Chapter 2
HARPER
“Lift your chin up. And for Christ’s sake, Harper, stop scowling.”
Ironically, my mother scowling at me for scowling doesn’t make me want to plaster on a grin.
Still, I don’t want to listen to her criticism, so I lift my chin and force the smallest of smiles.
The truth is, I’m not even scowling. I’m tired, and I don’t feel like being used for the hundredth time.
I also don’t want to have to contend with her rage, so I deal.
It’s a “pick your battles” kind of situation.
“There, that’s better,” she says, lifting my chin. I blink under the harsh glare of overhead lighting. “Harper, have you been eating dairy again? What did I tell you it does to your complexion? There’s only so much foundation and primer one can use, you know.”
I sigh and clamp my lips tight to prevent the powder she’s dabbing on my nose from going in my mouth, but there’s the added benefit of not having to respond.
Internally I tell her that the occasional tiny, barely perceptible pink dots on my chin probably have more to do with stress than an ice cream cone, but whatever.
I close my eyes. I learned a trick when I was a little girl that if I close my eyes when she’s primping me, I can pretend I’m getting ready for the big screen. Pretend it’s your team preparing you for the set.
“Good. Hold still. Your eyebrows are coming in again. Jesus, I thought we just plucked them.”
I open one eye. While she’s normally high-strung and irritable, this is heading to an advanced level even for her. I flinch when she ruthlessly tweezes a few eyebrow hairs as if they personally offended her.
“Not too much,” I protest. “It will make the skin all red and red’s harder to cover up.”
Pursing her lips in a thin line, she stands back and admires her handiwork. She scrutinizes my brows, my hair, my makeup, then gives me a nod. “You look beautiful,” she says coldly, without a hint of warmth or actual appreciation. She’s only being pragmatic and admiring the work she did.
There was a time when I could’ve said the same for her, but the years of covering up my father’s backhands have taken their toll.
It’s only when I see her lower lip tremble that I really begin to think that something’s really off.
I look around the room.
“Where’s the ring light?” I ask. By now, she should have gotten the ring light, the camera, and everything set to record and film my next splash on social media.
“Mom?” My heart begins to beat faster. “What’s going on here?”
Biting her lip, she doesn’t respond. Her eyes are shimmering with…tears?
What the hell? I can’t remember ever seeing my mother cry.
“Mom,” I say in a whisper, silently begging her to tell me something, anything, to let me know she’s half-human and I’m more to her than a pawn sliding across a chessboard.
A sharp knock sounds at the door.
“Time to go.” It’s my brother Saul.
Go…where?
She straightens her shoulders and presses her lips into a thin line.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my voice hardening. When she doesn’t answer, I turn and yank open the bedroom door.
Saul stands in the hallway, a mini, slimmer version of my dad, his brows knit together. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters. “Took you long enough.”
“If I’d known you were waiting, I’d have taken longer.”
Unruffled, he looks past me to Mom. “You didn’t tell her shit, did you?”
My stomach drops. What games are they playing with me now? “Tell me what?”
That’s when I notice Saul’s dressed in a suit. The only times I’ve ever seen him wear a suit was to funerals. This can’t be good.
He shakes his head and takes a step toward me so he can grip me by the arm. “You’ll see. And I’m telling you now, Harper, don’t you even think about running.”
My pulse spikes. I’m dizzy. I know exactly what my family’s capable of.
If he’s telling me not to run – then he’s planning something that’s going to make me want to. Are they making me fly to Italy again? Oh, God. No. I can’t leave, not again. I have to stay here. I’m needed here.
They like to give me shit for running but none of them know the real reason.
Saul curses under his breath as he marches me downstairs, his hand still tight on my arm. “Will you let go of me? I’m not going anywhere.”
He holds me tight. “She should’ve told you. Why did you think she made you get changed into something nice?”
My heart beats so fast I’m dizzy.
“Because we were doing a photo shoot. So I could post online, obviously.” I throw his own words back at him. “It’s my job, remember? How I earn my keep? It’s what I’m supposed to do.”
“Did,” he says with a sigh. “I didn’t want to be the one to tell you, and I wasn’t gonna tell you before it was time, but now you need to know.”
Ice courses through my veins. I swallow, trying to quell my rising nerves but it doesn’t seem to satisfy the unease.
He’s walking me down the length of the hallway to the stairs, our steps noiseless on the thick carpet. This house is enormous. What most people don’t know is that three quarters of the rooms are vacant.
“So are you going to tell me or what?” I ask, my voice betraying me. The relentless quaking won’t stop.
He clenches his teeth. Stops marching me for a minute. Finally shakes his head and says in a rush of words, “Your future husband’s here.”
Before I can recover from the blow of what he just said, he grips my arm so hard I wince in pain. “No. Fucking. Running. I swear to God, I’ll kill you if you run. We’re here to discuss the details and if you fuck this up, there’ll be hell to pay.”
My mind is still stuck on… Future. Husband.
Of course I knew the chances of me being married off to someone were pretty high, but you think about it the same way you think about death. It’s there, it will come, but why worry about that now when it’s eons away?
I’m twenty years old. I haven’t even graduated college yet.
I think back to the look my mother had and the sinking feeling her obvious distress gave me. She loves to parade me around and cash in the clicks, and they love to take every penny I get, but this… this is different.
I try to yank my arm out of my brother’s grip, but it's too tight. His fingers are digging into me so hard it’ll bruise.
We start walking again, this time at a faster pace and his grip has tightened.
“I won’t run,” I say tightly. “You’re hurting me.”
“I don’t trust you.” The impeccable carpet flies under our feet, the scent of lavender cleanser hitting my nose. My mother’s prepared for our guest, probably all day. How could I have missed this?
I try to get a grip as my mind reels. I try to coach my way through it.
I’ve been through way worse than this. I can handle whatever this is.
And he didn't say I'm getting married today.
I can go play nice, pretend I’m docile… then find my way out. I've done it many times over the years. They’ve always found me, and there have always been repercussions, but I can do it. I know I can.
Do I hear a voice? I try not to imagine which one of the assholes my father hangs out with thinks he’s going to take me home.
Will it be the bald guy with the gold tooth? The one that's always telling me I'm so pretty, and patting me on the head or copping a feel when he gets a chance? Will it be one of my brother’s many friends, reeking of pot and whiskey? Or some no-name don from Italy who wants a trophy wife?
It doesn't matter who it is because I know how all of these men operate. I've spent my entire life as the daughter of a mobster.
They'll take you and doll you up for a little while. Then they’ll placate you with house cleaners, extravagant vacations, and credit cards so you’ll overlook the way they reek of another woman’s perfume when they come to bed at night.
Some demand order with the back of their hands.
But none of them, not one, is ever loyal or faithful.
If I’m lucky, he’ll be the type that will let me do what I want as long as I don't scream at him when he decides to fuck some pretty little thing.
I won’t go, though.
I can’t.
The door opens. I lose the ability to speak when I hear the sound of a deep, accented voice, cold as ice and harsh as stone.
My knees shake, knocking into each other.
I thought by now I would've gotten braver, but I haven't. I'm as terrified as ever, just like that night…
No, I can't think of that now. I can't think of anything except going along with whatever happens so I can get through this before I plan my escape.
I've been stashing away some money from tutoring. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough to buy me time to get a cheap hotel and food when I'm on the run.
And I will be on the run. It's complicated, though. So fucking complicated.
Saul and I stand at the closed doorway of the living room. "Smile big and watch your mouth. None of your fucking bullshit, Harper, or I swear to God…"
"What? You gonna pull this in front of my future husband? He’s cool with that?" At least my brother won’t be able to smack me around while he hands me over to someone who’ll probably fill his shoes.
"Harper,” he grits through his teeth.
Asshole.
I thought I missed him when he enlisted.
There were a handful of times when I was younger that he actually saved my ass.
Once I even thought we were a team. He went to bat for me, risking my father’s wrath, even when my mother wouldn't. But something shifted when he came back.
He was a changed man and no longer my ally.
Saul opens the door. I feel like I’m going to be sick.
“There she is.” My father’s booming voice makes me jump. I hate that I’m so skittish.
I remind myself of the only person who ever smiles when she sees me. The only person who loves me for who I am, no more, no less. And it’s for her sake that I’ll put on the brave face I’ve been taught to wear just to get through this.