I’m Nicholas Guerrero, your fiancé.”
Great, the guy clearly doesn't like me already.
“Sorry. I didn’t know who you were,” I apologize. I’m not really sorry; I don’t give a fuck, and I’m sure he doesn’t either. He nods before passing me, heading the opposite way as the party. “Where are you going? The party’s in there,” I ask.
“That party is boring as fuck. I’d love to stay and chat, but...” Nicholas shrugs, as if he’s not bothered to come up with an excuse, and his tone suggests he’d rather do anything other than stay. I watch his retreating back until he turns the corner, then decide to go to the party. The chatter slows, and I can feel everyone’s gaze on me. Everyone I know is here, and there are some people I don’t know. I spot Violette and her fiancé, Massimo, if I’m not mistaken.
He looks at my sister like she holds the moon and the sun in the palms of her hands. Lucky bitch. Nonna’s the first one to get to me as she loops her arm with mine. She’s in a soft gray dress and her hair is twisted into one of her elegant hair buns.
“Valentina, I'd like to introduce you to Gloria Guerrero. She’s Nicholas’ stepMom.” She gestures toward a woman who we come to a stop in front of. Gloria is wearing a long maxi violet dress, and her ginger hair is down in beach waves. She gives me a smile full of teeth and she looks at my nonna.
“Oh, you did say she’s beautiful, but the photos don’t do her justice.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes and decide to tune out their little talk. I manage to pry my arm out of Nonna’s grip and excuse myself.
I take a couple of steps toward an empty corner and grab a flute of champagne off one of the trays the servers are carrying around on my way. I only manage to take a sip before both Mia and Violette swarm me.
“Are you two here to ask me about the Camorra? Again,” I say. Mia gives me a sheepish smile, but Lottie just shakes her head.
“Come on, Val. You refuse to say anything about what happened, and everyone’s worried,” Violette complains. Mia steps closer to me, her fingertips grazing my upper arm carefully. I shake my head, my grip tightening on the stem of the champagne flute.
“You guys need to leave me alone. I don’t want to talk about it. It’s time that we all move on with our lives. I have a wedding to plan for.” The knot in my throat tightens further, but I swallow a gulp of the champagne. Mia presses her lips together, and Lottie’s giving me a look that I ignore.
“You know you’re not the only one who has to marry someone you don’t want to.”
I tip my glass at Violette, feeling annoyed by her tone.
“No, I’m not, but the fact is, I’m the one who has to marry someone who will take me far away from my family, and I have little time to get to know him.”
Violette doesn’t say anything because Mia grabs her shoulder, shaking her head, as if they’re in an alliance or something. By the time we’re sitting around the dinner table, I’ve downed two more glasses of champagne, and my head feels lighter.
Dad sits at the head of the table with Antonio Guerrero and Gloria Guerrero to his left. The chair to his right is empty, and I’m sitting next to it. I suppose it’s where Nicholas would be sitting. Nonna is sitting to my left, but she’s speaking with whoever is on the other side of her.
“Where is Nicholas?” I can hear Gloria whisper to one of their guards over the sound of everyone talking. The guard whispers something in her ear, and she nods, a grim expression on her face before she sees me looking at her and a dazzling smile replaces it. I return her smile and look back down at my empty plate.
We’re still waiting for Nicholas, who graces us with his presence with a tall woman walking behind him. She walks with an air of confidence that I can feel from where I am sitting, her long red hair swooped to the side.
Her long wine-red cocktail dress flows behind her as she takes the empty seat beside Gloria, who whispers in her ear. Nicholas takes the seat beside me, not sparing me a glance before he begins to talk with my Dad and his dad about some shipment.
I look back toward where the woman is sitting and find her watching me, her hazel eyes slightly narrowed before she gives me a soft smile, going back to talking to Gloria.
“Nonna, who’s that woman sitting next to Gloria?” I ask quietly. Nonna looks at me and then the woman sitting opposite her.
“That’s Sofia Gonzales, the Lawyer for the Guerrero family.”
“She looks really young,” I comment. Nonna nods before turning her sharp eyes to me.
“Valentina, I want you to keep out of their family business. Understood.” Her fingertips dig into my forearm.
“Yes, Nonna.” Her tight grip disappears.
“Good,” she whispers before turning back to her conversation with Nicholas’ nonna. I lean back into my place and clench my fists. I don’t talk to anyone as the servers move around the table, placing our food in front of us, and neither do I engage with anyone as we begin to eat. When we’re done, I stand near the doors, waiting for the time I can slip away and no one will take notice.
“I’m Sofia.” I look up to find the woman from before standing directly next to me with a smile on her face.
I swallow the piece of delizie al limone down before replying, “Valentina, nice to meet you.” Her hazel eyes are sharp, assessing everything about me from my soft pink dress that reaches my mid-thigh, dagger-shaped earrings, to my black Jimmy Choos.
“I like your dress. It’s a very unique color.” I don’t know if she thinks I wore this to catch Nicholas’ eyes or what, but I accept the compliment nonetheless.
“Thank you. I don’t think I’ve seen any woman being involved in the…” My hand moves around in a circle motion. “Well… you know,” I say, and she nods, an amused smile on her red lips.
“Organized crime business?” she supplies, and I nod, flustered. Clearly, the three champagne glasses I’ve had affected me. Our conversation is cut short by Gloria, who comes strutting over and accidentally—not accidentally—spills some wine on Sofia’s dress.
“Oh, I am so sorry, Sora.”
Sofia narrows her eyes at Gloria, who’s wiping her palm over her dress.
Sofia mutters with a blank stare, “It’s fine. Excuse me, Valentina.” She rushes past me, and I see that Gloria looks suspiciously pleased with herself. Nicholas rushes past me, following Sofia, which causes the smug smile on Gloria’s face to drop. Sensing something weird is about to happen, I quickly excuse myself and decide to head to my room. But once I reach the end of the hallway, I hear two people talking. I slowly peek around the edge and spot Sofia and Nicholas close to each other.
“Leave me alone, Guerrero. I don’t need you trailing after me like some puppy when you have a fiancée.” Sofia’s voice is harsh, and she’s pushing one hand against Nicholas’ chest. He grabs her wrist and pulls her to him, his other arm going around her waist.
“Sofia, come on, you can’t be serious about this. I told you I’ll find a solution for this.” They’re both staring at each other intensely and don’t notice me. I cringe when he leans down and kisses her. Great, my fiancé is hung up on someone else. At least I’ll know who he’ll be with if he stays out late once we’re married. I twist the ring on my middle finger, debating whether I should go back to the party or just walk by them. It’s not like I’m heartbroken and was expecting great love.
After all, I wasn’t exactly thinking of Nicholas when it comes to the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. I shake my head, not wanting to think of him. Nicholas and Sofia rip away from each other at the sound of my heels tapping against the marble floors.
Nicholas’ face is set in cool indifference, but Sofia looks guilty and as if she’s made the biggest mistake on earth. They both stare at me, expecting me to stop and say something, but I just keep walking toward the staircase.
“Aren’t you going to say something?” Sofia’s voice stops me, and I turn my neck to look at both of them.
“No, I don't care what you two do. Just leave me out of it.”
I don’t wait around for what they have to say, and instead make my way back to my room. Tonight is definitely one of the most exhausting nights I’ve ever had. ?
* * *
I’m in the garden, walking outside of the maze instead of inside. My eyes sweep across the tall hedges until I’m staring at the gray clouds above.
“All you ever do is go out and walk around in the garden or read. You never talk with us anymore.” Violette’s voice comes from behind me. I close my eyes, squeezing them shut.
“It’s not like I don’t want to spend time with you, guys. I do, Lottie. It’s just…” I swallow, struggling to finish my sentence. Violette’s hand lands on my shoulder.
“Val, you know we’re here for you. Mom, Monica, Marco, and me, we are all here for you. You don’t have to keep things to yourself.” The leaves crunch under my boots as I turn to face Violette. Her bright blonde hair is swept to the side in a long braid and her blue eyes are lined with her black liner. She drops her hand from my shoulder and slips it into the pocket of her red coat.
“I know all that, I do. And I’m grateful to have you all, but I’m just not ready to talk about…everything.”
Her eyes search my face, her eyes narrowing slightly before she nods.
“I get it. Last time we were all together... You, Mon, and I.” My brow furrows, surprised that Violette is willingly talking about the day we were ripped from Mom’s arms and taken by the four traitors. She shrugs. “We’re worried, that's all.” I wrap my arms around my stomach, my eyes falling to the grass.
“Can we please talk about something else? Everyone ever talks about is the abduction and I’m sick of hearing it.”
Violette is quiet for a second, and when my eyes make their way back up to her face, she sighs.
“It must’ve been awful.”
I roll my lips between my teeth, not wanting to lie. It wasn’t awful. In fact, it was the most freeing time of my entire existence, but now the anxiety of the consequences of what I’ve done is making me question everything.
“Hey, you didn’t tell me that you were going to come out here with Val.”
Violette turns her head to look back at Monica, and I give Mon a sheepish smile.
“I came out here alone,” I tell her. Monica huffs out a breath.
“Oh, I know. The whole house knows. Mama and Nonna are both watching from the kitchen window.”
My head whips to the side, and I spot both my mom and Nonna trying to appear like they were talking to each other.
“How long have they been standing there for?” I ask, turning my head back to Monica, expecting an answer.
She shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe half an hour.”
I groan, rubbing both my hands over my temples.
“Do you guys want to go to the coffee shop that’s opened around the corner?” Monica suggests, and I look over at Violette to see what she’ll tell Monica, but Violette just stares at me.
“Fine, whatever, but you know we can’t leave until we tell Nonna or Dad, and have security following us,” I say, and Violette rolls her eyes.
“As if that protected you last time,” she mutters under her breath. I playfully bump my shoulder into hers as we make our way up the large marble stairs. Monica keeps to the end with the wall, clinging to the railing.
“How’s your fiancé treating you?” I keep my voice low enough, not wanting Mon to hear us.
A slight blush covers Violette’s cheeks and over the bridge of her nose, but she shrugs, “He’s nice, I guess.”
I bite the side of my cheek, trying to figure out how she really feels about Massimo.
“You have a crush on him, don’t you?” I ask.
Violette whips her head my way as we come to a stop in front of the large door leading into the house.
“Val, do you realize how ridiculous that sounds? How can I have a crush on my fiancé?” she says as she shakes her head. I give her a shove.
“It’s not impossible. Besides, it’s not like you guys are marrying because you’re in love,” I tease her. Her lips twist as she regards me with narrowed eyes.
“It’s not like you’re marrying for love either, Valentina. Don’t forget that our marriages are for the benefit of the family,” she retorts, offended. I run my hand through my hair.
“No, maybe I’m not marrying for love either, but let’s not tell lies. Both our marriages are to benefit our Dad, not the family or the Outfit.”
Violette’s eyes widen, and we both look to see if Monica heard us, but we just find the door open. I take a step toward the door, but Violette grabs my arm.
“I don’t know what has happened to you, Val, for you to forget that it doesn’t matter whether our marriages benefit the Outfit or our dad. Because Dad is the Outfit, and the Outfit is Dad. You think anyone would dare question that?” She sinks her nails into my arm. “Grown men have done less and suffered greater consequences.”
I yank my arm out of her hold and slap her hand away.
“Scared, Violette? Or are you trying to piss me off?” I taunt. She crosses her arms over her chest.
“I don’t think you remember what Dad is capable of,” she says firmly.
Acid burns my throat, and my nails dig into my palms. Instead of retaliating, I decided to go inside.
“Val, wait, I didn’t mean it like that.”
I don’t answer her, and she keeps following behind me. Our footsteps echo around the hallway as we make our way into the kitchen.
“Val, come on.”
Mom and Monica are standing at the counter, but Nonna is nowhere to be seen.
“What’s happened?” Mom makes her way toward me, her eyes frantically checking me, and then moving to Violette behind me. I step around Mom and make my way to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of iced coffee.
“Nothing,” I reply simply, closing the fridge and facing my Mom. Her eyebrows are pinched as she looks at me and then at Violette.
“Are you sure, cara?” she asks, and I give her another nod, before going back to my room.
* * *
I dust the lightest layer of pink blush over my pale cheeks. They’re usually tan, but I’ve been feeling sick as of lately. Pulling down the sleeves of my dress, I watch as Violette slips into my room and silently closes the door.
She turns and sees that I’m watching her, giving me a sheepish smile as she says, “Nicholas is downstairs.” I raise an eyebrow and she adds, “He also brought you some roses.” A sour taste fills my mouth as I put the blush brush down and turn to look at my sister.
“I have to go. Don’t want to keep him waiting,” I mutter. As I pass by her, she grabs my arm.
“Val, you don’t have to fight this marriage, you can embrace it. You never know, it might be a good thing and not something bad like you think.”
I don’t look at her, yanking my arm out of her hand and walking to the door.
My hand rests on the door handle as I say, “It seems your fiancé has already turned you into a hopeless Matteontic.”
The door shuts behind me with a silent thud and I head down the stairs. I can hear Dad and Nicholas speaking, but I can’t make out what they’re saying exactly. They both stop and turn to look at me when I reach the last step, my heels echoing against the marble floors.
I give them both a smile, but it feels forced. I just hope it doesn’t look forced. Nicholas’ face remains vacant of any emotions as his eyes stay on mine. He has a bouquet of red roses in hand, and he’s wearing a white dress shirt and navy dress pants. His hair is pushed back in an effortlessly loose hairstyle. It makes him resemble Prince Eric from the Little Mermaid but with green eyes.
“Drive safe and get her back home before midnight,” Dad says to Nicholas, who gives him a nod before handing the roses to one of the maids and heading to the entrance doors. Dad’s hand snakes out and grabs me when I try to walk past him. “Behave yourself, and don’t do anything that might annoy Nicholas.” His tone carries an unsaid threat, and I give him a curt nod as he releases my arm.
Nicholas holds the door open for me and gives me a curious look as I walk past him. I ignore it and continue toward what I assume to be his car. His driver opens the back door for us, and I slide in, Nicholas sliding in after me. The drive on the way to the restaurant is spent in silence, neither of us wanting to engage the other in idle conversation.
We come to a stop in front of The Daisy, which is known for its cutesy but intimate atmosphere. I slant Nicholas a look as we both step out; I’m trying to figure out why we’re at this restaurant. Especially when he already has eyes for someone else. My question is answered quicker than I thought it would be because more than one blinding flash of light goes off and the shouts of the paparazzi fill the air. Of course, it’s a publicity stunt. I’m not mad because I care, but I wish he had the decency to tell me beforehand.
Side by side, we walk toward the entrance. Nicholas maintains the constant constipated look on his face, and I have a small smile on mine. Once we reach the entrance, two guards open the glass doors for us, and the muted beige carpet muffles the sound of our steps. The hostess greets us with a smile before she leads us to our table that’s not far from where the paparazzi are seated, but it’s private enough that no one can hear us talk.
Nicholas pulls out a chair for me, and I can hear the clicks of the cameras go off. We don’t have time to even go over the menu before a waiter comes our way to ask for our orders. I order the steak and mashed potato on the side, medium rare. And Nicholas orders some Wagyu with asparagus. I guess we both know to be as bland and boring as possible when outside.
Once the waiter is gone, Nicholas turns to look back at me and asks, “How do I know that you’re not going to go yapping your mouth about what you saw at the party?”
I narrow my eyes at him before shooting back, “I’m about as happy as you with this marriage arrangement; however, for me, my survival depends on this shitshow working out. I won’t say anything if you can keep yourself out of the tabloids. At least until we’re married because, after that, my dad won’t give a fuck what you do.”
He raises an eyebrow and says, “Well, that's settled. You’ll mind your business, and I’ll mind mine once we’re married, but until then, let's keep our interactions to a minimum. I don’t exactly feel like going out on dates with someone I don’t enjoy the company of.”
“Ditto,” is all I say before the waiter brings out our dishes and wine and we eat in silence. The only sound is the clinking of our cutlery.
Nicholas takes me back home just before eleven-thirty, and I manage to avoid everyone on my way to my room.
* * *
2 months later
Soft cries echo in the large cathedral. Nonna’s dead. She had a heart attack, and it was Nicholas and Sofia who had ‘found’ her. They say they found her, but I know that she probably saw them together and her heart couldn’t take it.
My sisters and Marcello are sitting on the pew behind us. Nicholas is sitting right next to me between my dad and I, and Mom is next to Dad, but I can make out her soft wails. The priest stands at the front of the Church, droning on about the afterlife and how Nonna lived a good, honest, and a happy life as a believing woman.
I almost laugh at how much of a lie and joke it all is. Nonna wasn’t honest or happy, and she certainly wasn’t good. Once the service is done, we all make our way to the graveyard for Nonna’s casket to be buried.
“What happened? And don’t bullshit me like you’re bullshitting everyone right now.” Nicholas stares ahead, not sparing me a glance, the ever-resting bitch face in place. “Nicho-”
“Sofia and I were speaking about what you had seen when your abuela walked in, all blazing eyes, and threatened us.” His cool baritone voice cuts me off. I narrow my eyes and my teeth grind together; I don’t believe one fucking word out of his mouth.
“She saw you two doing something, didn’t she?” I’m not asking him, just stating a fact. He slowly turns his head, his green eyes drilling a hole in my forehead as he tries to understand why I’m speaking to him.
This is our third conversation since we met, and from what I can tell, this marriage is going to go up in flames as soon as the ink is dry on the paper. He’s been avoiding me, not that I mind it, and no one is pushing for us to talk, so we’re fine to keep to ourselves. Until the wedding. I clench my purse and look straight ahead.
Nicholas and I don’t speak after that and go on about the funeral proceedings as if we’re not meant to marry in a couple of months. The wedding was postponed due to Nonna’s sudden death.
Six months, and I’ll be married to a man I barely know, can barely stand the sight of, and feel absolutely nothing for, but what do I matter in the big plan of my Dad's big criminal enterprise. ?
The next day, Gloria, Nicholas’s stepMom, is at our house with her husband, but Nicholas isn’t here. Gloria sits with me and Mom while Mom sends Violette and Monica out.
Violette leaves without any pushback since she has a date with her fiancé, but she doesn’t want to call it a date. Instead, it’s a “meetup”—whatever the fuck that means. Monica, on the other hand, seems to want to be involved in the wedding planning, not affected by the funeral we had yesterday.
“Yes, we’ll have a wedding dress shopping day maybe next month.”
Mom’s hand squeezes mine as she agrees with whatever the hell her and Gloria are talking about.
We’re sitting in the guest living room. The gray armchair is so uncomfortable that I shift around every couple of minutes, earning me looks from Gloria and Mom. I ignore them and stare off in the distance, wondering what everyone in the Camorra is doing.
I hate myself for it, because all I can think of is Emiliano. All I dream of is him. He consumes my every thought. I need to snap out of it.
I'm getting married in four months, and it’s not to him. ??