Chapter 7 Francesca
Francesca
“Why are you up here?”
“You didn’t stay under the table like I told you to yesterday. Time to pay for that.” Carlo slaps his thigh with intent, and my eyes boggle. My traitorous nipples tighten, too.
“You can’t punish me for that! I had to protect Valdo!
And we went right back under the table. You shouldn’t talk like that to me either.
I’m not yours to… discipline.” I nervously lick my lips, and Carlo’s dark eyes grow darker.
“Valdo may think he’s days away from becoming a Made Man, but he’s still a little boy.
I had to convince him to stay close to me. ”
Carlo’s smirk melts into something infinitely more dangerous, that flash of softness that makes my heart speed up. “What did you say to convince him?”
“I said I was frightened, and he promised to protect me.”
“You’re very clever, aren’t you?”
“Does cleverness in a woman intimidate you?”
He smirks, stepping closer, and I can’t seem to think straight. When he raises his hand though, I flinch out of habit. “Tell me who makes you react this way.” His voice is controlled yet something ferocious lingers at its edge.
“No one now. Old habits die hard.”
Slowly, he raises his hand again and braces it on the wall beside my shoulder. If he were to lean forward, we could kiss. What a crazy thought! Think of Sofia!
“Why are you really up here?” I ask, shaking off the horrible urge to ask for that cursed kiss.
“I wish to know more about what you want. Do you wish to become a pop diva?”
My dreams of fame sound childish phrased that way. “I want to be a singer-songwriter. I want a normal life.”
“No one born into our world leaves except through death or by choosing to become a traitor. You know this and choosing the latter leads to the former.”
He took my thoughtless words yesterday more seriously than I hoped. “I have no desire to betray the Trio. Too many people I care about would be hurt.”
“Your father chose that path. He hurt people, including those he should’ve protected. Am I to believe you wouldn’t do the same? That you, too, wouldn’t send an old blind man to his grave if it meant getting what you want?”
He is cruel to bring up Beppe. The memory of his serene smile on his crinkly old face when I’d sing his favorite songs still breaks me to this day.
“Why do you look like you're going to cry? I don’t recall you attending his funeral.”
“Because I wasn’t allowed to go! No one would’ve wanted me there! That doesn’t change the fact it broke my heart when I learned of his death!”
I hate crying when anyone can see me. Even when Da hit me, I tried not to cry. Not once in all the times I’ve been pointed at, whispered about, stared at with disdain the past three years, have I shown them they could hurt me. Why this man?
Something warm touches my cheek. I blink and realize its Carlo’s thumb catching my tear.
I angrily bat away his hand. “Don’t touch me!
You’re a monster like all the other men I know.
Why should I believe you cared that much for Beppe?
You told me the day we met that a little girl like me could never hurt you.
I doubt you know what it is to hurt at all. ”
“Who says a monster can't be hurt? That's usually when he's the most dangerous.”
Speechless, I stare at him through teary eyes until he reaches into his pocket, handing me a handkerchief and bidding me to dry my eyes.
“Girls your age are usually promised by now. Are you?”
I scoff. “Me? The rat's daughter? If I were, they'd give me to someone awful like my cousin Gia's husband. No, thank you.”
“What if there was a way to live out from under the scrutiny you endure and be free to attend college while still being protected? Would you be willing to consider it for the sake of your dreams?”
Such an odd question and odd way to phrase it. He’s testing my loyalty, isn’t he?
“I live under my uncles’ rule, and I know I must heed their decisions. Speaking of which, regardless of my dismal marriage prospects, honor forbids us from being alone together this way outside my bedroom.”
“Then, I will bid you goodnight and, as I fly to New York in the morning, I will bid you farewell.”
He bows like some fairytale prince, but his eyes betray intense displeasure and frustration he doesn’t verbalize as he goes, leaving me more unsettled than ever.
***
That night, I have a difficult time finding sleep once more.
So much is riding on my audition when I know my uncles agreeing to that is not the same as them agreeing to me moving to New York.
Carlo was right about no one leaving. I just have to hope they want to be rid of me enough to overlook that.
With an annoyed huff, my hand drifts down my torso and into my panties, seeking a distraction from my racing thoughts.
I begin rubbing my clit, trying to summon a familiar fantasy to help me along.
None of them will do, and I’m forced to turn my head into my pillow in shame when I focus my imaginings on him.
I am a horrible person. He’s going to be Sofia’s husband.
Betrayal runs in my blood. At least no one will ever know about this.
After I come with a quiet cry, my shame evaporates, and I finally find sleep.
***
The next morning, I’m relieved Carlo is gone until I learn he left a broken heart in his wake.
Sofia wandered away from her room last night as the Seconda Notte was carrying on and spied her fiancé by the pool.
Two prostitutes were busy servicing him right there where anyone could see.
Her rose-colored glasses shattered at last. She swears she’ll never marry him, but she’ll soon learn what I already know - we girls don’t make the rules around here.
I hate him. He doesn’t deserve Sofia. He dares speak of betrayal to me and behaves like that? Secretly, I hate that I feel personally betrayed as well somehow. But what matters is I’m reminded once more I can’t trust men and I never want to marry into this fucked up world I live in.
***
Five days later, my plane lands in Reno.
I message Mom I’ll be home soon. I love being with my cousins, but I worry about her when I’m away for so many days.
She doesn’t handle the isolation of our position as well as I do, but she refuses to leave the house, claiming illness even when it comes to her own nephew’s wedding.
Alessio kicked Rocco’s ass for the security failure at the reception, and he slunk off the morning after the wedding while Uncle Enzo left after the Seconda, so a guard from the household was ordered to see me safely home.
He’s fairly new, but he already treats me with the same contempt as the others.
I don’t care. I ignore him and go to fetch my own luggage.
As the rotating belt sweeps an array of bags past, I realize a stranger has stepped up beside me, a man with a beard donning a gray hoodie.
My suitcase comes into view and, as I lean over to retrieve it, I feel compelled to look back at him.
One glance is all it takes to explain that odd, magnetic pull.
“Ronan?” I whisper in shock, staring into the dark blue eyes of the brother I’ve believed dead for the past three years.