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“I’ll speak to her how I want,” said Chiara.
“For heaven’s sake! Can we have a civilised dinner?” said Vittoria.
Chiara stabbed at her salad with her fork. Stab, stab, stab.
“Darling, I really think you could do with seeing a therapist,” said Vittoria.
“Mamma!” said Marco.
“Yeah, I’ll see a therapist,” said Chiara, sarcasm dripping from her tone. “I’ll tell her all about our family problems, shall I? My dad got shot dead. My brothers are all criminals. My mom is miserable and—”
“Chiara!” said her mother sharply. “Not in company!”
“You’re the one that brought it up,” Chiara said. “If you talk about my problems, then I’ll talk about yours. And she deserves to know what she’s marrying in to!”
Vittoria’s cheeks had flushed, but she took a deep breath to steady herself. “Then maybe you could make an effort to get back to normal tomorrow. Make the most of the weekend. Go see a movie with your friends?”
“Yeah, you’d like that. To get the house all to yourself.”
“Chiara, do not speak to me that way. Jacob will be happy to take you.”
Chiara laughed bitterly. “No thanks.”
My mind was reeling. I had not known Marco’s father was murdered. I had googled him, of course, but there was surprisingly little information about them on the internet. Definitely nothing about a shooting.
Vittoria had thrown Marco an accusing look. Marco looked tense. I reached out to touch his forearm, but he shrugged me off. I was stung.
“Did you tell Beth all about us, Marco?” his sister goaded him. “How she might get dragged by her hair and tied up? Called a little bitch? Get a rag stuffed in her mouth?”
My mouth dropped open.
Marco looked stricken. “Chiara—” He reached out to touch her, but she shoved her chair back. Slamming down her cutlery, she stomped out of the room.
Marco’s face had gone white.
His mother stood up. “This is why this family needs a change,” she said in a tightly controlled voice. “Andthis”— she waved a hand in my direction—“is just more of the same old crap.”
She laid her napkin down beside her plate and exited the room after her daughter, her shoulders stiff.
Marco did not speak for a long moment after they were gone.
He was fighting for control over his emotions. Then a closed look came over his face.
“Sorry about that,” he said in a cool voice, as if nothing had happened.
“What was that?”
“Every family has their drama.”
“Not like that. Your father was shot? And what happened to your sister? Was it— Did she—?”
My voice choked off, and for a moment I was back on that bed again with a man in a mask on top of me and I couldn’t breathe.
“No, nothing like that,” Marco said harshly, fury coming onto his face. “We had a break-in a while back. Chiara was home when it happened. I was supposed to be here with her but…”
His voice trailed off, and he ran frustrated fingers through his dark hair, leaving it ruffled and sexy. In this moment he looked so vulnerable, his eyes full of a helplessness he did not know was there.
His fury was for himself.
