“It’ll befine,” Dad repeats. He settles into the couch, eyes back on the television.
A wave of dizziness crashes over me. Charlie’s arms are suddenly around me and she’s leading me from the room. Arm in arm, we head upstairs to my old bedroom, leaving the den and our shitty father behind.
Charlie eases me down onto the bed and smooths my hair back. Then she sits next to me and starts rubbing my back in slow circles. I’m breathing hard, as if I just ran around the vineyard with our yellow Lab, Penelope. She passed away while I was in Italy, and I’d give anything to be able to wrap my arms around her soft fur now and let her tuck her sweet head under my chin. My sisters and I used to joke that Penny was the fourth Abbott sister.
“Shh,” Charlie whispers softly. “It’ll be okay.”
“I’m not marrying into the mob.” My voice is shaking. “But…they’ll kill one of us.”
Giving voice to the words cements them somehow. This is real. There’s no backing out of a deal with the Bellantis—and they don’t make empty threats. Not ever. They’re one of the oldest mob families in this area. Everyone is indebted to them. Everyone.
I can’t hold it in any longer, and I collapse against Charlie’s shoulder and start to sob.
“I don’t want to get married,” I wail. “And if I did, it wouldn’t be to a cold, calculating control freak like Dante Bellanti. I’ll be nothing but a trophy to him.”
Or worse. A prisoner.
My sister rocks me for a bit, until I finally calm down enough to get a few tissues and dry my eyes. Then I sink back onto the bed, still dazed and now with a fresh headache.
“Listen,” Charlie says. “Maybe it won’t be so bad. You know? You’ll be protected, and set for life, with everything you need or want. I know it’s not what you’ve always dreamed of, but it could turn out okay. Marrying into a Family isn’t the worst thing.”
If I didn’t know what Charlie’s been through, I might find her attempt at consoling me slightly infuriating. But she married a made man herself. She’s already walked a similar road.
“Our life together is relatively peaceful,” she continues. “He heads out in his suit every morning after we have coffee together, and then sometimes he’s out of town for a few days, but for all intents and purposes he’s just another high-powered businessman who keeps long hours. I just don’t ask about his work. Ever.”
Imagining myself going through the motions like that has me breaking down all over again. I swipe at my tears, trying to catch my breath, when I hear footsteps in the hall outside.
Before I can run for the en suite, the bedroom door bursts open.
“Frankie!”
Our youngest sister Olivia, all bubbles and squeals and happiness, bounces onto the bed and wraps us both in a bear hug. Her fruity floral perfume washes over me and I remember poring over her sunny social media posts. Her sweet face, her youthful innocence.
She leans back, her pale blonde brows drawn together. “Why are you crying?”
Forcing a smile, I lie, “I’m just happy to be home.”
And just like that, there’s no doubt in my mind.
I pull her into my arms again.
Charlie runs a hand protectively down Livvie’s hair. I catch my older sister’s eyes and nod slightly, just enough that she knows. Dad was right—it has to be me. Not Livvie. I couldn’t live with myself if I let her marry Dante.
I have to do this for our family.
“Guess what else, Liv?” I almost choke but I hold it together. “I’m getting married.”
3
Frankie
Yeah,this isn’t going to cut it.
The Versace dress I’m holding against my body is designer, but it’s four years old and solid black…not really my color. Unfortunately, it’ll have to do. The moment my father informed me I was engaged, the ball started rolling—and now I’m on a ride I can’t get off of. Apparently, I have a formal dinner tonight to meet my fiancé, just him and me. Alone.
I’m not good with spontaneity and surprises. I prefer having things laid out before me in advance, in black and white, so I know exactly what to expect. Which is why, having never met Dante in person before, I’ve decided to go to the Bellantis’ winery today and introduce myself to my fiancé ahead of time. My hope is that it will ease some of the apprehension and awkwardness between us at the formal dinner later. For all I know, he’s nervous about this arrangement, too. Breaking the ice might be good for both of us.
Problem is, my wardrobe is seriously lacking. This in Napa Valley, after all. And I’m about to be the wife of a mob boss and a member of an incredibly wealthy winery family. I should be dressed to fit the image. But I didn’t need designer clothes while I was in Italy, so my suitcase is stuffed with nothing except faded denim and worn-out button-downs. Fashion isn’t much of a concern when you’re spending long hours physically working in a vineyard or behind the scenes with your sleeves rolled up.
