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Samuele lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Sì, così arrabbiato.” Aye, so angry.
Siân watches our interaction, and it is obvious she is growing even more confused. If I had to guess, while she remembers some Italian, she isn’t as fluent as she once was. She steals my attention, forcing me to finally peer away from my asshole of a father.
“It’s fine,” I say to reassure her. “You don’t need to worry about him.” I stare him dead in the eye.
“Non fare promesse che non puoi mantenere, figliolo. Potrei ucciderla in questo momento solo per sport.” Don't make promises you can't keep, son. I might kill her right now just for sport.
“Kill? What?” Siân starts to stutter as she deciphers bits and pieces of the conversation.
“Devi essere uno sciocco a portare questa puttana a casa mia quando dovrebbe essere morta. Mettimi alla prova, figliolo, e potrei semplicemente accusarla del debito di suo padre.” You must be a fool bringing this bitch to my house when she's supposed to be dead. Test me, son, and I'll just might charge her with her father's debt.
“She’s going to be my wife and the mother of your grandchildren. So you might want to think twice about what comes out of your mouth next.”
He laughs. “That’s what this is about? You’ve chased her all these years for that?”
I frown.
“Yeah, I know all about your little trips to the United States. You can keep nothing from me. I only allowed you to think so because you’re doing my bidding. But get out of line, Christian, and I’ll make sure it happens this time.”
His words—his threat burns through me. My father stares at me, a smile on his demented face. If it weren’t for Siân sitting next to me, I’d dig into him. I’d allow my temper to get the best of me. I can’t, though. It’s evident to me that Siân knows my true colors, and despite what anyone thinks, I need her to trust me—to love me.
Choosing to take the higher road and not show my father just how deep my affection for Siân goes, I take a sip from my water. But I know my father well, and this brief back and forth is more than enough to fuel whatever twisted plan he’s formulating in his mind.
5
SIN
I can't be hearing this. Did I ever wake up this morning, or is this all a weird, uncomfortable dream? Do family members actually talk to each other this way?
Not only to each other but about other people who happen to be sitting at the same table? I might as well not be here except for the filthy looks from Christian’s father.
That’s not even the worst of it. His son’s wife? The mother of his grandchildren? I know better than to think Christian doesn’t mean it when he says things like that, but he’s also out of his freaking mind. Married? To him? I’d kill myself before the ceremony.
That’s what this is all about for him. He said something on the jet about how he can’t wait until I’m his. Something insane like that. He meant marrying him. Where does he get that idea from? Where does he get any idea from, I guess. I get the feeling it would be a waste of time trying to understand.
Once Samuele stands and stalks away, it’s easier to breathe. Christian notices the way my body slumps a little now that it’s just the two of us. “You did well.”
“Excuse me?”
“With him. You did well. You didn’t cower in front of him.” His lips twist in a bitter smile, and he raises a glass of water to his mouth. “Trust me. He hates weakness more than anything.”
“Trust you? What, did he bully you into not being weak?”
His brows draw together, and for a second, I think he’s going to open up. I might get him to talk about himself, the real Christian. Not the fake persona he’s presented to me from the beginning. I might be able to use this to my advantage.
“Did he?” I prompt as carefully as possible. I can’t be too obvious about this.
“Do you believe he did?” he counters. It’s like we’re dancing without music. Or playing chess. I make a move. He makes one.
“It would make sense. You two obviously don’t get along.”
He lets out a long breath through flared nostrils. This is it. He’s going to share something real. He might start trusting me a little more. I practically have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself calm.
Suddenly he stands, wiping his mouth and tossing his napkin to the table. “Come on. We’re going out.”
I can’t keep up with these sudden shifts of his. “Where are we going?” I ask, wiping my own mouth. I’m not fighting, no way. I’ll go wherever he wants. Maybe there’s a chance I could catch somebody’s attention and beg for help.
