Chapter Two #3
“I already told you. I have no interest in continuing. But…”
“But you have to make something else. There can’t be nothing. And there can’t be an empty throne.”
“Precisely.” He regards me for a moment. “You’re smart.”
“I would have to be. Given how hard I worked to get where I am.”
He didn’t ask, and won’t. But I’m his prisoner and if I can make him feel like he’s also mine, I’ll feel like I’ve done something.
So I continue. “I’m always amused when people’s snobbery prevents them from seeing my intelligence.
I don’t have any insecurity about it, but at school I’m constantly surrounded by people who were launched into their positions by their parents.
Connections and favors that have been called in.
Must be nice. I had so many people try to tell me that they’re smarter than me because of their private school backgrounds.
My favorite thing to ask, which immediately shuts them up, is that if I got into the same school, and am in fact doing much better at it, as they did, with their superior educational background, it would suggest that they are not, in fact, the smart ones.
It’s weird that I don’t have more friends.
Weird that the mobster’s daughter was able to befriend me, and get right in there without any competition from any other social connections, because I don’t have them.
Talk about power vacuums.
Though, Vittoria isn’t exactly normal herself. She seemed young to me, overly exuberant about everything. A girl who was experiencing freedom for the very first time.
And now she’s a prisoner.
I ignore the sympathy that rises up in my body.
I refuse to feel sorry for her.
“I have a plan,” he says. “But as I said, it does revolve around the very careful dismantling of other criminal organizations, not only the ones that bear my family name. You are American. Think of it as the revolution. Establishing a new form of government first is always a smart move. Otherwise you’re just cutting off the heads of aristocracy without a plan. ”
“A mobster and a historian,” I say.
“I have to do something with my time.”
I study the tattoos on his hands, his neck. He’s obviously done plenty with his time.
“You have a job? Outside of being the heir to a blood-soaked empire?”
“I have means of earning money. And no, none of it involves exploiting the innocent.”
I wonder if he expects a round of applause for not being the absolute scum of the earth. “You must feel so proud of yourself.”
It is funny to know that I’m essentially bulletproof where he’s concerned. Pregnant with his baby. He can’t hurt me.
I can be as mean to him as I want. Which does do something to ease my outrage.
A little bit.
“I don’t,” he says. “But I don’t need or want to feel proud of this, or anything I’ve done. But now that I’m having a child I need to create something other than a legacy of blood.” He pauses. “They promised you a lot of money to have this baby.”
“Yes,” I say.
“But it’s your baby too, is it not?”
I nod slowly. “Yes. But, they didn’t tell me that until the last minute. They said that your wife discovered that… They said that your embryos wouldn’t work. And they needed other eggs?”
He looks at me, hard. “They were manipulating you the whole time. I have no wife.”
“Yes, thank you, I’m getting that.”
“And so you are going to sell your own child?”
That does it. It just about sends me right over the edge. How dare he call my morals into question? How dare he?
“I don’t actually think that you’re in a position to debate ethics with me since you just kidnapped me out of my apartment.
And you don’t seem to give a shit that I’m going to bomb all of my classes.
You have no idea how hard I worked to get here.
You think you have a sob story? Oh, are you from a rich crime family that gave you everything you wanted, and taught you how to subjugate all the people around you?
” I pantomime wiping a tear away from my cheek.
“I’m from a meth house. In the middle of Alaska.
And guess what comes out of there? Pretty much nothing.
But I did. I came out of there. I had nothing but talent, and a dream.
I’ve never had money, I’ve never had anybody championing me.
I’ve been hungry, I’ve been beaten and I still got here, and you’re treating that, my life, my achievements like they don’t matter. ”
I didn’t expect a round of applause for my monologue, but he’s utterly unmoved. It’s like I might as well not have spoken.
“No. I’m treating your life like it matters,” he says. “If I had left you in Rome you would be dead.”
I take a sharp breath, and I turn away. Because I want to fight him. I want to tell him I’m doing fine, handling it. But I know what he says is true.
“I’m not your enemy,” he adds.
I look at him, and I make direct eye contact with those black demon eyes. I refuse to flinch or blink. “No. You’re definitely my enemy.”
Even though I have the luxury of insulting him as much as I want. I don’t talk to him again for the entire flight.