Page 9 of The Viper's Wife

I know better.

I stand silently, and don’t let any of the resentment, fear, or anger seep into my face. I don’t make a single expression or sound. I do nothing.

“You smell like a fucking whore, Val.”

My mouth twitches with a grimace.

His hand jumps to my cheek. I flinch.

He laughs and pats my cheek, his eyes softening with genuine affection. He doesn’t need to be mad—I’m still the pathetic little sister under his thumb. He’s in control.

“You have fun?”

It sounds genuine, but I know it’s a trick question.

“No,” I say flatly.

SLAP.

Pain explodes into my face. I stumble back, cupping my stinging cheek. My teeth jangle in my mouth.

“Then why the hell did you go?” Stefano hisses, leaning in. “Was it worth it for you to go whoring around, opening your fucking legs for half of Chicago?” He grabs my wrist, and even though my cheek hurts and my head is pounding, I don’t resist. I stare down at my feet and bite my tongue.

“This isn’t a fucking joke, Val,” Stefano says, and I know what he means. I have to see Dad every day, just like him. “They’re going to kill us all if you don’t step in line.”

I clench my teeth and curl my toes into the floorboards, willing myself not to cry.

Dad fucked up, stumbling home more than a month ago with blood seeping into the bandages on his face and hand. He did something bad, and the don punished him for it. WhyDon Salvatore didn’t finish the task and kill him, I don’t know. I don’t pretend to understand the motivations of evil men.

Now Dad spends all day in his room with the door shut. Mom already left, flew to Quebec to visit her sister, even though she hates the cold almost as much as she hates Zia Monica.

That just leaves me and Stefano, who’s more stressed than ever as he comes and goes at odd hours, eyes rimmed with dark circles.

We haven’t spoken about what happened, but I understand enough. No one invited us to Uncle Adrian’s birthday party, or to Cousin Steffie’s graduation. We are exiled from the Family.

But none of this changes my plan.

I’m moving out. Every day after work this week, I’ve been touring apartments. I have enough saved from my countless odd jobs over the years.

No one had kept tabs on me before, so long as I could pay my part of the rent. I figured I could sneak off to a party without anyone noticing.

“If you ever pull some shit like tonight again, I’ll beat you so hard no man will ever want you, you hear me?”

I was wrong. Everything’s changed now.

I nod.

Stefano releases me, and I stumble away.

I slink upstairs to my bedroom, shut my door with a whispered click, and lean against the solid wood, burying my impotent rage underpretty girland the satisfying throb between my legs until my breathing settles.

With the silence in the house wrapped around me like a blanket, I change into sweatpants and a sweater and kneel at my bed in prayer.

But I don’t pray anymore.

Instead, I slip one trembling hand under my mattress and touch the first stack of cash there. All the money I’ve stashed away, from my bartending gigs and dancing stints, kept in cash so my family couldn’t find it—it’s all mine and still untouched. It’s safe. I’m safe.

I let out a shuddering breath. I’m moving out soon. Tonight will be the last time Stefano ever hits me.