Chapter 33
thirty-three
. . .
“What are you doing tonight?” Brandi asked after she’d ranted a good five minutes about her family issues and them depending on her for money.
I tucked the book I promised myself I’d finish soon, under one arm, picked up the glass of wine I’d just poured and crossed over to the window alcove that overlooked the neighboring winelands.
“Absolutely nothing. I’m just so freaking tired all the time, and I intend savoring these next two days, drama free.”
Over the last month, I’d worked non-stop but no matter how much rest I managed to get in between surgeries and everyday casualties, I always seemed exhausted.
“Maybe you’re pregnant,” she teased.
“It takes two tango, Bran.”
“And who’s fault is that? You’re disinterested in dating, clubbing or any form of socializing,” she scolded. “I mean you even managed to scare off Remo Rossi, the epitome of a walking dildo.”
I burst out laughing. “Thank goodness for that.” I sat down on the window seat with my knees bent, rested my book on them and set my glass on the ledge.
“You ever think about him?”
“Only when I’m in front of a mirror, naked,” I scoffed. “And no, not to get myself off.”
Two months ago, after tattooing his name on my pussy, and threatening to make me his, he disappeared. Now every time I saw my naked reflection I had the privilege of remembering his godforsaken name.
“At least, you’ll never forget him.” She laughed as if privy to my thoughts.
“Until I work up the courage to visit a tattoo parlor and beg them to save my pussy.”
We had another laughed. “Sean’s back.”
“I might consider the date if he doesn’t have to rush off again.” Last time Stasia planned on setting me her nephew, he had to leave before we could meet.
“Must be fun being an investigative journalist,” Brandi quipped. “All those fancy places–”
“Where you can get killed?” I reminded her of the danger.
“True.”
After we said, goodbye, I gave the book my full attention.
I was lost in the second last chapter when, my mobile rang. Frowning, I stared at the number, recognizing the American country code but not the number.
Curiosity got the better of me. “Hello.”
“Ishika Sharma?” Expecting an American, I was surprised by a woman’s soft Indian accent.
“Speaking.”
“Oh, Jaan, I’m so happy to hear your voice.” Baffled, I stared at the phone for a second before putting it back to my ear. “You might not remember me but it’s Aunt Lalitha. Uncle Veer’s wife.”
Vaguely, I remembered my uncle from my childhood. “Um…” Words defeated me.
“Uncle Veer was your mother’s brother…” she trailed off as if giving credence to my mother’s memory.
I was very young when I lost my parents to an accident and too young to remember this uncle well enough to have an enlightening conversation right now. Regardless, I waited to see what he wanted.
“I’m sure you’re surprised by the call, but your uncle asked that I ring you to discuss a marriage proposal.”
“A what?” The wine I’d just sipped, spluttered out, messing my chin and the book on my lap. Setting the glass and book on the ledge, I wiped my chin with my t-shirt sleeve and cleared my throat.
“Your…” she hesitated. “Maybe your parents hadn’t mentioned this, Ishika but you were proposed at birth—”
“Is this a joke? Who put you up to this. One of the girls, I’m guessing,” I ranted.
“No,” the single word sounded a little more forceful, pausing my mirth. “We’re landing in Italy later this evening and he was hoping to visit you sometime this week to discuss this face to face.”
My temper got the better of me. “You call me out of the blue, mention some nonsense about a proposal and now you want to visit me?” I snapped. “Come anywhere near me and I’ll let the police have their way with you.” So much for a drama free rest.
“Please, Ishika.” The unwavering sincerity in her voice stopped me from cutting the call. “Trust me, this is not how I wanted to meet you after all these years. If you don’t know this, your uncle is a politician by day and a mafia don by night.”
“What the–” I pressed my lips together in a tightlipped scowl, barely reining in my civility. When did I suddenly become a puppet for the mafia. First Remo and now this so-called uncle. “Look, I’m not—”
“He’ll blame me if you don’t agree.” A soft sob gave me pause.
“Just meet him, it’s all I ask. You might not know this, but your mother was a mafia princess…
” again she trailed off and I bit my lip to keep from cursing out loud.
“I wasn’t supposed to tell you that so please don’t mention it to him.
I’m only doing what he asked, or I’ll suffer the brunt of his anger. ”
Mama was the gentlest person I knew, the idea she was a criminal, made no sense.
Only good memories of her remained, so that allegation stuck out like a sore thumb.
Curiosity got the better of me once more.
“When is he planning to visit?” I chewed the inside of my cheek, debating whether I was doing the right thing.
“Maybe Friday morning?” she hedged.
I was reluctant to sacrifice one of my two days off and then realized if I didn’t, I’d have to suffer them the weekend, and I had no intention of doing that. “Fine.”
“Thank you. There’s also something else on offer, something you might really want to hear.”
Interest piqued a little, I wondered what he could possibly offer me after all these years. Usually, I was a brave woman, after Remo though, I was beginning to doubt my capabilities and knew I shouldn’t be so obliging just because the woman sounded scared.
“Sure,” I relented, planning to get in touch with my sister, gauge her response and do some research about this so-called uncle.
After I cut the call, I shot up from my seat and headed for my study, booted up my laptop, and scanned the internet for Veer Sharma. Everything pointed to his well-respected political status in India with a major focus on charity and ridding his country of crime families.
“How ironic,” I muttered, clicking on another site. More verbiage about his good deeds I didn’t bother reading. If his wife blatantly mentioned he was a criminal, then there must be some truth to her words. “Why else would she tell me that?”
Eventually, after several more searches revealed nothing new, I shut down my laptop. Tomorrow I’d try another angle.
By the time Friday arrived, I’d forgotten my initial reservation, and I was a lot calmer when I opened the door later that morning. From a security perspective, I expected a dozen cars to pull up in my driveway, so I was a bit surprised by the lone vehicle parked out front.
Unsure why I presumed I’d meet a formally dressed couple; his khaki chinos and cream shirt and her white pants and pink blouse surprised me. Maybe it was the whole mafia thing that got to me.
“You’ve grown into a beautiful woman, Ishika,” my so-called uncle ran a gaze the length of my white pants and black off-shoulder tank top draped body, his look nowhere near as lascivious as I was anticipating.
In fact, he almost seemed fatherly in his admiration. I offered a smile, unsure how to greet him.
“Can I hug you?” he asked, answering my deliberation.
“Sure.” I allowed him to slide his arms around me and admittedly it felt almost familiar or perhaps the lack of a father figure brought a sentimentality I usually avoided.
“If only your parents were alive to see you,” he said, holding me. “He would’ve been proud of you and your achievements.”
By that I gathered he knew I was a doctor in training. Looked like he’d done his homework. Slowly, I extricated myself from his grasp and allowed the smiling woman next to him to hug me.
“Your uncle is right, such a pretty face,” she said, leaning back to look at me, her expression so maternal, it cast a strange sense of warmth over me.
“Thank you. Come in.” I lead them into the living room. “Sit, I’ll bring us some tea.” Still nervous, I left them there and retreated into the kitchen, hoping to breathe some calm into my body.
Unfortunately, the woman followed me. “Let me help.”
My fake smile was perfection guaranteed. “It’s okay, I can do it, but you can sit if you want.” I gestured to the table behind her.
She chose a stool at the island in the center of the kitchen. After a few seconds of quiet, she began talking, apologizing for the anxiety on the call.
I turned away from the fridge to look at her. “So your phone call was serious?”
“Yes.”
I set the milk bottle down and couldn’t help the short laugh. “Why would I want to marry someone I don’t even know or is it to save his ass from something?”
“Mind your language, Ishika.” My uncle stood at the door, his face cast in solemn reproach.
“Forgive my insolence, but I’m sure you understand my skepticism?”
He sighed, walking further into the kitchen to sit beside his wife at the breakfast table.
“This is a custom both mafia families agreed to way before my time to keep the peace and to break tradition would be seen as a sign of disrespect. Your mother was aware of this and why she preferred to keep her children in Italy as opposed to coming back to India after marriage. Besides, the boy’s family lives in the USA so you won’t need to live in India. ”
Was that his selling point? I’d never been to India so I couldn’t say for sure whether I’d like it or not. Regardless, I wasn’t ready for marriage. Remo Rossi was enough to make me rethink any relationship with a mafia man.
“Why me? Why must I marry this man? I’m sure there are plenty other nieces in the family?”
“Because you’re the eldest of them all,” he replied. “And you know our custom dictates that the eldest must marry before any of the younger ones.”
“Oh, uncle,” I set a sugar bowl on the counter. “Times have changed, rituals like that no longer take preference in the modern world.”
“Nonsense,” he snorted, rising to go stand by the window. “Ajay’s family insists on the eldest and they are…” he trailed off, his expression distant. He turned, looked at his wife first then at me. “They’ve seen your photo and Ajay is adamant he wants you.”
“Wants me?” I laughed, shaking my head.
He nodded. “Ajay and his brother had an accident when they were younger. His brother didn’t survive and the doctors thought Ajay wouldn’t either. Since then, his parents indulge his desires. Now he wants you.”
My gaze drifted between the two of them. “So because he gets what he wants, you’re just going to hand me over?”
“They have something you might want, Ishika.”
I paused mid-stride as I retrieved mugs from the sink. “What could I possibly want from people I don’t know?”