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“I should have changed,” I mumble, looking down at my cut-off jeans shorts and plain T-shirt. “I can’t let Luca see me like this.”
Andrea sizes me up and raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with your clothes?”
“I look like a schoolgirl,” I say, quickly removing my hair tie and combing my fingers through my hair. Mom says wearing my hair down adds a few years to my appearance.
“Oh?” Andrea chuckles. “Newsflash, Isa—you are.”
“Well, I don’t have to dress the part.” I pout and look up at the window, waiting. “If I’d known Luca was coming over, I would’ve put on that beige dress.”
The door to the study opens and Luca Rossi, one of my grandfather’s capos, enters the room. I grab Andrea’s hand and squeeze. I’ve been obsessing over him since I was six years old, when he jumped into the pool and saved my life after that idiot Enzo threw me in it. I don’t remember ever being as scared as when my head dipped below the water, and my socked, fancy dress pulled me down. I wasn’t a good swimmer, and I fruitlessly kicked my legs, trying to get to the surface. When I was sure I would die, two large hands suddenly grabbed me and pulled me up.
Never will I forget those smiling eyes as Luca carried me toward my hysterical mother. His expensive suit was dripping wet, and the strands of his long dark hair were plastered to his face. That evening, I told my mother that when I grew up, I would marry Luca Rossi. Maybe I fell in love with him that day.
“He’s even hotter than last time I saw him.” I sigh.
Luca has always been beautiful, and girls and women have often fallen over their own feet when he entered a room. It must have been his serious, slightly indifferent stance where other people were concerned, women included, that made him so interesting. He would walk into the room, do what he came for, and leave. No meaningless conversations. No lingering for gossip. If he had to stay longer for some event, because it was expected, he would either sit with my grandfather talking business, or lurk in one of the corners, observing the crowd. I loved watching him then, his huge body leaning on the wall, his dark eyes skimming over the room, observing everyone. Every sharp line of his perfect face has been carved into my brain. Over the years, however, his features have changed. His face matured, the lines becoming harsher and partially hidden with a short beard. His dark eyes have changed as well, getting a somehow harder, more sinister look in them. The only thing that has remained the same is his long, dark hair gathered in a bun on the top of his head. In our circle, it takes a certain kind of character for a man to wear his hair long and not be judged. But Luca Rossi has always been something else. Somethingmorethan other men.
“You’re nuts.” Andrea elbows me into my side, “He’s double your age.”
“I don’t care.”
“And he is married, Isa.”
Pain pierces my heart at the mention of Simona, Luca’s wife. Four years ago, I spent a week in bed, crying my eyes out, when I heard he was getting married. Although only twelve at the time, all I wanted was to be his wife one day. Like most girls, I dreamed about my wedding and in each of those childhoodfantasies, it was always Luca standing next to me as my groom. People said Simona got pregnant on purpose to manipulate him into marriage, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. I felt betrayed. He was mine!
I grab the branch in front of me and squeeze. “I hate that woman.”
“I heard Aunt Agata telling Mama that she saw them fighting again,” Andrea whispers, “in a restaurant full of people.”
“About what?” I ask, without taking my eyes off Luca’s handsome face.
“It sounded like they fought because Simona forgot to pick up Rosa from preschool.” Andrea mumbles.
“How can a mother forget her child?” I stare disbelievingly at her. Even though Simona is a bitch, I didn’t think she’d be capable of doing that.
“She was probably at one of her Botox appointments.” My sister laughs.
I shake my head and turn back to watch Luca. He’s sitting in a chair on the other side of my grandfather’s desk, with his profile to us. Based on the grim expression on both of their faces, something serious is going on. I know my grandfather very well. When Giuseppe Agostini, the don of Chicago’s Cosa Nostra Family, has that face on, it means nothing good is cooking. A scowl on Luca’s face isn’t new, though, but this time, it causes a lump to form in my throat. I haven’t seen him smile in years, and he’s been around the house a lot since becoming a capo.
“I’m going back.” I brush away a stray tear and turn to leave.
Every time I see him, it gets harder. It’s as if a weight settles over my chest. I know he’ll never be with me. And still, I can’t make myself stay away. Andrea calls me crazy for obsessing oversomeone so much older. Maybe I am. But I can’t help it. It started as hero-worshipping when he saved my life. In the last couple of years, however, that child adoration has transformed into something else entirely.
“Don’t be sad, Isa.” Andrea wraps her arm around my waist. “There are other men who’d worship the ground you walk on. You are the granddaughter to the don of the Cosa Nostra. When the time comes for you to marry, there will be a line of suitors waiting here for you. Someone will come by, sweep you off your feet, and you’ll forget all about Luca Rossi. It’s just a teenage crush.”
“Yeah.” I nod and put a fake smile on my face, the one I’ve been practicing with Mom. “You’re right. Let’s go back.”
* * *
One year ago
(Isabella 18 y.o.)
The crowd is scattered around the garden, drinking and laughing. My grandfather must have invited everyone in the Chicago area with Italian blood to my birthday party.
“That waiter is super cute.” Catalina, my best friend, nudges me with her elbow. “I think I’m going to grab another piece of cake and check him out a bit better. You want to tag along?”
“Nope, I’m good,” I say.
