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My father, who has always been the greatest threat in my existence, appears diminished in the dominant presence of his don.
Unbelievably, my vagina, which has been silent for twenty-five years, decides to wake up. It looks at the terrifying head of the Genovese Family and says, "Yes, I want that."
I feel a sensation between my legs I have never experienced before. A feeling of emptiness that needs to be filled. Heat suffuses my body, making the drafty foyer feel suffocatingly warm.
In that moment, I realize that I have figured out the timing for my exodus from my precarious life. I'm running away the day after my sister's wedding. I'll leave my father's house right after Carlotta does.
My reaction to the don isn't just shocking. It's embarrassing. If I don't get it under control before they are engaged, it will be a betrayal of my sister too. I cannot lust after her fiancé, much less her husband. That is just wrong.
I may not be a made man, but I am Cosa Nostra. I have a sense of honor and I won't compromise it.
Not even if my ovaries are sending up fireworks and cymbals are crashing in my vagina for the first time in my life.
I am not a sexual person. I'm not ignorant. I considered the possibility I preferred women, but my body reacts to no one. I am simply sexually inert.
Until this moment.
I break my gaze from the don, the man who is one thousand percent off limits and force myself to take in his brother. They look alike. Dark brown eyes, black hair, huge and muscular. But my vagina just yawns and goes back to sleep when my eyes land on Miceli De Luca.
Carlotta doesn't seem to be under the don's spell like I am. She gives a barely there smile and greets him and his family demurely, but she doesn't offer her hand.
Papà frowns but covers it up with forced bonhomie. "Severu, you remember my daughter, Carlotta."
"And this must be your oldest daughter," Signora De Luca says with a warm smile after my father neglects to introduce me. "Madonna Catalina, isn't it? We have not met."
She's beautiful. Though I know Aria De Luca is in her fifties, with her golden blonde hair and unlined face, she looks like she could be the don's older sister, rather than his mother. As well as their dark hair, her children must have gotten their brown eyes from their father. Hers are green.
"Please, call me Catalina."
"And you may call me Aria." She offers her hand and I shake it as the fragrance of rose, jasmine, vanilla and just a hint of citrus wafts around us.
I know it well. It was my mother's perfume and I keep a bottle to spray on my pillow when I need the comfort to fall asleep.
Choking back unexpected emotion, I say, "Welcome to our home." I can't make myself use her name and still think of her as Signora De Luca in my head. I am almost as awed by this elegant woman as I am intimidated by her powerful son.
The don's brother shakes my hand as well. "Miceli," he says by way of introduction.
"It is a pleasure to meet you," I reply. Though that isn't strictly true.
Where I find the don's forceful presence inexplicably exciting, this man just scares me. The cold look in his dark eyes doesn't help.
My gaze skitters away from him only to land once again on his brother and I have to stifle a gasp. This is so unfair. My first taste of sexual desire and it's for a man who is completely off limits and so out of my league, we might as well be on different planets.
Miceli gives my hand a squeeze. My gaze snaps back to his face. Miceli releases my hand with a frown. I try to give him an innocuous smile in return, but am sure it looks more pained than banal.
Miceli steps away and his sister takes his place. "I am Giulia Mancini. It's nice to meet you, Catalina."
It doesn't escape me that all of these people have met my sister before. Because she is not kept like a prisoner in our home.
Then Severu De Luca is standing in front of me and my feelings of resentment are overshadowed by the reaction of my ladybits to his presence. His masculine scent overpowers the comforting fragrance of his mother's perfume, eliciting an entirely different reaction in me.
Don De Luca takes my hand. More heat rushes up my neck and into my face. Moisture pools between my legs, soaking my panties. My ovaries practically explode and my vaginal walls contract with need. Oh. My. Gosh. All of this from his hand touching mine?
Can I fake a sudden illness and go hide in my room? I certainly feel fevered.
The don says in his deep voice, "Catalina, thank you for having us in your home." Like I am my father's hostess.
Papà has never afforded me that distinction, but his boss assumes it and my father doesn't have the courage to deny it as I'm sure he wants to.
