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I don’t know why I’m allowing him to touch me, but his touch feels good on my skin. Similar to the feel of a cold breeze on a hot summer’s day—relieving, in a sense.
He shouldn’t be touching me.
I shut my eyes. The pounding in my chest is controlling my thoughts more than I care to admit. The feeling of my heartbeat traveling through my body is overwhelming.
One look from Giovanni and I lose some of my senses.
“Don’t wear this again.”
I open my eyes once I hear him taking a couple of steps back from me. He reaches into his pocket, taking out his phone. The screen lights up his face, revealing his strong, dense jawline. It sharpens when he bites down.
“Nina,” he says in a demanding tone.
I pause when his eyes find mine again. “Yes?” I finally respond.
“Do something for me?”
A feeling of unease floods over me like a tidal wave, washing me away like a piece of sand at the bottom of the ocean.
Giovanni never asks anyone for a favor. He always handles everything by himself, so I’m nervous to hear what he wants from me.
“Hmm?” I try to steady my voice.
“Find your father’s phone and give it to me.”
Every muscle tenses in my body with every word that just came out of his mouth. Does he want my father to hate me forever?
“I don’t want to do that.” My breath hitches, putting pressure on my chest. An uneasiness displays clearly on my face for Giovanni to see.
“Don’t care. You will do it. Like it or not.” His face removes every ounce of emotion as he looks away from me, walking out the French doors.
And just like that, his emotions go from hot to cold again, giving me a migraine to deal with.
7NINA
When I walk into the living room, my brother is sprawled over the couch with another new woman. It seems he has a new one clinging to his side like a lost puppy each week. I don’t judge my brother for this; I do wish he would just pick one girl to be friendly with. I’m beginning to lose track of their names.
Right now, I’ve no idea if I have ever met this girl before. Max has a thing for blondes with bright souls that can make up for his lack of affection.
I try to make my feet sound heavy as I walk in behind them to make my presence known so they’ll stop sucking each other’s faces.
But they don’t, not even when I sit on the same couch as them.
“Get a room,” I finally say, kicking my brother’s leg.
He pushes the girl off him as if he didn’t enjoy his time with her.
“Nina, car,” my brother orders.
“I don’t want to go just yet.” I know exactly why he wants to take the car right now, but I am not in the mood today.
Call it self-care. I want to throw myself on the couch with a bowl of popcorn with extra butter and call it a day.
You know the feeling where everything seems out of control and all you can do is watch the world crumble under your feet? I could run away; I could take the easy way out—but I won’t.
I know I should care. I should be thanking him for having my back. But I’m starting to think I shouldn’t even bother anymore. There’s no way out of this no matter what I say. Papa will just remind me that this was my idea, and I must live up to my word.
I want to fight him on this marriage, but I have lost all hope. In a couple of weeks, I will have a different life, and I just need to accept it. Deep down I believe my papa is a good man, but he will always put Cosa Nostra before his family.
