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I give her an imperceptible nod, more touched than anyone could comprehend, that the most senior stateswoman of the Famiglia has shown me this little bit of kindness.
Well, I guess she’s the most senior. There’s Lorna, of course, Don Salvatore’s wife, but Mika's mother checked out years ago from what I’ve heard. She exists like an automaton, functioning on the surface but completely spaced out. Whether from drugs or alcohol or the ravages of her life, I don’t know.
Therese fusses with my dress and my hair, then takes a step back and gives me a nod and a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. But there is empathy there. I guess that’s enough.
“I need to take my seat,” she says, louder this time, pulling on the mantle of Mafia queen. “Federico will be here soon”.
Of course, because although my father, the one who sold me into this nightmare, is present, I have to be escorted down the aisle by a bodyguard in case I try to make a run for it.
Well, they’re not wrong.
I stare at my reflection for the few precious moments of peace and freedom I have left. I’m not sure I know the woman who stares back at me. She looks like me. Albeit a thinner, gaunter version of me.
But it’s my own eyes that strike me hardest. Blank. Desolate.
It’s like all the life has been sucked out of them.
I wait patiently, just inside the door, to be collected. It’s not like there’s any other choice. I have attendants; Therese’s daughters, Francesca, or Cesca, for short, and Safia, but they’re not allowed to be in here with me. I’ve never been permitted to socialize with the other women of the Famiglia. God forbid I might find support amongst them. The Viper would never allow such a thing.
There’s a lull, and I recognize the muted change in the music from where I’ve been tucked away. I try to prepare myself mentally, but all I can feel is defeat.
Any last chance of escape has now passed.
The door opens and I suck in a breath, expecting to see Federico, but instead there’s a commotion, and suddenly two strange men are in front of me, black balaclavas over their faces, and machine guns in their hands. One stands by the door, keeping watch, but the other comes for me.
A pair of intense blue eyes stare back at me, and I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
“Hurry,” the man by the door hisses, and I recognize the musical burr of an Irish accent.
I pick up my voluminous skirts and bundle them into my arms. “You’ll never get away with this. Everybody else might be inside the cathedral, but Federico, my bodyguard, will be here any moment. He might be older, but that doesn’t mean he won’t kick your ass.” I tell the guy in front of me.
I give him as much information as I can without it sounding that way. Hopefully, if there are ears in this room, as I suspect, it won’t appear I’ve warned them. You know, just in case I find myself back here and need to cover my actions.
Because I don’t know who this man is, and I’m not waiting to find out. But if he’s providing a way out, then I’m taking it.
After all, nothing could ever be worse than being trapped in a marriage with Vito Rossi.
Chapter Three
CIARAN
An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.
In this world, that’s always how it works. Without exception.
Sometimes it’s deliberate.
A way to provoke a response.
Set a trap.
Start a war…
What none of us can afford to do, no matter what organization we work for, is to turn a blind eye.
To do so is to show weakness.
It implies that you’re cowering to a higher power.
