Chapter 18 #2
I recall AJ’s hardened glare, made harsher by his sunken eyes, alight with his anger and frustration, but also dimmed by his anguish.
If Raf hadn’t confronted him and I hadn’t been at the right place at the wrong time, would he have simply stood by and let my uncle Gino sell me off into this arranged marriage with Julian Rizzo?
He promised me he’d keep me safe, but I guess the saying every man for himself rings true.
A tear rolls down my cheek. I only allow myself one, wiping it away angrily.
Because of all the emotions in the spectrum, the one I fucking hate most is pity.
Worse yet, I hate the way it took root in Raf’s eyes and shone right to the depths of my soul when he turned his imploring gaze on me, asking almost tenderly, “Your parents died?” It made me furious because I don’t want him to look at me and see the woman with the dead parents.
I want him to look at me and see his world.
And in this fantasy world I continue to torture myself with, he would’ve closed the distance between us and gathered me into his arms, letting me cling to him.
Instead, he just followed the lead of every other man in my life and attached me to some fucking deal like a shiny lure.
Sure, it was to save me from the sharks circling, chomping at the bit for an arranged marriage, but the irony is not lost on me.
He’s not all that noble. He still cast me out, agreeing to do just enough to allude to us dating until such time he gets what he needs and then he’ll cut me loose too.
I bend at the headstone we’ve reached that’s surrounded in roses, hints of the vibrant red, white, and pink they once were amongst, the petals wilted and weathered by elements.
I study a picture of the owner, head thrown back in sheer joy, and read the inscription that accompanies it on the headstone: Sarah Tierney, 1979—2021.
Beloved wife, daughter, and sister. Taken too soon. Forever in our hearts.
My breathing steadies, and my mind quiets as I hand the reins over to my imagination, writing, or perhaps more like rewriting, the story of the stranger now returned to dust.
What led to her demise. Tragedy? Illness? A loss of the will to live.
I move along the rows, doing the same dance for each plot. I run my hand over the inscriptions, clear debris off the plots, and rearrange flowers left for dead.
I walk the cemetery, row by row, Avery a silent comfort by my side the entire time, only stepping aside to quietly answer one phone call.
I’m certain it was Marco checking in because I’m unreachable.
I turned my phone off completely as soon as I left AJ’s, even though he gave me strict instructions never to do so.
I don’t care enough to ask, and I pay no mind, completely fixated on basking in the comfort of being one with immortal souls. It’s only when Avery places a hand on my shoulder that I break from my trance-like state.
“Chiara, it’s getting cold. Your lips are turning blue.” Then he takes my hands in his and rubs them between his big ones, trying to warm them. “And your hands are frozen. Let’s get you home.”
Again, not a question.
I don’t argue. I just let him lead me back to the car, open the door for me, and help me in, as the shakes from the cold and hunger hits.
He gets in and starts the car, turning the heat on as high as it can go, then turning on my seat warmer.
I stare out of the window towards the rows of graves we just walked.
“Why the cemetery?”
It’s a murmur, but the timbre of Avery’s deep voice reverberates around us like the low-pitched heavy bass of a church organ.
“It reminds me to keep fighting to live but offers respite from that fight, a literal shrine to the fact that death is never far away. That my mortality is not promised. That I could be here today and gone tomorrow. But mostly, it makes me feel closer to my parents,” I tell him honestly.
What I omit because I’m not brave enough to speak the words out loud, is that I imagine them whispering to me, telling me to keep going.
That they see me, that they’re proud of me.
And for a small moment in time, I don’t allow myself to ponder the one question that plagues me, and instead just let myself miss them so fucking much.
Dipping his chin in acknowledgement, he says, “I get it.”
“Do you?” I can’t help but ask, equal parts challenging his statement and hopeful that there is another soul out there who has to reconcile with the notion that their mother and father didn’t get to stay on this earth long enough and now their child faces life alone.
Missing them, wanting to make them proud, but also questioning that, if given the choice, would they have chosen to stay or would they still have run into the arms of death instead?
It’s a morbid thought that they would choose death over staying for me, but Mafia life is no picture of optimism.
Avery’s deep voice startles me. “I do. More than you may ever know.”
Then he starts the car and keys in Arabella’s address.
I turn on my phone and it pops off with notifications piercing the silence violently.
I quickly text the girls’ group chat littered with screenshots of the blog, messages asking my ETA and whereabouts to let them know I won’t make it. Then I scan the rest of the names of people who have tried to reach me, cherry picking who requires a response and who can continue to wait.
AJ, Uncle G, cousin Matteo, cousin Christian—all on the waiting list.
There’s a text from Natalia, and excitement zips through me.
Natalia:
Hey, Chiara, a celebrity campaign shoot has come up last minute in L.A. We leave Friday. We’ll shoot there for two weeks, then fly directly to Miami before returning to New York. I know you’re getting all your paperwork sorted, but just checking you’re okay to start a week earlier?
Sure thing! I’ll talk to my lawyer to see if he can expedite.
Natalia:
Sounds good. Please text me their details now and I’ll have my EA email through updated paperwork.
Contact Raf Princi, Princi & Associates.
Let me know how it goes. Chat soon.
I close my eyes and sigh in relief, sending a silent thank you to my parents, certain they had something to do with what feels like a lifeline.
I am so excited to be getting to work. Nothing takes my mind off my problems quite like immersing myself in set life.
I don’t have the energy to be around people right now or speak to Raf even though my change of plans gives me the perfect opportunity to make contact and find a reason to be in his orbit again—because I have so many questions, like why he’s willingly getting himself tangled up in this web of lies and deceit, but mostly, why does he care so much about me being betrothed to another when he’s made it very clear he doesn’t want me for himself.
Instead, I shoot him a text.
Dear Mr. Princi, my start date will need to be amended on all the paperwork. Please check your email and act accordingly.
My phone buzzes not two minutes later with an incoming call.
I silence it and continue my quest to shut out the world.
My brave front has crumbled. The only company I want is my own and the heavy weight of my comforter.
So I can rebuild, polish the armor, mend the mask, and live to fight another day.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I will be strong again, and then I start living the life I want in the face of all the power-hungry men who want to rob it from me.