Chapter 3 #2
I sprint through the hallway to Rafa’s room.
“What’s wrong?” Rafa asks sharply when I crash inside, throwing the door shut behind me. He’s already reaching for the gun he keeps in his desk drawer and rising from his chair.
My throat doesn’t work for a moment.
Then—Rafa doesn’t need to know. I can’t have him risking himself for me.
The words all seem to tumble out at once. “A nightmare. A bad dream.”
His hand falls away from the hidden gun in his drawer. He scrubs his face as he lets out a sigh.
“You know…” He pulls off his glasses, folding and setting them on his desk. He’s wearing grey sweatpants and a T-shirt, and he’s got a bunch of papers strewn along the top of his desk. The computer screen is filled with lines of numbers. “It’s fine. Did you want to stay in here for a while?”
I exhale a short laugh, the nightmare already fading in the soft light of Rafa’s bedroom. Nearly three years later, and I’m still a little girl running to his room whenever I get scared. I straighten up, tugging at the tight black sheath dress I never changed out of after the dinner.
Rafa glances back at his computer, as if it physically pains him to be away from his work. He’d probably hand me a spreadsheet and have me check for errors if I asked to stay in his room, telling me how much math helps him relax.
He’s gotten so skinny since I’ve moved out. All of his baby fat is gone, and he looks so much older than I remember.
“Where’s Carlo?” I ask.
Rafa makes a dismissive noise and waves his hand around as if to say who the fuck knows? He pulls a stack of papers from the desk onto his lap.
I bite my lip. “Do you know what happened? At Turi’s house?”
Anyone else would admonish me for such a brazen question, but Rafa only ignores me for a few moments.
He’s not so much older than me and Serafina, but unlike us girls, he’s always been expected to play a more active part in the Family.
Since Carlo’s interests lie with drinking and women, Rafa had to step up.
All of that responsibility has turned him into a distant stranger.
I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen him smile.
“Please, Rafa,” I say.
My brothers, for all their faults, have always tried to do their best for their sisters.
He sighs. His hands still over the papers. “I guess you’ll know soon enough. Aldo’s dead.”
My heart stutters.
Rafa’s dark eyes meet mine. “They’re saying Dad shot him. Turi has Junior in his basement now.”
Aldo’s dead. If Junior’s in Turi’s basement, he’s as good as dead. Something fragile flutters in my chest. I almost can’t breathe.
“And Marisol?” I ask.
Rafa raises an eyebrow. “Turi’s wife? Yeah, she’s fine.”
I exhale a long, shuddering breath.
“Okay,” I say as I turn to leave. “Thanks.”
“Wait. Uh, I know… do you want to talk about what happened?”
I turn. Rafa looks vaguely pained. He’s never been good at this sort of thing.
I paste a smile onto my face. “No, Rafa.”
The answer doesn’t seem to surprise him. “I miss her too.”
My smile melts into something a little more genuine. “I know.”
I leave my brother to his work.
As I pass through the house, a deep undercurrent of emotions swims through my limbs, pushing me forward with each step. Dom kept his word. Aldo and Junior are dead, and Marisol is safe.
How could Dom have been so sure of what would happen?
He’s always been like that—unwavering and invincible. Capable of the impossible.
I find myself just outside Mom and Dad’s door, fighting the rising tide of exhaustion that threatens to tow me under. A whisper curls around the back of my mind.
Why am I doing this? What’s the point?
A rush of guilt and longing for Serafina surges over me. There’s only one person in the world I want to talk to about this, and she’s gone.
I half-turn to walk back to Serafina’s room, but the fear of what’s lurking there stops me. That was Giulia’s voice, on the phone. My late husband’s family were always bound to come after me, but I thought when they took Serafina, that’d be enough.
I inhale deeply. Rafa, Carlo, Mom, Dad—I can’t lose anyone else.
I lean toward the door, listening for noise inside. Mom’s talking in a low voice.
“Mom?” I call through the door, suddenly feeling eight years old again.
“Come in.”
When I step inside, I’m struck by how old my parents look.
Everyone’s aged so much since I’ve been gone.
Mom’s hair is tucked inside a pink satin bonnet, and she’s wearing a matching pink nightgown.
She has a face full of makeup—in case of an emergency, she always says, but Serafina and I are pretty sure it’s because Dad’s never seen her without it.
Dad’s shirtless. His hairy belly juts out over his lap, his hands clasped on top. His CPAP mask lies next to his thigh.
“What is it?” Mom asks.
The ridiculous thought of asking to sleep in their room crosses my mind, and I cast it aside just as quickly.
“Are you okay?” I ask Dad.
“Anne—Serafina!” Mom scolds.
We never talk aloud about Dad’s stuff. He’s whole. There’s no blood or broken bones. If I have concerns, I keep them to myself.
Dad grunts. “What do you want?”
“Rafa told me what happened,” I say. “Who am I going to marry now?”
Mom gives an exhausted sigh. “It is three in the morning. Let’s save this for breakfast. Your father had a long day, and he needs to sleep.”
“I want...” I say, and for a moment, I fight against the wild thrashing of indecision, until—this is how I keep my family safe. It’s the same way I’ve always kept my family safe, with my beauty and my body. “I want to marry Dom.”
Mom sputters, choking on her shock like a fish on a riverbank. “Annetta!”
“Serafina,” I correct, and she snaps her mouth shut. I turn to Dad. “Can you do it? Make Dom marry me?”
“That man is twenty years your senior,” Mom says.
Aldo had forty years on Serafina. Dad has eight on Mom. Since when do they care about what’s appropriate?
“He could protect me,” I say simply.
He could protect all of us. If anyone can do the impossible, it’s Dom.
Dad blows out a long stream of air. Mom looks over at him sharply.
He’ll think about it. It’s as good an answer as I’ll get tonight.
“Thanks,” I say, feeling like I’ve left a slip of paper in the prayer box. “I’m glad you’re okay, Dad. I love you both.”