Chapter One
Chiara
“Hey, sis.” Lily’s sweet voice greets me as she stands up with a bright smile.
I step closer and hug her, my heartbeat easing at last at her warm embrace.
She has that effect on people, and she has been my anchor since we were children, when Father had brought her into our home after his mistress, Lily’s mother, died of cancer.
We have been like sisters in blood since then, having each other’s back and wiping away each other’s tears.
“Hi, Lee.” The nickname I’ve given her since we were children grounds me in its familiarity. I kiss her cheek and we sit down in front of each other at the small table in our favorite coffee shop.
“How is my favorite nephew?” I ask with a grin. Dante is such an adorable little boy, and I can’t hear enough stories about him.
“He’s great.” Lily beams, pride glowing on her face. “He is getting bigger by the day and he is an angel. Dark’s with him this morning.”
Damiano, Dark as she calls him, is her husband and Boston’s Mafia boss. They have been married for a year now and their love is one for the storybooks.
“How are you, sis?” Lily asks softly, her gaze prying but gentle.
I shrug with a small smile that feels a little too brittle. “As usual, why?”
She watches me intently. “I don’t know, you seem…off.”
She knows me too well. I glance down at the steam curling up from my tea and let out a long breath, searching for words.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Maybe I am.” I stir the tea, still trying to grasp for words.
“I’m feeling restless, like I’m floating and I don’t know what to do with my life.
Like everyone has found their place and I’m still wandering the map.
” I frown, not sure how to express the way I feel.
“It’s like…I’m living someone else’s life and waiting for mine to start.
” I look up into her eyes. “I don’t know if that makes sense… ”
“Oh, honey.” She gives a concerned look and takes my hand on the table to squeeze. “Then why don’t you let go and start living your life?” Her voice is low, almost conspiratorial. “Show them who you really are.”
My heart clenches in my chest, but I try to paste on a brave smile.
“You know I can’t, it’s too late.” How do I tell her that behind the facade of the perfectly poised Mafia woman there is nothing but a fractured mirror, the pieces still fitting together to form a whole but the reflection in them distorted and chaotic?
How do I tell her that I am broken beyond repair, that if I open up, the shards that shape me might fall apart and crumble?
“You could,” she insists, her eyes holding mine. “You just won’t.”
I shrug, feeling my throat constrict. “Let’s not go there please, Lee.”
Her gaze lingers, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she steers the conversation to safer ground, her little boy, a new café that opened near the docks. I nod and smile in all the right places, adding the occasional comment, but my mind drifts.
When I finally stand to leave, she hugs me tightly. “You’re not alone, you know,” she murmurs against my hair.
Tears sting my eyes, but I push them down. “I know,” I whisper.
Outside, the air is cold and damp, and the city feels too big, too loud. I walk to the waiting town car and slide into the back seat. “Let’s go home, Tomaso.”
Our family driver nods and pulls the car away from the curb.
Home…The word feels so wrong on my tongue.
Once the car pulls up in front of the house, I step out and climb the stairs to our front door and unlock it. Then I move inside, feeling like I entered a tomb. I leave my shoes at the door and pad over the marble floor, my quiet footsteps barely disrupting the deafening silence.
Please, don’t let him be here. I lower my head and scurry through the living room, praying that Father is away, or too passed out to notice that I’m back.
But what I see has me stop dead in my tracks.
He is lying on the floor by the sofa, and he looks unconscious.
“Papà…” I rush over and kneel next to him to check for a pulse, but I don’t need to, he is breathing heavily, occasionally snoring.
I look around, weighing if I should get help.
But I can’t bring myself to call for Tomaso.
Lifelong conditioning has taught me to care more about hearsay and what people might think of our family than to ask for assistance.
Hence, I try to rouse Father, alternating between soft pats on his cheek and increasingly louder pleas. “Father, please wake up. Let me help you onto the sofa.”
After some struggling, he finally opens his eyes, and his unfocused gaze roams the room.
“No, you can’t have her!” He begins to thrash and I back up to avoid getting hit by his flailing hands. “I won’t let you take her away.”
He has been rambling a lot lately, probably missing Mother and cursing whoever he thinks took her from him.
“Father, it’s me. Please wake up.”
His eyes find mine at last and he seems to recognize me.
“Mia figlia…” he rasps in a broken voice and my throat constricts.
“Sí papá, it’s me. Now get up, I’ll help you onto the sofa.”
He takes my arm and leans heavily on me until I hoist him on the couch.
Sweat is running down my back once I’m finished, but what breaks me the most is the ashen and clammy skin of his face.
He is now breathing heavily and watching me with red eyes.
My heart breaks all over again for him. How did my strong, steadfast father become this husk of a man?
I get it that Mother passed away—was murdered—more than a year and a half ago, but since then, he has been spiraling, each day getting worse than the last. It wasn’t getting better and I didn’t know how to help him—my attempts to have him see a specialist only made him viciously lash out at me.
I get a glass of water and make him a sandwich in the kitchen and place them on the low table next to the sofa.
“Eat something, Father.” I reach to remove the almost empty whiskey bottle, but his hand darts out and he grabs my wrist. I try to disentangle myself, but his grip becomes painful and I let out a whimper.
“Leave it here.” His voice is cold now, as is his stare when I look into his eyes.
“But…Father, you shouldn’t—”
“I can do what I damn want in my own house,” he thunders and I flinch, knowing what is coming.
Shit.
“After all, this is all because of you and your bitch of a mother. Now leave me be.”
He brutally shoves me away and I stagger backward, my thigh hitting painfully into the wooden arm of the armchair.
Just great, another bruise. I wince. At this rate I will need to cover up from head to toe every time I go out. At least it’s winter and I am not expected to wear a swimsuit. Concealing the ever-growing bruises with makeup is getting old.
“Just…rest, Father,” I murmur, and turn to hurry upstairs.
Tears begin to spill over, and I can’t seem to breathe.
I sprint the last few steps to my room and slam the door shut.
Then I lean on it and collapse to the floor, legs pulled up and head buried in my arms. My chest is constricting and my throat is closing around the air I can’t push through.
I can’t breathe—I’m suffocating. I gasp for air.
No, no, no. Not again! Panic claws its way up my throat, and it feels like a vise is slowly crushing my chest until I’m choking. My desperate, helpless sobs for air resound loudly in the room, adding to the overpowering sense of terror dragging me under.
Breathe… Just breathe. Focus on something, anything.
I force my mind to focus through the pain and the crushing sensation of powerlessness washing over me.
The hard surface of the door against my back.
The cold floor under my bare feet. My nails digging painfully into my arms. Gradually, oxygen flows back into my lungs and my gasps for air become less strained.
I remain prostrate, letting the waves of despair overwhelm me and my tears overflow.
For what feels like hours, I sob brokenly into my arms. I can’t go on like this—I’m falling into pieces, and soon there will be nothing left of me.
The walls of my bedroom feel too close, and I raise my face to stare at the faint light spilling in through the sheer curtains.
I lift a trembling hand to my face, wiping away the tears, trying to pull myself together, thinking about how everyone else’s lives seem so fulfilled.
Lily is safe, in love, with a family that feels whole.
Erin, our friend, has become a hero by uncovering a ring of corrupt cops and politicians involved in human trafficking.
Everyone’s chapters are moving forward, while mine is stuck between dark pages I’m too afraid to turn.
I’m trapped in this place, as the perfect, polite Mafia princess my mother groomed me to be.
I am happy for them, of course I am! But I can’t suppress this yearning or even the envy to have only a fraction of what they have. Most of all, I can’t suppress this longing anymore. The fact that when Lucas smiles at me, I still imagine what it would be like if it meant something more.
Lucas Romano, Damiano’s second-in-command in the famiglia.
I’ve had a crush on him for as long as I can remember.
Who wouldn’t? He is the kind of man who lights up a room with a smile.
“Fast cars and fleeting relationships” could be his car sticker, and I’d absolutely loathe him if he were conceited and vain.
But he is neither. Instead, he is kind, attentive and he remembers every little detail about everyone, as meaningless as it may seem.
He is funny, devastatingly handsome, and so caring it makes my heart ache.
He has a way of looking at people that makes them feel like only they exist in his world.
Of course, he doesn’t look at me like that.
Not when there’s a new woman on his arm every week.
They are always the same type, tall, leggy, and supermodel material.
All the opposite of my five feet of slight form and weak appearance.
Still, I watch him from afar whenever I can, heart cracking more with every smile he throws at his flavor of the week.
But today, something inside me shifts. Maybe it’s because I have nothing left to lose.
I will confess my feelings to him during this Friday’s gala where he is likely to attend.
I can’t keep carrying this in silence anymore.
If he rejects me, at least I’ll know I tried, at least I’ll have spoken before I disappear completely.