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My eyebrows lower over my eyes as my face scrunches up as I stare at her. I used to think my mother was a woman who wasn’t meant for motherhood. She wasn't the worst, but she wasn't good either. As I look at her now, dressed head to toe in a slinky dress, diamonds on her ears and throat, I amend my statement. I think she might be one of the worst.
“How can you stand there and look at me like I did something wrong when you're the one who kept all of this from me—for my entire life. What have I ever done to you?” My voice is louder now, emboldened by my anger.
“What have you done? You're consorting with the enemy,” she lashes out. Her hands tighten into fists at her side, and there's a vein that throbs along her temple.
The acidic feeling of dread pools low in my gut but I ask the question anyway. “Whose enemy?”
“Mine,” the man next to her, allegedly my biological father, says. It's one word, four letters, but it's sharp in its delivery, cutting through the stare down between my mother and I. “Let me properly introduce myself. Zo is a misleading nickname your mother calls me. Everyone else calls me Vito Santorini.”
He smiles like he just told me I have the winning lottery ticket. Like I don’t know that he’s the one responsible for holding Leo against his will. Like he’s not my enemy.
I’ve been pulled and pushed for too long. It was inevitable, so I’m not at all surprised when I unleash the potent mix of anger and adrenaline on him.
“You are not part of this conversation. So fuck off.”
My anger feels like a current of electricity underneath my skin, vibrating every cell. My muscles twitch in anticipation of what's going to happen next. I just told the head of the Las Vegas mob to go fuck himself, and if I let myself think about it, I’m going to lose my lunch all over this parking garage.
So I don’t. I block it all out.
“Madison Murphy Walsh. Do not speak to your father that way,” Mom hisses.
“No, fuck you and fuck him. My father was an amazing, patient, and kind man. This is just some fucking stranger. And as for you—consider yourself freed of your motherly duties.”
She gasps and clutches the base of her neck.
I imagine that fate herself sucks in a breath along with the rest of us at the gauntlet I inadvertently threw down. It wasn’t my intention, but I can’t take the words back. I don’t know if I would do it if I could.
Despite the fact that his claims of paternity have a ring of truth to them, bolstered by my mother’s presence at his side, I don't care. I won't be pushed around. Not again.
No more be quiet, Madison, just stand there and look pretty, Madison. My thoughts tumble over one another. The harsh criticisms of my mother ring in my ears.
My eyes narrow and I look at them in a new light. She's my mother, yes, but she's just a woman. She stopped filling that role long before it was ever hers. And maybe when I'm on the other side of this, when this chaos and the swirling mass of helplessness doesn't feel so overwhelming, I'll be able to see the woman through her absentee parenting.
“What's that, dear daughter?” He arches a brow, the look more condescending than inquisitive as he steeples his hands in front of his chest. “I didn't quite hear you.”
“I said—”
“Madison, shut up,” my mother hisses but I don't even spare her glance.
My men shift behind me once more, as if they too are leaning in to protect, to support.
I call on so many years of patriarchal over oppressive bullshit that's been shoved down my throat, and I smile my most charming smile at the man in front of me. I feel my face relax into a serene semblance of peace and my lips curl up.
“I said: fuck you.” I deliver the curse with a sweet smile, remembering on all of those times my mother drilled into my head to be perfect.
Smile, don't talk. Don't show your teeth too much. Lose some weight, Madison. Men don't like women with strong opinions. Why can't you be more like your cousin? Why can't you be more like your sister? You know, smart.
Once this is all over, I know the crash will come, the inevitable burnout where I bemoan my life and the choices that I've made and the choices that were made for me. But for now, it feels good to stand on my own. To speak my truth.
“You stupid, stupid girl.” My mother lunges for me, but Vito holds up his hand.
“That's enough, Sloane. Our daughter here seems more like me than you let on. How very curious. Why don't we have that drink now?”
“You having a party and didn’t invite us? I’m hurt,” a masculine voice to our left calls out.
In a blink, my gun is raised and aimed at a trio of men sauntering over to us. Dante and I pivot, keeping my mom, Vito, and the newcomers all in our line of sight.
“Perfect timing, as usual, Tommaso,” Vito drawls.
There's a low grunt from behind me. I’m not sure who it came from, but it feels like it’s a warning. I don't dare take my eyes from these people in front of me. They remind me of a pit of writhing snakes. By accident or design, my mother has made it her nest. But I won't be dragged in and swallowed whole—I'm not going to be fodder, and neither is my sister.
The man in front, Tommaso, shrugs but he doesn’t take his eyes off of someone behind me.
“I think introductions are in order, don’t you, Sloane? Madison, meet your brothers.”
