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Chapter Seven – Giselle
I didn’t say anything to my father during the drive home. What the hell was there to say, anyway? That I didn’t want to marry Luca? That I couldn’t believe he was really going through with this, all to punish me? That I thought he might be the one responsible for me being shot? If this was a punishment, it was going too far. Too fucking far.
And yet, right now, there was nothing I could do about it, unless I ran.
But running was not an option. My pride, much like my father’s, would not let me run, and it wouldn’t let me back down. Not this time.
We got back home after an unbelievably long dinner, and the first thing my father said to me was: “I’m surprised you didn’t have more to say. I assumed you would have a lot on your mind. You haven’t been shy about telling me your feelings about an engagement between you and the Moretti boy before.”
“I didn’t see the point,” I said. “You and Rocco certainly seemed like it was a done deal.”
My father folded his arms over his chest, leaning his back on the wall. We’d literally just entered the house, still standing in the front vestibule area. “Tell me how you really feel, mija. Don’t hold back.”
“I don’t want to get married.”
He laughed. He actually laughed at me. My father let his arms fall to his sides, and he pushed off the wall, shaking his head. Still laughing at me, too. He chuckled all the way into the kitchen, where I followed him. He went into a cabinet, got himself a short glass, and then wandered over to the liquor cabinet, pulling out a crystal decanter holding his favorite drink. He poured himself a glass.
“You are a woman. You have no choice,” he said, taking a sip.
“Is that what you told my mother, or did she have a choice in marrying you?”
My father said nothing for a moment, and then his words, though not an answer in and of themselves, told me all I needed to know: “What do you think?”
So he forced her to marry him. It wasn’t love. It was lust. My father saw my mother, and he had to have her, and so he did. The rest was history, quite literally, and I held back my scowl, just barely, and turned to walk away. “I’m tired. I’m heading in for the night.”
“Goodnight,” he called out to me, and I said nothing back, because I could hear the smirk in his tone. The asshole.
God, I really, really hated him.
I went upstairs to my room, shutting my door and letting the scowl surface. I tore off my gloves, flexing my hands, and then I couldn’t get out of that white dress quickly enough. I left it on a heap on the floor, and then I grabbed my phone, texting Zander.
My father had a plan. Well, guess what? So did I. My father wasn’t the only one who was willing to play dirty and do whatever it took to get what he wanted. He wasn’t worried about getting on the Hand. Why? What made him so confident? I was going to find out.
But in order to do that, I needed a little help. I needed Zander. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I needed him. I needed him so much more than I was willing to say out loud. Not having him here today, not having him here yesterday, had been tough. Not only did I miss him, but I also needed him to run a few errands for me tomorrow.
Luca would find me a ring, while Zander would get what was necessary for my plan.
This engagement was on the fast track. I didn’t think that would stop anytime soon, so I had to get this part done before I was forced out of this house—for I would be. I didn’t know if there would be a ceremony or not, but once I was Luca’s wife, I wouldn’t live here anymore, and my access to my father would be severely limited.
But that wouldn’t stop me.
I was going to find out what he knew, what made him so confident, why he didn’t give a shit about marrying me off. It couldn’t be just about punishing me; there had to be something else. Something more.
Zander texted me back, and it was a go.
I stood in my room, wearing nothing but my bra and panties, and I wasn’t even cold. The fury, the righteous indignation inside, filled me with fire. My hand curled around my phone, and I bit my bottom lip, thinking. My other hand went to the scab on the side of my stomach. The sound of a gunshot echoed in my mind as I remembered that night.
How simple I used to think things were. What a fool I’d been.
Tonight I was meeting Ezekiel for our first session. Time would tell how it would make my injury feel, but I wasn’t going to let it stop me. I was done sitting on the sidelines, letting others dictate my life.
I went to the floor length mirror in the corner of the room, staring at myself. I saw a mostly-naked girl with a scab on her stomach, a girl who wore a frown. A girl who had a pretty face but pissed off eyes.
Turning away from the mirror, I went to my closet and pulled out the robe hanging on the inside of the door, sliding my arms through the satin fabric. I went to my desk, tying the robe over my waist before sitting down and pulling out Father Charlie’s cross.
My eyes studied the intricate golden metal, the jewels inlaid in the design. I didn’t wear it when I went out with my father, nor did I wear it when I donned my black clothes and went out at night. Still, it was like I could feel its weight on my neck, like I could hear Father Charlie’s voice in my ear, trying to guide me to the right path.
But how could I defeat the enemy without lowering myself to his level? How could I have any hope of beating my father if I didn’t play just as dirty as he did? Father Charlie was all about forgiveness, even if that person didn’t deserve it, but I was never of the mind. I’d killed his murderers, and I wasn’t about to go soft now.
