Chapter 6
KARINA
“Karina, chew more softly. No husband will put up with such an ill-mannered dinner partner.”
I’m not even chewing; there’s nothing in my mouth. But I don’t dare speak back to my uncle. The annoying mouth sounds are, in fact, coming from beside me. It’s my father, but of course his bad manners are better pinned on me than pointed out.
Lowering my fork onto my plate of risotto, I ignore the rumble in my stomach. I’m hungry but I can’t stomach eating while being observed this closely.
“Did you hear me, Karina?” my uncle says, a warning in his tone.
“Yes, Uncle Sergio. I will chew more quietly.”
My mother glances at me, but as usual there’s not a lick of sympathy, empathy, or anything else kind in her eyes. How nice for her to think this family is somehow normal, that there’s nothing wrong with being put under a glass dome for the men to criticize and poke at.
Quiet falls around the formal dinner table.
I’m in a dress, of course, my hair up in a ponytail and tied with a little bow the way my uncle likes—females who wear their hair down look low class and slovenly, according to him.
Never mind the fact that hair bows are more suited for toddlers than young women. I feel like a porcelain doll.
It’s all control with my uncle. How you speak.
How you smile. What you’re allowed to say and how you may dress.
The only time I really resisted was when he tried to monitor what I was reading.
My protests didn’t get me very far, and he had the bookcase in my bedroom cleared of anything he thought was inappropriate.
He left the classics, my textbooks, and a few fairy tales.
Anything leaning toward romance or thriller was scrubbed.
He doesn’t know jack about Jane Austen, thankfully, or those would have been gone too.
But the joke’s on him. He has no idea that I own an e-reader and that it’s filled with all the forbidden stories I can get my hands on.
The men are talking business now, but as usual, my mother and I are not included in the discussion.
Which is fine by me. Even if I find myself interested in what they’re saying, I tune out their voices anyway, because when they speak about contacts and contracts and shipments and movements, it’s mostly all in code—and I know they can’t be talking about anything good.
To be honest, I don’t even know what the family business is.
Actually, that’s a lie. I pretend that I don’t, but in my heart I know.
I know what the contracts are and where the influx of money comes from.
I’ve seen the men dressed in black who come and go at all hours of the night, reporting to my uncle and my father, whose own hands are definitely not clean.
Nearly everyone who visits has a gun. And sometimes… people don’t leave.
“Karina!”
My head snaps up. I’ve been trailing my fork in circles around the squishy mussels on my plate, trying to hide them under the rice. “I’m sorry?” I set the utensil down carefully.
Uncle Sergio’s nostrils flare. “I asked if you enjoyed yesterday’s race?”
Do not think about Marco.
I nod. “Yes. It was a good race.”
“Good? Were you watching?”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“And how did Pietro place?”
I clear my throat while mentally chastising myself for getting into this. “Sixth or seventh, I think.”
Uncle Sergio makes a sarcastic sound. “Then how could it be a good race, Karina?”
“We still get points for placing,” I point out feebly.
My mother looks at me pityingly, like I’ve just said the exact wrong thing. My eyes drop to my plate and I put my hands in my lap.
“You’re right, it wasn’t a very good race,” I amend. “I was just trying to keep positive. It was a bad race. Terrible. Probably rigged.”
A grumble goes around the table and the men chime in, “Yes, yes! Completely rigged.”
Uncle Sergio shoves a huge bite of squid and scallops into his mouth and chews loudly, washing it all down with a gulp of wine.
“Something happened that allowed the Bellanti to nearly win. Someone helped him cheat.” He scowls. “He took Pietro’s spot, this I know.”
Marco. My cheeks flush at the mention of him. Taking a hasty drink of wine, I attempt to shut out his face, his touch, his taste. If my uncle catches sight of my reaction, he’ll be suspicious. But my curiosity is piqued at the hateful way he says Bellanti, just like Mercutio did.
“Eat something,” my mother whispers.
Poking at the rice, I take a small bite and focus on chewing as quietly as possible.
“Yes, that should have been Pietro’s place. We’ll have to ensure this does not happen again.” My father drains his wineglass and immediately refills it. “On to the next race.”
Uncle Sergio holds his glass up for the staff to fill. He never pours his own wine.
His gaze returns to me just as I take another bite. “Karina, I have spoken with Pietro and set the wedding date.”
I stop chewing. My stomach drops. I can’t breathe.
Forcing myself to hold it together, I carefully finish chewing and take a small sip of wine. My hands tremble and I nearly slosh a bit over the rim.
“A date?” I finally manage. “When?”
He smiles wide, his fat lips making him look like a grinning fish. “My birthday, of course. What better date to commemorate how I sacrificed my beloved niece for the betterment of my famiglia?”
His birthday? “But Uncle…your birthday is in two weeks.”
The risotto and wine threaten to come right back up.
I still don’t understand why I have to marry Pietro.
Uncle Sergio has repeatedly said it’s for the betterment of the famiglia, to cement our “alliances,” but I don’t know what that means.
He’s reminded me over and over that he had to “sweeten the deal” to get Pietro to agree to marry me, and that it cost him dearly.
Cost him what, exactly? Again, I’m in the dark about the details.
Every time I try to ask questions, I’m either ignored, brushed off, or denied.
I suppose I had found a measure of peace with the arrangement because nothing seemed to be happening.
The wedding was always an abstract concept to me, something to worry about in the future.
For months, there has been only minimal contact between Pietro and me, and rarely any talk of an actual ceremony.
And now this? I’m getting married in seven days? What changed?
I hate being so sheltered. I know so little about my family, about my own life.
“Yes. One week. A planner has been hired to take care of all the details. You needn’t worry about a thing,” Uncle Sergio says expansively, as if he’s doing me some huge favor.
“What if…we wait?” I ask hesitantly. “I’m still not certain I want to marry him…”
My mother gasps and my father freezes with his wineglass halfway to his mouth. I can’t believe I just said that out loud, but it’s too late to take it back. Besides, it’s true.
Uncle doesn’t seem fazed that I said anything, amazingly.
He keeps on eating, speaking in between bites.
“This union is about growing the power of our family. Not about your personal wishes and fantasies, child. You are a woman now, a valuable commodity. This is your chance to do something for your famiglia. This marriage is your legacy.”
My legacy? To be trapped with a man I don’t love for the rest of my life?
“But what kind of marriage will this be when we barely know each other?” I ask, trying my best to sound reasonable. “Cold and loveless. That’s not the kind of legacy I want.”
My mother pinches my leg hard beneath the table while my father shakes his head. Mercutio keeps on drinking until Uncle Sergio slams his fist on the table, rattling the plates.
“Listen to this foolish butterfly. The little romantic still believes love and marriage are the same thing. Marriage is a contract, Karina. Love is what happens when you raise the sons you’ll give him. Capisce?”
“Sergio,” my father pipes up. “Perhaps we should explain to her—”
Uncle silences my father by slicing a hand violently through the air.
“The only explanation she needs is that this marriage will solidify our power. Once this bond between our families is created, we’ll have the unbreakable loyalty of friends who’ve become relatives.
We’ll be the most powerful family on the West Coast. We’ll take what we want without reservation. ”
I look between them all, suddenly incapable of controlling my tongue. My mother pinches me again as if she knows I’m about to keep talking, but I don’t care.
“Being sacrificed to make this family more powerful is my legacy?” I scoff. “Does that mean I’ll finally have some power of my own, too?”
Everyone stares at me. My mother’s lower lip trembles, and I can’t tell if she’s about to cry or yell. I’m shocked she’s actually showing some emotion in response to my pain.
“You have the power to shut your mouth,” Uncle Sergio says coldly. “You have the power to do as I tell you. And you certainly have the power to keep antagonizing me and dealing with the consequences if you do.”
“No more Bellantis!” Mercutio blurts with a drunken flourish.
A small silence reigns until my uncle raises his glass in the air and the men follow.
They all toast in unison, “No more Bellantis.”
After everyone drinks, Uncle Sergio points at me. “To your room. Get out of my sight.”
I stand as gracefully as possible, breathing tightly through my nose, and leave.
Once I’m in my room, I close the door quietly, wishing for the millionth time that it had a lock.
Twenty years old and still being sent to my room like a child.
Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink them back.
I won’t cry for him. I’m tired of crying. I’m just so tired.
Dropping onto my bed, I turn on my side, looking out the window at the dark.
My mind slips into fantasy, one where Marco lies down behind me and pulls me back against him, curling his body protectively around mine.
Maybe he steals me away from here, so I never have to come back.
It’s possible, right? He gave me a poem, after all, and I never thought that would happen.
God, I hate the way my uncle treats me. I hate the cage I’m forced to live in. Hate this marriage looming over me.
This hate, this seething rage, this desperation to break free…
they’ve always been a part of me. But all these feelings do is quietly simmer, because I know they’re not allowed to boil over.
Displaying anything aside from complacency only guarantees punishment.
But even still, I’m angry at myself for being such a pawn. A commodity, my uncle said.
Once, when I was a teenager, I tried to run away.
I took advantage of my private school’s allowance for seniors to have off-campus lunch privileges and got a girl from my history class to drop me off at the train station.
Then I bought a ticket to Los Angeles and sat down to have an espresso while I waited for my train…
which is when I spotted the heavyset men in black suits posted at the corners of the station.
Watching me. That’s when I realized I wasn’t going anywhere.
If the men even let me get on the train at all, they’d no doubt hustle me off at the next station and drive me right back home.
To face my uncle’s wrath and retribution.
So I had finished my coffee, left my train ticket on the sink in the ladies’ room, and then called a cab to bring me back to school.
I’m not sure if the security team agreed to not mention my little escape attempt to my uncle or if he just chose to pretend it hadn’t happened, but I never tried anything like that again. I knew I was trapped. I had no way out.
So maybe, in the end, I’m a commodity because I have allowed myself to be.
But I know all families can’t be like this. Treating their daughters like possessions to be traded and sold. It’s just my piss-poor luck to have been born into one that sees me that way.
I wonder if Marco has a sister, and if so, what it’s like for her living as a Bellanti.
Would Marco view me as nothing more than a possession, too?
He seems too genuine to treat anyone that way, but I know so little about him, and my emotions muddle things where he is concerned.
He’s perfect because I want him to be, because in my mind he knows that real men don’t treat women like second-class citizens.
What would it be like to marry him and be immersed in his world?
No more Bellantis.
They must be more powerful than I know. Had my uncle not taken all of my electronics for his weekly snooping of my online activity, I would open an internet search and learn all I can about this other family.
The only device I have right now is my e-reader, though, and I can only download books with it.
There’s no internet search capability, so my curiosity will have to wait.
My stomach aches with stress and hunger.
Flipping onto my back, I stare at the ceiling.
I miss my old bodyguard. I called him Tatts because of the beautiful artwork on his body.
He looked a little intimidating and never said much to me, but he was always sympathetic when I got myself in trouble.
And the times I got sent to my room, like I did just now, he’d be sure to sneak me a little snack or dessert to eat later.
He was the only flicker of light in my life, until Marco.
And I don’t have either of them to shine for me tonight.