Chapter 1
1
VALENTINA
S itting on the carpeted floors of our library, I face my two younger sisters. It’s the only place we’re able to talk without feeling the need to watch what we say, but we still keep our voices low.
“You realize that is an idiotic plan and if you get caught by Mom or Dad, they wi-” Violette’s voice echoes around the large open library, and I cut her off with a hushed voice.
“I know, but I can’t take it anymore. We’re being watched all the time, and I heard Nonna and Dad talking… They want to marry me off soon.” She opens her mouth to speak, but I continue, ignoring the gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“I heard them, Violette. They want to marry me off before summer starts. That’s in eight months.” The panic in my voice is palpable. All I want is to feel some sort of control over my life, and it’s slipping through my fingers.
She releases a sigh as she leans back onto the heels of her palms. Tilting her head, her shoulder-length blonde hair falls backwards, making her appear angelic. She inherited our Mom’s hair color. I, on the other hand, inherited our Dad’s black raven hair.
“I know you might not want to come with me, but Lottie, please don’t get in the way,” I say firmly, my expression pleading.
I turn to face Monica, who is sitting on one of the plush pink armchairs with her elbows on the armrests. She looks up from her phone and only lifts one of her shoulders in a half shrug, her lips pressed into a line, causing her left dimple to show. Before she can say a word, the library door handle makes an ugly screech, which causes us to turn our heads in that direction.
The door opens and Marcello comes tumbling in. But someone stops him when he tries to step forward into the room.
“Marcello, what are you doing?” My Dad’s icy demand cuts through the air as he stands in the entrance behind Marcello, making him flinch. His chin trembles with the effort to hold in his tears. Dad has trained him to better prepare him for his induction, but Marco’s yet to learn how to hold in his emotions.
“Marco, come here.” My voice comes out softer than I intended it to, causing our Dad to send a scathing glare above Marcello’s head toward me. His face set in a scowl as he steps into the library, Marcello moving into my outstretched arms.
“I told you this before, you silly boy. You cannot sit with your sisters, or you’ll become soft like them. Now come here.” Dad’s sharp and cruel tone, as usual, makes Marco bury his face into the nape of my neck and a few sniffles escape from his mouth.
Dad’s face contorts into one of utter rage at the blatant disregard of his command, and at the fact that his heir is crying and in the arms of a woman. Before I even know what is happening, my Dad leaps across the room and snatches Marco from my hands, holding him up by his arms to be eye level, shaking him.
“Don’t you cry!” he screams into his face. At that moment, Mom appears in the open doorway of the library, paling at the sight of Marco in the hold of Dad. Her fingers clutch the fabric of her long-sleeved gray dress, eyes widening and her chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Alvize, please, for the love of God, put Marcello down. He’ll behave this time,” our Mom pleads with my dad.
“Shut up, Diletta! This is your fault! Look at him! He’s weak! How in God’s name will he be the future Capo of the Outfit?!” Dad screams. Mom stands eerily still as her gaze darts to us frantically. As soon as Dad drops Marco from his hold, Mom rushes over to him. “Angelo and Giovanni, get in here.” His soulless black eyes stare at Mom as she cradles a crying Marcello. Both Dad’s bodyguards rush in through the large mahogany door, waiting for an order.
“Marcello will receive punishment,” Dad declares with finality.
“Alvize, what are you going to do? He’s only five. He’ll learn. Just give him time.” Mom’s eyes glaze over as she regards our dad from her position on the floor, her arms wrapped around Marcello as he whimpers into her neck.
Monica, Violette, and I are paralyzed in our positions. We all hold our breath, waiting for the domino effect that follows with Dad’s outbursts. Dad doesn’t break the silence, but with a nod toward Marcello, he orders both Angelo and Giovanni to take him.
“He’ll spend the next three weeks in the dungeons.” A sob breaks from Mom’s mouth, her body shaking, but Dad continues. “No one will speak with him, no one will look at him, no one but the guards will be allowed.” There’s a deep scowl on his face as he directs a searing look at Mom, and then he turns to leave. But Mom jumps to her feet and runs, standing in his way. She clings to his right arm and begs with hot tears running down her face. I cringe at the sight, knowing what’s coming.
“Please, Alvize, I beg of you, please don’t lock him in the dun—’’ she’s cut off when Dad throws her off, and she stumbles backwards, hitting her head on the edge of the table.
My knees scrape across the carpet as I rush to stand, Violette and Monica right behind me as we grab Mom, inspecting her.
“Mom, are you okay?” I ask in a hushed voice, concerned that Dad might notice us, but she doesn't respond. She holds back her sobs, causing her shoulders to shake.
“Let me go, LET ME GO!” Marcello’s demands make us all turn to see him as Giovanni and Angelo drag him out. His face turns red as he struggles to escape their hold. It’s no use.
* * *
It’s been two days since Dad had his guards take Marcello to the dungeons, and we know nothing. Nonna has tried to persuade him to let Marcello out, but he told her to not involve herself in the men’s business.
I focus my attention on the screen of my phone, avoiding Violette’s demanding gaze. She’s trying to dissuade me from leaving during the party. The party is in a couple of days, and I need to figure out the best route to get out and back in before anyone notices I’m gone. I wipe my sweaty hand on my jeans, trying to appear normal and stop myself from shaking.
According to Nonna, Dad has been Capo for the last thirty years and has been the longest ruling Capo in the Outfit. I guess when you’re a crime boss of a very powerful family, it means that everyone will try anything to get rid of you. Dad seems to be proud of his achievement, which is the reason why the party is being held in our Chicago club. At the Via Veneto, the largest club in the entirety of the state of Illinois.
I doubt my uncles want to celebrate my Dad’s rule over the Sicilian Mafia. I look up just in time to see Nonna enter grimly, and we all stand out of respect. She clears her throat before she orders.
“Violette, Monica, and Diletta, I want you all out. I need to speak to Valentina.” Mom’s eyebrows reach her forehead at the tone my Nonna uses, but they all obey. I can feel Violette’s stare burn the side of my face. They all scurry out of the large wooden doors, and Nonna watches them before her sharp eyes turn back to me. They narrow slightly, something akin to disgust flashing in her gaze.
Her cane thuds against the cream-colored wooden floors as she makes her way toward the corner of the room, where two leather armchairs are facing each other, with a small black round French coffee table. Nonna doesn’t wait for me to sit down.
“As a woman, your place is with your husband, and you have been spoken for by someone we want to form an alliance with.” Her expression stays the same, even as she takes in my thinning lips, wide eyes, and clenched fists. I grit my teeth, knowing that she thinks of me as a nuisance.
“Your Dad has decided that an alliance with the Colombians is necessary. You will marry the eldest son of the Guerrero Clan. We will announce your engagement to Nicholas Guerrero at the party your Dad is hosting.”
My stomach rolls at the idea of being engaged to a man I have never seen, only having heard the cruel rumors plaguing his name like cancer.
“Nonna, please, you cannot be serious about this. I have never even seen Nicholas, and what if we don’t get along-” Nonna cuts me off, my cheek stinging with the pain of her slap.
“Be quiet, you silly little girl. Do not delude yourself into believing that because you were born in America and raised here, that you may entertain such devilish behaviors. We are Sicilian women; we carry our pride and honor like a crown, and I will not allow you to taint the Moretti name with such nonsense.” Nonna’s harsh words do not surprise me at all. I rub a hand over the sore cheek, avoiding her eyes. “Besides,” she continues with a sigh, “you should have been married off when you had turned eighteen, but since your Mom insisted that an education is important in today’s society, we had put off marrying you. Now the time has come for you to start your own family.”
Nonna clearly doesn’t think I have anything of value to say, because she leaves once she has finished speaking.
Eyes burning, my vision slowly blurs. I try to take deep breaths to calm myself, but it doesn’t work because I can feel my throat closing as if something is choking me. My chin quivers with the effort of not crying, and I rub the heels of my palms into my eyes, wishing for the earth to open up and swallow me.
I stand up, letting out a frustrated sigh. No, I won’t sit here and wallow in misery. I need to find a way to get out of this arrangement.
The drawing room is on the bottom floor of our Chicago estate, located in the farthest corner of the villa. Irritation clings to my skin as I make my way through the hallway toward my sanctuary in this hellhole. The library. Taking a breath, I stop in front of the door that would lead me to the hedge maze outside.
Instead of going to the library, I decided to slide the glass doors open and walk down the curving stairs. Pausing at the last step, a cool breeze washes over me. It’s kind of warm for an early fall afternoon.
As if the summer is refusing to move on, the leaves are already falling and turning orange. Which I am perfectly content to watch. I think that fall is the best time of the year because you get to see the beautiful change in nature.
A soft breeze blows my hair in my face as I reach the bottom step of the large granite stairs. I watch the sun as it slowly descends on the horizon, casting different hues of colors. My heart thumps as I weave myself through the first few hedges of the maze, some of the sun peeking through.
The sound of leaves crunching fills my ears as my sneakers step over them, something about it easing my racing thoughts. The maze always ends up feeling haunted around October and November, but once December hits, when it snows, it resembles a Christmas wonderland. Doesn’t matter when I explore it, though, it brings me a sense of peace every time. And right now, that’s exactly what I need.
* * *
By the time I make it out of the maze and back into the house, dinner is already being prepared and I can hear Dad’s angry voice echo down the hallway.
A loud bang sounds from his office, bouncing off the dark gray walls. I pause outside the large mahogany door.
“Your son is going to cost us another war with the fucking Camorra, Benito. I will not have the Outfit suffer for your son's stupidity.” Dad must be on the phone with my uncle, and I’m not surprised that this concerns one of my cousins.
“No, your son was initiated two weeks ago. I will punish him for stepping out of line like everybody else…” It must be about Giuseppe. I don’t know what he did, but I am kind of surprised because he’s usually the more level-headed one between him and Michele.
“And because he’s fucking family, we will discipline him accordingly. I don’t tolerate any kind of challenge to my rule, Benito. I don’t care if he wasn’t initiated when he acted outside of orders. You know this. Giuseppe better be in the dungeons by six tomorrow, or you know what will happen.” I doubt Dad waits for a response since he slams something, which I assume is his phone against his table. The carpet muffles the sound of my sneakers as I try to avoid him.
“Valentina, sweetie. Where were you?” Cazzo! I clearly didn’t walk quickly enough to get away before he opens his door. My dad is usually nice to us when we do nothing he’d deem disrespectful. Well, as nice as a mafia Capo could be. With a swallow, I turn toward my dad.
“Um… I was out in the rose maze, Papa,” I say, and I can see his eyes narrow.
“Right, well, go to your Mom. She's looking for you.” I nod, but before I can say that I’ll go find her, he speaks up again. “Has Nonna spoken to you about your upcoming engagement announcement?”
My jaw clenches involuntarily at the mention of my upcoming prison sentence, or at least that's how I think it’ll be.
“Yes, Nonna has made me aware of it.” My heart thumps in my ears and my shoulders stiffen as I wait for him to let me go. Dad finally dismisses me with a nod.
I turn and manage to walk three steps before he speaks up again. “And Valentina, from now on, you are to wear heels at all times.”
Clenching my fists on the side of my baggy denim jeans, I look down to stare at my sneakers.
“Yes, Papa.” I stand there for a beat longer, wondering if he has any other demands, but all I hear is the click of his door closing.
* * *
I find my Mom on the second floor of our home library. Her back to me as she rests her head on the window, both her legs tucked underneath her. She must not have been there long; she doesn’t enjoy the silence much, not after Dad had locked her for two months in the basement for being a “disobedient” wife. If she could get Marcello out, she would have, but she risks Dad breaking her ribs like last time, and maybe even worse going after Monica as well.
I don’t understand what she’s looking at since you can barely make out anything from the second floor of the library windows, especially at night.
“Hey, Mom. Dad said you were looking for me?” I keep my voice low to not startle her. She snaps out of her thoughts and turns her head to look at me.
“Mia Cara, come here.” She waves me closer, and I make my way toward her. Moving her feet off the bench, she reaches out to hug me, my arms awkwardly wrapping around her as her rose perfume fills my nose.
I’m not exactly fond of physical touch or affection, but I love my Mom and she has enough on her plate. We both have very similar frames, both quite petite, but she is taller. Mom pulls back after a long hug, her eyes distant. They have a suspicious sheen that she blinks away.
“Valentina, sweetie. I want you to know that if I had the power to, I would stop it.” She doesn’t outright say what “it” is, but we both know what she means.
“But you don’t, and you can’t,” I say to her. There isn’t any use in saying “if I could” with things like this, things that are out of our control. We have no choice but to fall in line. I just hope that my sisters are going to have a different life than my Mom's or mine. If my life turns out to be like Mom’s, I don’t think I’ll survive.
“Cara, you know we have little choice, especially being a woman in our world.” She shakes her head at me. “I hope Nicholas will treat you right.” There is hope in her voice, hope for my future, hope for a marriage I have no choice in, and hope for a monster as cruel as Nicholas Guerrero to be a good husband.
I want to contradict her, but I can’t break whatever hope she has for me. It’ll be cruel. Mom’s already suffering since Dad is punishing Marcello.
“Mom, do you know when Marcello will come out? Has Dad said anything?” I ask her.
She swallows roughly and says, “He’ll be let out after dinner. Your Dad is letting him out earlier because he has a speech to make during the party. He wants us to appear as a united front.” My eyebrows pull together and my lips twist into a snarl. Dad has always loved flaunting the fact that he has been the longest Capo alive in the history of the Outfit.
“Who’s going to be there?” I ask, trying to see if maybe Mia will join us. Mom’s face lights up.
“If you’re asking if Mia will be there, she will. Your cousin Nicolette will also be there.” Oh. My. God. Yes! If Nicolette is coming, that means Aunt Belinda too. Mom and I smile at each other, the corner of her eyes wrinkling. It’s been a couple of years since we last saw my cousin and aunt.
Our happiness doesn’t last long, because she quickly sobers up and gives me a look. “Mia Cara, I want to give you one piece of advice and I want you to carry it like you carry your honor and pride. Don’t let anyone make you think that kindness is a weakness. Look for opportunities to be compassionate and generous. Be aware of people who might deceive you into believing that kindness is a weakness, because in a world like ours, authenticity is hard to find.”
* * *
The dining room fills with the clatter of our plates. And the white walls remind me of an insane asylum, the servants floating in through the doorless doorway. They all are carrying dishes from the kitchen, the delicious smell wafting around the room.
Zehra’s cooking has never failed us. We’re all sitting around the black dining room table, an uncomfortable silence blanketing the room. I shift in the hard wooden dining chair as I squint my eyes, the chandelier light adding to the throbbing in my skull.
Violette is on my left and Mom is on my right. Mom clenches her fists as she tries to stop them from shaking. Violette is staring at her plate, avoiding both my dad’s and Nonna’s glances.
Monica is next to Nonna. It’s not the first time Nonna had Mon sit next to her, since she’s the youngest girl and Dad targets her and Marcello the most.
“Alvize, Marcello will not be going back into the dungeons once he’s out.” Nonna is the one to break the silence. A stillness settles over us as we try to see how Dad might react to being ordered.
His reputation precedes him; he only got the position of Capo by dismembering the original leading family. All of them in one night. Earning him the title of the cruelest Capo in the Outfit’s history.
“Mama, I have told you to stay out of the men’s business.” His tone is curt, speaking low enough that the servants can’t hear what he’s saying from their positions on the far walls.
“Alvize, for the love of God. Marcello is five. He’s still a boy. You’ve got time before his initiation to train him,” Nonna argues. Dad takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly. He’s getting pissed. If Nonna keeps pressuring him, he’s going to beat someone up. Probably our Mom.
But Dad surprises us when he nods and says, “You will keep him away from his sisters. He’s growing too weak. The only time he’s allowed to speak to them is during breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Or if we have a social gathering.”
Nonna nods and gives us all a glare.
The rest of the evening goes by quickly. They’d let Marcello out ten minutes ago, and he looked absolutely devastating. His top is ripped, the right sleeve completely torn off, and the knees of his trousers are tethered with some dry blood. A long diagonal cut on his left cheek has scabbed.
They littered his arms with bruises and cuts, but the most terrifying thing is the look in his eyes. His eyes used to be crystal blue, but now it’s the look you see in a Made man’s eyes, not a five-year-old child’s. Violette, Monica, and I keep our distance.
The only people who are around him are Nonna and Mom. They wanted to call the family doctor, but Dad sends both a scathing look as he tells them they need to stop “babying” Marcello.