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I looked at my mother’s appearance. She has dressed in a purple glitter-effect skirt and jacket, with a bright red blouse and red six-inch heels. She had put on a full face of make-up and a cloud of perfume wafted around her.
“W-why are you dressed like that?” A surrealness was smothering my senses.
“Your return is significant. Your father may have to call over Emanuel Santino to discuss your punishment. I need to be dressed appropriately for visitors.”
What mother would be concerned more with dressing up to the nines rather than rushing to greet her kidnapped daughter?
I took a tentative step toward her, but the look she gave me halted my approach. She was repulsed by me. She, too, thought that I was a whore. “Mother, what’s going to happen to me now?” I asked in a shaky whisper.
“That’s up to your father. I’ve washed my hands of you. Honestly, you have no consideration for what you’ve put me or your father through.”
“But Father said it was the Società’s plan all along to target the Marchianos through a sham wedding. It was you and Father who wanted me to marry Marco…”
“Your father says you weren’t supposed to run off with him. How could you, Juliana? And that photograph he sent!”
“I didn’t run off with him! You saw it yourself—he dragged me away—”
“I can’t talk about this any longer. I always had such high hopes for you, Juliana, but you’ve thrown it all away.” My mother huffed dramatically as she swept out of my room.
I watched her in disbelief. I’d thought that at least my mother would help me and talk some sense into my father.
I had always made excuses to myself for my parents’ behavior when I was growing up. I’d thought that my father was cold because of the face he had to hold up for the Società, while my mother was unable to show affection toward her children because others might judge such displays of affection as a weakness. I had always believed, nevertheless, that my parents loved me and cared about me in their own way.
Today I could no longer deny the reality: that my father cared only about power, and my mother cared only about appearances.
That night I fell into an uneasy sleep, where I was chased by men with guns and could find no safety.
***
When I woke the next morning, I was still exhausted.
As it became light, I got up and went to wash my hands and face in my adjoining bathroom. I returned to the bedroom and sat on the bed, trying to quell my panic.
God, I’d been so stupid.
Marco had told me all along that my family and the Società were behind the shooting. After what my father told me, I knew Marco had been right: my father had known about the church shootout plan, and he had deliberately endangered our family in the Società’s fucked up scheme to gain more power.
Why hadn’t I believed Marco? And why had I ever thought it was a good idea to come back to L.A.? I couldn’t stop these thoughts from going around my head, rubbing at my temples as they throbbed with exhaustion, upset, and fear.
A few hours later, I could see by my bedside clock that it was lunchtime, but I hadn’t even been given breakfast yet. Maybe they would starve me as part of my punishment?
I hadn’t heard any activity outside my door at all since my mother’s visit. With the impossibility of breaking out of this place, my father obviously didn’t need to put a guard outside my room.
***
Later, I heard footsteps. Terror ran riot through my body.
I heard the lock turn. The door slowly creaked open.
A soldier stood with a tray of food. I recognized him as one of my father’s men and was about to plead to him for help. Then I was struck by the look of utter coldness he gave me.
He thought I was a whore—just like my father and the rest of the Società. There was disgust in his stare, and I felt myself wilting under his gaze, being reduced down to someone who was unworthy of the Società and their protection.
He shoved the tray toward me, and I took it with trembling hands. He retreated and banged the door shut, the sound reverberating through my every bone. I listened as the lock clicked into place and his footsteps receded.
I sat on the bed with the tray. It held a sandwich and a bottle of water. I was ravenous and eagerly ate the food.
MARCO
