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“Just the last visit a few weeks ago that I reported to you and Father. No one has been here since.”
“You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you, Gia?” Marco asks, clearly not believing me, his eyes getting that same light my uncle and cousin get before they’re about to explode.
“No, Marco,” I say as firmly as I dare. “I wouldn’t dare lie to you or Father. The only person who has been at my door is the delivery man with my groceries, and I don’t open the door until he’s already left as you’ve instructed.” I almost add for him to check the cameras if he doesn’t believe me, but that will only result in him slapping or punching me for being insolent. So I bite my tongue and wait.
“Your sister is telling the truth, son,” Father says impatiently. “By all accounts, our Gia is following the rules, and has not done anything to earn our wrath. However, this brings up a problem we need to see to.” He looks back at me. “Because I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what will happen if someone learns about your existence, Gia.”
I shake my head. It’s been drilled into me since I was a young child, and I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut tight about who I am.
“Good. That is why until we find our rat, you are not to leave the apartment.”
My heart sinks, but I know I can’t argue. To argue would incur their wrath. So instead, I nod, my heart hammering in my chest. “Yes, Father. I’ll stay in the apartment until you tell me I can leave,” I promise. Hopefully it won’t be too long, but I can stay in my gilded prison for a little while longer.
“Good. And to reduce the chance of anyone coming across you, I will have supplies delivered to you for the next two months so that no one will be at your door.” He makes it sound like he’s doing me a great service, but all I see is the bars of my cage getting smaller and smaller. Then he gives me a hard look. “And should my brother or your cousin happen upon your door, you will notify me immediately, Giulia. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father.”
“And if you cannot reach me, you will contact Marco or one of your brothers,” he adds.
“Yes, Father.”
“And when he says immediately, Gia, he means immediately,” Marco adds, giving me a hard look. “The moment they enter, you call us. Is that clear? Not when they are in the room, not when they’ve left,immediately. I will not be pleased if you do not follow that order to the letter. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Marco,” I reply in the same tone. “I will phone Father, or you, immediately, I promise.”
I barely have time to brace myself before he’s across the room, slapping me hard across the face, making my head snap to the side. I blink back the tears that form quickly, locking down my emotions as I look up at him, eyes blank, not even reaching to try and soothe the sting. That will only earn me another slap. “Consider that a mild preview of what will happen if you do not obey, Gia,” Marco threatens, stepping back, eyes holding an unholy delight at the ability to hurt me. All the men in my family get off on beating me or any other helpless woman they feel deserve it.
“Yes, Marco,” I say meekly. I don’t even look at my father. He didn’t interfere, nor would he, and I don’t want to see the anger in his eyes. I should be numb to it by now, but it still hurts that my own father hates me because I was born a daughter and not a son. I heard many times when I was younger how weak and pathetic I was. How useless. I was kept out of the way, and not long after my fifth birthday, Marco killed our mother on his eighteenth birthday. Not that anyone knows that, considering the rumour put out was that it was Father. Most say our mother made the stupid decision to have an affair, but in reality, I’m sure it was at my father’s orders because he wanted someone younger and she had run out of her usefulness.
“Marco, grab your sister’s laptop and make sure there is nothing on it that shouldn’t be,” Father suddenly orders, “and her phone.”
I use the computer to order groceries or clothes. My phone is only to make sure that I’m accessible should any of my family try to reach me. I need to be readily available for them. I keep still as Marco tosses a few of my things around, smashing and breaking them until he finally sits down to check my activities, scanning them with some kind of device. I don’t try to understand what it does, but I can see from the frustration on Marco’s face that he’s not finding what he was hoping for. Finally, he bites out, “It’s clean. Last time it was used was last Friday, and that was the daily grocery order.”
Father looks back at me, almost like he too was hoping by springing that on me so quickly that I might have made a mistake so he can punish me. Except I’m well aware of every trick he has, and I’m not about to give him any more reasons to use against me. I’m still on my own, and I’m out from under his prying eyes. Or my brothers’ fists, mostly.
“Fine,” Father says, standing, with me following him, moving ahead to grab his coat dutifully. He looks down at me as he take it to put on and says, “I’ll notify you once this is all settled, Giulia.”
“Thank you, Father,” I say. And though I know I’m probably going to risk a slap or beating, I lower my gaze and ask softly, “Would it be too much to ask, Father, if in the supplies you send, a few new books could be included?”
“Books,” Father repeats, arching a brow.
“Of your choosing, of course,” I add quickly.
“Fine, but I am only granting this request, Giulia, because you have behaved, not because of anything else.”
Like a naughty child that has finally done something acceptable.“Thank you, Father,” I say with a thankful, but soft, smile. I can’t risk him knowing how excited I am, or he will take it away to punish me.
“I will handle it, Father,” Marco says with a smug sound. I try not to shiver as he walks by me, deliberately bumping into me.
“Do not go overboard, son,” Father warns him sternly. “While I appreciate your annoyance with the situation as a whole, Giulia has been obedient, and I do not believe in kicking a bitch unless needed. Do I make myself clear?”
Anger burns in Marco’s eyes at Father’s words, and fear clenches in my heart. He will blame me for that. He gives a stiff nod, and he indicates for Father to leave before he rounds on me, slapping me hard enough to send me to the floor. I curl in on myself as he lashes out with his foot, kicking me hard in the ribs. Somehow I manage to keep my gasp of pain barely audible. “Do not think that you will ever amount to anything in our eyes, Gia,” he hisses down at me hatefully. “Father thinks of you as nothing more than a stray dog that he feels some kind of responsibility for. If it were me, you would be finished.” He delivers another hard kick, this time to my stomach, before he steps back and walks out the door, lock snicking into place after he pulls it closed behind him.
I lay there for a few long moments, trying to breathe through the pain. My ribs throb, and I almost wonder if he cracked them with the force of his kick. I’m just lucky he didn’t try to take a headshot like he has before. He’d done it once when he felt I insulted him by not addressing him properly in front of the men with him and Father. He made sure to do it out of view of Father, leaving me with a concussion for well over a month and a half. Untreated, of course. My father wouldn’t have spared his doctor to see to me anyway. A few times I have hoped to just close my eyes and never wake up, to never have to deal with the pain anymore, but here I am.
Slowly, carefully, I climb to my feet, bent over at the pain that spreads through my body. I head for the kitchen, grabbing the large ice pack that I know I’ll need, before heading to the bathroom. I refuse to let any tears fall. I won’t give them the satisfaction of causing me that kind of pain. In getting any kind of reaction from me, even if they aren’t here to see it. I’ll know and I can’t stomach it. I wouldn’t put it past Father or Marco, or hell, any of my brothers, to come beat on me to get out their frustrations. And I will not allow them to find me crying. If they continue to hurt me, I will take it quietly, and without any kind of reaction if I can help it. Though no reaction at all can sometimes make them hit harder, but I’ve lived through it before, and I will again.
When I reach my bathroom, I turn on the light and look at myself in the large mirror over the vanity. I don’t even flinch at my reflection. My lip is split, and a small crust of blood is starting to cover it. My cheek is red, and I’m sure I’ll have a bruise by morning. I bite back a sigh and set to work undressing, putting the ice pack against my ribs, and then manage to down a couple of over the counter pain meds to hopefully combat some of the pain. Then I get to work on checking my stomach, which is also red and tender.
