42. Chapter 38
Chapter 38
Isabella
F redo pours himself another glass of whisky, swirling it around before downing it in one gulp. He turns back to me, rolling over the words in his head.
“I tried to talk dad out of it.” He blurts out.
“That makes me feel so much better.”
The sarcasm makes his brows knit together.
“I’m just saying.” He throws his hands in the air, looking for words that won’t come to him and then gives me an exasperated look as if it’s my fault. “If I’d have known he wanted to send you off to Italy, I might not have convinced you to come back.”
Bullshit.
“You always do as you’re told, Fredo.” I avert my eyes, gazing out through the small circular window at the ocean, denying my brother any respect.
“That’s not true.” He snaps, his voice getting louder.
“Then cut me loose.” I gesture backwards to the zip tie binding my wrists together behind my back.
Fredo leans forward for half a second, then hesitates. I let out a laugh and his skin flushes red. He turns his back to me, hiding any embarrassment, just like he did when we were kids. Fredo only ever plays when he knows he’s going to win, otherwise he hides behind someone else. He pours another drink with unsteady hands, missing some of the glass and leaving a trail of whisky across the wooden drinks cabinet.
When he turns back, the red flush is gone from his skin, and a snide look settles across his face. “Drink?” he asks. “Oh, wait. You can’t. My bad.” He flashes a taunting smirk. “If I were you, I’d be desperate for a drink.” I don’t bite. He isn’t anywhere near as good at pushing my buttons as he thinks he is. I’ve dealt with Dad all my life. Fredo is nothing in comparison. He glares at me, waiting for a response he never gets, so he continues. “Knowing what’s ahead… Did dad tell you?”
“You know what dad told me.” I hiss back.
“I think I’d throw myself into the sea.” He chuckles, swaying with the rhythm of the ship.
“I know you would.”
His eyes snap to mine. “Why do you think I’m so weak? You have no idea how much pressure there is being the next in line to be Don. Following in dad’s footsteps isn't easy.”
I let out a snort. His jaw tenses before he downs another whisky.
“You want to know where they’re sending you?” He crosses the room, taking the chair across from me. He leans forward and I pull back from the smell of whisky pulsing out of him.
Fredo pulls out his pocket knife, flipping it between his hands, his eyes never leaving mine.
I stay silent.
“Come on, sis. I know you’re dying to know.” A grin pulls at his lips.
“Fine. If it’ll make you go away, you can tell me.”
He chuckles under his breath. “You always said that to me.”
“And you never fucked off.”
The smile broadens. “There she is!” He slams the knife into the table, making me jump out of my skin. “The trouble-maker. Princess with a foul mouth and a penchant for chaos. When I saw you come back with your tail between your legs, I thought the Russian might have finally whipped you into shape.”
“Like dad did to you years ago?”
His eyes simmer, flickering between me and the knife he’d just lodged into the table. All our fights were like this after he became stronger than me. He always wanted to win the verbal battle, and when he didn’t, he threw his weight around until someone stepped in.
“ Zia Maria.”
The same story flashes through our minds, eliciting terror from me and sadistic enjoyment from Fredo.
“What?” I splutter.
“They’ll teach you to know your place.”
“You’re lying.”
I say it more to convince myself than anything else, but the smugness in my brother’s eyes tells me it’s true.
“How long?” I ask.
Fredo shrugs. “From mama’s crying, I think a long time.” He reaches for his whisky before remembering it's empty. Fredo never paces himself well when he’s drunk. “Family history repeats itself. You get to be the zia Maria of our generation. They’ll send you to that monastery,” Fredo lets out a laugh, shaking his head, “or should I say asylum, and you’ll stay there until dad says you can come back. And judging by dad’s history with mercy, you’ll be there until I become Don. So, start being fucking nice to me or I’ll add a few years on your sentence.”
“Add as many years as you want. I hope I never see you again.”
He raises his eyebrows, a wave of shock washing through his eyes. Before he can respond, the door opens and a man in a black suit rushes over to Fredo. He glances at me before whispering something into my brother’s ear.
Fredo shoots him a confused look before jolting to his feet. He sways in place, almost losing his balance. “When I come back, you better be begging for mercy or I’ll make sure you never leave that place.”
Without another word, Fredo stumbles away, the door slamming behind him as he goes.
A tide of emotion thuds at my chest, but I don’t let it in. If I let that tempest trickle into my body, I’ll get overwhelmed. I jump to my feet, twisting around so I can grab the knife Fredo has drunkenly left in the table. He’s slammed it in hard, and my hands are bound behind my back, making it awkward to get a hold of. It takes a while, but I finally pull it out of the table. I flip it over in my hands and cut through the zip tie.
Okay, now what? Asks the annoying voice of logic in my head.
“I don’t know? Swim?”
Terrible idea.
“Not my best.”
I wait a moment and then bolt through the door, clutching Fredo’s little knife in my hand. Anywhere is better than waiting around for them to come back.