Chapter 7
KARINA
It’s Sunday, and the Bellantis have called for a big family dinner—which I don’t think I can easily weasel my way out of attending.
Lately, everyone has been scattered at mealtimes, so it hasn’t been too difficult to show up late to the table or excuse myself early, or to skip things altogether in favor of having a tray sent to my room.
But tonight, the whole family is going to sit around the table together and catch up.
It’s the worst-case scenario for me.
Frankie, Charlie, Livvie, and one of the cooks are in the kitchen making homemade pasta.
Their cheerful voices and bursts of laughter filter out through the open door as I approach.
Frankie had invited me to help, but now that I’m standing outside the kitchen, I realize there’s no way I can go in there.
She and her sisters are chatting away easily, but I know that any second, it could turn to talk of what the Bellanti men have been up to or what intel has been gathered about my uncle.
So instead of joining them, I quietly tiptoe back down the hall before they see me.
Obviously, I won’t be able to avoid the entire Bellanti family forever, but for now…it’s the only strategy I’ve got.
It’s a beautiful evening outside. The air is warm and balmy. Birds chirp beneath the late day sun. Everything is green and vibrant. I take my time walking the path to the chapel and focus on the sound of my flats crunching on the ground.
There’s no denying it. My plan to avoid my family sucks.
As each day passes, I become more anxious.
I’ve never minded being by myself, but this is different—because I’m constantly forced to turn my back on people I actually want to be around.
Every conversation I have is minimal, either brief and inconsequential or quickly shut down by me in a panic before I flee.
Even with Marco, we barely speak in the evenings when he comes to bed.
My loneliness grows by the hour and there’s nothing I can do about it.
But isolating myself is the only way to protect them.
The arched wooden chapel door creaks loudly as I push it open and walk inside.
I stand at the entryway with my arms crossed over my chest, surveying the silent space.
Suddenly, I don’t want to be here, either.
Usually this place is my literal and figurative sanctuary, but something feels different today.
A shiver of trepidation goes down my spine as I walk slowly down the aisle to my favorite pew.
It’s the same seat I take each time I come here.
The air is cool, almost damp in relation to the outside air.
It’s a little tomb-like and I have a strong urge to turn around and leave.
But, knowing full well that I can’t go back to the house, I drop onto the wooden bench.
My eyes move to the pulpit. It’s the same view I’ve been looking at over and over and I’m growing tired of it. This place is becoming stifling. My life is stifling. How much longer can I really go on like this?
Running my hands over the smooth, polished wood of the pew in front of me, I weigh my options.
Maybe Marco can devise a plan for his men to storm my uncle’s house and rescue my mother.
Or maybe we can negotiate for her release, come to some kind of truce once and for all.
Or trade her for some other high-ranking Bruno that the Bellantis could take into custody…
Obviously these schemes are implausible, but it doesn’t stop me from daydreaming.
The most rational thing to do is just tell Marco the truth.
I can take off my ring and hand it over and ask him to destroy it.
By the time my uncle figures out that the ring isn’t transmitting, the Bellantis will have devised a plan to rescue my mother.
It doesn’t seem that farfetched considering that they’ve already managed to rescue me, and Frankie’s sister, from captivity.
My heart lifts at the thought.
It’s settled, then. I’ll just tell Marco the full truth. There’s no other way.
As I sit and ponder this course of action, each beat of my heart makes me more convinced that it’s what I need to do.
I can’t live this way. And considering how tenacious Armani is, it’s only a matter of time before I get found out anyway.
So that’s it. Sometimes the answer to all your problems really is the most obvious solution.
I’m on my way out, about to light a prayer candle at the small altar by the door, when I spot something.
A white folded card is sticking out of one of the red glass votive jars.
I know I haven’t seen it there before. Considering how often I’ve been coming here lately, and the fact that I never leave without lighting a candle, I definitely would have noticed it. My stomach drops.
Hand shaking, I pluck it from its place. The feeling of unease I’ve had since entering the chapel grows as I unfold the card.
You better start being fucking useful.
The card drops from my hand, and I wipe my fingers on my jeans as if the paper contaminated me.
Shit.
How did Uncle Sergio know I’d be here? He warned me that he had eyes everywhere, but I never expected to be spied on in this tiny church. He obviously wasn’t bluffing. And he’s also clearly 100% serious about my mother paying for any hint of disobedience he catches wind of.
The flicker of hope I had only moments ago is quickly extinguished. With a trembling hand, I dip the card into a flame and drop it in a jar, my mouth dry as I watch it burn.
The door to the chapel whips open with a loud groan. I jump, fully expecting my uncle’s goons, but it’s Marco storming angrily inside.
“Where the hell have you been? You can’t just go wandering off. You need to stay where I can see you at all times!”
“I-I’m sorry,” I stutter. Clearing my throat, I try to steady my voice. “I was just…getting some air.”
It sounds like a weak excuse, even to me. But…why is my husband spying on me, too? He must be, or he’d never have found me here.
“Dinner is ready. Everyone has been looking for you,” he says, his voice softer now. “I was worried.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeat.
“Let’s go.”
He gestures toward the door. Without meeting his eyes, I go ahead of him and hurry back toward the house. Marco quickly catches up with me and takes my arm. His hand slides down until his palm meets mine. I can’t deny the tingles I feel when our fingers interlace.
“I don’t mean to be an asshole, but I don’t like not knowing where you are,” he says. “Please don’t disappear like that without giving anyone a heads-up. I can’t lose you again.”
When we enter the dining room, I’m glad to see everyone is casually dressed like me—I’d meant to come back in time to change into something a little nicer than jeans and a T-shirt, but I needn’t have worried.
Thank God. The last thing I need is to draw even more attention to myself when I’m trying so hard to blend in with the furniture.
Things get loud relatively quickly. Everyone is in a good mood, and conversation flows along with a chianti. Frankie and her sisters’ homemade pasta carbonara turned out amazing.
Still, I have a hard time enjoying myself.
My engagement ring sits heavy on my finger, and I can’t stop thinking about the fact that it’s picking up everything being said around the table.
At one point, I drop my napkin over my hand in an attempt to muffle the conversation when the Bellantis began mocking the stupidity of my uncle’s hired men.
There’s a lull in the conversation. Hoping nobody asks me any questions or expects me to talk, I grab my wineglass and drain it, then immediately refill it.
To my relief, Dante begins talking about an upcoming event at the winery, something Charlie is supposed to invite the media to.
Realizing this might turn out to give my uncle the perfect opportunity to stage an ambush, I drop my fork against my plate with a clatter. Dante pauses mid-sentence.
“Sorry. That was clumsy of me.”
He nods and goes on, “We were thinking the first or second Saturday of the—”
Nope. I practically throw my fork to the floor this time. Shrugging apologetically, I drop under the tablecloth to grab the utensil, knocking my ring against the chair leg to block out the sound of Dante’s voice. Take that, Uncle Sergio.
When I’m back in my chair, I begin loudly cutting my food, making sure to saw my knife against the plate as much as possible.
Frankie and Marco both shoot me looks of confusion, but I ignore them.
The conversation finally turns to the narrowed-down list of interior designers that Frankie plans to meet with to discuss her and Dante’s new house, and I nearly sigh in relief.
I know I can make it through the rest of this dinner.
I just need more wine. I nervously tap the side of my glass with my ring as I drink, but keeping the conversation muffled requires lots of taps—and lots of drinking.
Soon enough, I have to refill my wine again.
It’s my third glass already, and I’ve barely eaten anything.
I am most definitely feeling warm. And dizzy.
“I want to talk about payback.”
Armani’s voice cuts through the chatter in the room.
Everyone goes silent and turns their eyes toward him.
My heart drops. I know my uncle is listening, and he’s going to be paying particular attention to this next bit—there’s no way I can allow him to overhear whatever Armani’s about to say.
I slip my left hand under my thigh, even though I know Uncle Sergio will realize I’m trying to muffle the bug on purpose, and that my mother will likely have to pay.
Dante raises his glass. “This is family time. Let’s have this conversation later, shall we?”
Armani lifts a brow. “Later when? You’ve been out of pocket quite a lot lately. Which I can understand.” He nods at Frankie. “But let’s not forget we owe the Brunos a little revenge.”
“Just stop,” Marco says sharply, sitting straighter in his chair. “This isn’t something to be discussed over pasta with our family present.” He nods his head at Livvie and Charlie and Mrs. Abbott, who has been uncharacteristically quiet all night. “Soon, yes, but not now.”
Armani picks up his wineglass and gives his brothers a congenial salute before having a drink and turning back to his meal.
“Uccidiamoli tutti.” Armani smiles as he suggests they kill all the Brunos.
Dante rolls his eyes. “Why can’t you ever use Italian to say something nice? It’s not that hard.” To Frankie and her sisters, he adds, “Signore, questa cena è...il cibo degli angeli! Ora mangiamo!”
Ladies, this dinner is the food of angels. Now let’s eat!
Cautiously, I slide my hand out from under my leg. The conversation resumes in Italian, and although I’m not fluent like the Bellantis are, I can tell by their tone and body language that they aren’t discussing anything of substance. I try my best to relax.
Marco leans close to my ear. “What’s going on with you?”
I run a finger around the rim of my wineglass. Admittedly, I feel a little drunk at this point. I don’t have a lot of experience with wine. “Nothing. What’s going on with you?”
His eyes narrow. “You’ve barely touched your food. Are you on a liquid diet this evening? That’s your third glass. Might I remind you that you’re underage?”
I shrug. “What can I say? Bellanti wine is irresistible.”
He reaches for my wineglass and attempts to take it away from me. But I tighten my grip and give him a death glare.
His voice is low, concerned. “I know you’ve been through a lot lately, Karina. But getting shitfaced isn’t the way to deal with it.”
“Maybe you need to let me figure that out for myself.”
“Is there something else going on?” he whispers. “You can talk to me.”
Instead of answering, I bring the glass to my lips, holding his gaze over the rim as I finish the remaining wine. I reach for the bottle again, but he plucks it away from me. Shaking his head defeatedly, he pours the last of the chianti into my glass.
“Salute.”
I think I understand why some people become alcoholics.
With enough alcohol soaking your brain, you can stop feeling pretty much anything.
Oh, the memories are all still there. The fear is still there.
The sadness, the rage, the anger. But at the moment, I am the definition of comfortably numb, and if it were up to my soggy brain, I’d stay this way for a very long time.
Because the truth is, my whole life is out of control, and nothing can change my course.
I am going to crash and burn and I’m probably going to take everyone at this table down with me.
I drain my glass again and Marco takes it away from me. “Enough. That’s enough.”
Just then, Frankie makes an excited sound and waves her hand toward her belly. “Ooh, she’s kicking! You have to feel this.”
She waves me and her sisters over and then carefully places our hands over her taut belly, one by one.
After Livvie and Charlie get their turn, I take mine, staring down at Frankie’s belly with bated breath.
Something remarkable is about to happen—and then it does.
A little bump, bump comes from inside, like the softest flutter against my hand. I gasp in amazement.
My ears pick up on Armani speaking softly to Dante and Clayton. Something about a plan, justice, and payback.
“Oh my God, this is so amazing!” I shout overenthusiastically. “This is like magic! There’s a whole tiny little human kicking around in there! Marco, have you felt this?”
I slide my left hand into my pocket, glad when Charlie starts to laugh and suddenly the women are making more noise than the men.
Maybe I’ve averted a disaster, I don’t know. My attempts at diversion are probably making everything worse for my mother. I let my hand slide away from Frankie’s belly and turn my gaze to the table to search for more wine.
I’m going to need another drink to get through the rest of this night.