Font Size:  

My skin feels like it’s on fire from a single touch, and I stay very still. I don’t dare even breathe for fear that she will take her hand away from mine. But eventually she does and goes back to her table with Annie.

Leaving me behind.

Again.

14 Years Old

Idescend the stairs to the basement slowly, quietly. I stop at the bottom step to watch the men at the table chatter amongst themselves. They’re playing poker. Well, it’s more like teaching the boys to play. Leonardo sits closest to his father, and Alessandro and Andrea—my brothers—sit closer to mine. They’re explaining the rules of the game, which sounds like gibberish, but it’s not, and I sit on the steps to try to get the gist of what’s happening.

No one pays attention to me as I sit here, and I just watch as they sit around the table and exchange jokes, cards, and chips. Even the boys seem like they’re having fun, flourishing under the attention of the men. It’s like watching a plant slowly grow, the way these boys think the men are the sun. But they’re not—they may act nice to them, but they’re all snakes. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. They’re influential people who are never satisfied with anything they have. They always want more and more and more.

My father smiles at the boys, and it’s unnerving. My father rarely smiles; when he does, there’s always a meaning behind it. It usually tells you he plans on doing something evil, like ruining a life. I imagine just how many people he has smiled at right before he did that, and I shiver. Except this one seems genuine, and that’s scarier than the death smile.

The men in this room are all-powerful, with their suits and cufflinks, perfectly coiffed hair, and an air of grandiosity. They don’t take crap from anyone, and everyone is scared of them. On the other hand, they’re scared of nothing, care for nothing. As my father always says, caring is weakness, and he’s not weak. It’s no wonder he doesn’t bother with me, yet his sons are his legacy, so he has to teach them his ways. Maybe if I stop being a pushover, he will see me as an equal to Alessandro and Andrea.

I used to idolize my father, making him out to be this invincible man who would always take care of me. However, that was never the case; now, he’s the big bad villain in all of my stories—rightfully so. My father couldn’t care less if I died, and now I think I’m beginning to feel the same about him.

It’s Andrea’s turn to play, and everyone looks at him expectantly. For being only twelve, he fits right in with them. Except he’s being forced to, which breaks my heart. He has always told me he doesn’t want to be like Papà or Alessandro, that he wants to live a peaceful life where he doesn’t have to worry about the Bratva or other Mafia families.

I agree.

Why are we always fighting? Why can’t we all just live in peace? It’s starting to get so bad, this rivalry, that it even determines who we’re friends with at school.

My nose tingles and my eyes water, so I press on the bridge of my nose to try to keep my allergies under control. That’s one of the reasons I don’t come down here, and as if my body is mocking me, I sneeze.

Everyone—and I do mean every single person—in the basement turns to look at me. Leo narrows his eyes, Alessandro stays neutral, and Andrea’s eyes almost bug out of his head. I imagine that’s what I look like right now as well.

I clear my throat and push up to stand, and my father holds up his hand before I can turn around and make a run for it. This isn’t good, and I know it. My father isn’t the type of man to give me his attention so freely, to stop what he’s doing just to give me the time of day.

“What are you doing here, Camilla?” My father asks me in a voice that I can only imagine as condescending, like I’m a bug at the bottom of his shoe he just stepped on and killed. Like I’m not worth his time. He sounds annoyed.

“I—uh.” I clear my throat again. “I’d like to learn to play poker too.”

My father sighs and shakes his head, and the rest of the men smirk and snicker under their breaths as if to imply it’s not my place. I have a feeling my father will say the same, but I can’t just lie after I’m caught this way. Maybe Papà will feel bad for me and make space at the table. Doubtful, though.

Matteo DeLuca is not a weak man, and he squares his shoulders and lifts his chin as he levels me with dark eyes. I want to fold in on myself, to forget about his death stare right now. This is how I imagine he looks at people before slitting their throats, and my first instinct is to cringe. Instead, I mimic him, lifting my chin and squaring my shoulders just like him. Years of ballet make that come naturally anyway, and with barely a command, my back goes ramrod straight.

He tsks, “You know the basement is for the men—and so is poker.” In a moment of weakness, my eyes plead with him. “Am I right, boys?”

The men all laugh, and so does he. A shiver runs down my spine when he levels me with his eyes again, and this time, I do cower. I take a step back and get back on the stairs. “Papà, please.”

“It’s not your place to be with the men.” My father gestures to the back of the basement, where there’s a couch with three women on it, something I hadn’t even noticed before he pointed it out. “Only the whores are with us. No, your place is upstairs, where you will learn to be a wife to Leonardo.”

My eyes lock onto Leo’s, and although he’s done nothing wrong, his face turns white as a sheet of paper. I narrow my eyes at him and he nods once. “I want to spend time with Leo,” I reply, like I didn’t just hear about his whores. “I’m bored.”

Leo shakes his head frantically at me, and I pout, taking that as his answer to wanting to spend time with me.

“Camilla.” My father sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Get thefuckupstairs.Now.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to!”

He takes steps forward until he’s standing at my side, and my eyes fill with tears and a sob catches in my throat as he yanks me by the arm and drags me up the stairs. “You’re being a fucking brat, Camilla. Don’t make me punish you.”

My father drops me by the kitchen island before storming back down to the basement, and all I can think of is seeking my mother and the comfort her embrace brings me. Once he closes the basement door, I let myself break, sobbing uncontrollably on the kitchen floor.

“Cam?” My mom asks, “Where are you?”

“Here.” I croak out. “On the floor.”

Source: www.allfreenovel.com