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“That’s not fair!” I argue. “I dated, but no more than your daughters will date when they’re in high school.”
“My daughters won’t date in high school,” Giovanni glares. “They know their role. They know that they are to be the pride of the Lucatello family. They are well-trained. They won’t throw their virginity away on a sixteen-year-old boy that can’t tell thedifference between fucking a woman and sticking his dick in an apple pie.”
My face burns with humiliation as Giovanni’s characterization of me humbles me to the ground. “I’m not a part of the‘family’, Giovanni. My mother didn’t want that for me.”
My uncle rolls his eyes. “I don’t care what my sister wanted for you when she was alive. It’s bad enough that she married an Irish prick who ran out on her because he couldn’t handle the family he married into. She won’t control your life from beyond the grave. I want you married to someone ofmychoosing, and that’s what will happen.”
The churning in my stomach intensifies, leaving me feeling nauseous and lightheaded. As if on cue, a tantalizing whiff of freshly baked rolls wafts through the air as a kind soul places a basket brimming with warmth in front of me. However, the mere thought of breaking bread with my uncle is enough to make me want to vomit.
“I will not be coerced into marrying Rocco,” I assert, my voice trembling with fear and uncertainty.
He reaches out to open the bread basket, pulling out a fluffy roll. As he bites into it, he savors the flavors on his tongue. Giovanni enjoys every bite, allowing the tension between us to rise until I think I will explode if another second passes.
“Did you know I married my wife right out of high school and was responsible for overseeing her education. I chose not to let her attend university because I didn’t want it to fill her head with nonsense.”
“I don’t know what this?—”
He cuts me off before I can finish my sentence. “Your mother should have chosen to do the same with you because now you have it in your head that you have some kind of power here. But make no mistake, Christine, you are a second-class citizen. You have no rights.”
“This is the United States,” I protest, “not a third-world country. I have every right?—”
“No!” Giovanni slams his fists down on the table, causing the glasses to shake. Every eye in the restaurant turns towards us as he leans across the table and whispers sharply, his voice dripping with disdain, “We are not governed by the same rules as society. The sooner you realize that the better off you’ll be.”
Are my hands shaking? My hands feel like they’re shaking.
“You’ve had your fun, Christine. You can finish out your second semester of college. You can do whatever you want. Hell, if you continue fucking your stepfather, I’ll look the other way. But come June,” he menacingly narrows his eyes, “you’re done with all that. You’ll marry Rocco and move to Kansas City. You’ll behisto order around ashepleases. And if you don’t like it, you can argue with him and see what happens. But I guarantee he’ll leave your pretty pale skin with fist-sized bruises.”
The restaurant has the heat cranked up, but I still shiver with fear. My blood feels like it turns to ice, freezing in my veins.
Giovanni leans back in his chair and smirks at me with satisfaction. “I heard that Fausto Terlizzi died last week. Send my condolences to your boyfriend. It took us a while to figure out the perfect concoction of drugs to give him; then, we had to figure out a delivery method. But in the end, everything worked out. Tell Niccolo he had a chance to deliver what I wanted, andhe failed. Now he and his pissant brothers can deal with the fallout.”
Sometimes, when traumatic events happen, your brain tries to shield you by blocking them from your memory because they’re too painful to handle.
As if in a trance, I rise from my chair without thinking. I walk away from Giovanni, leaving behind the classical music playing overhead and the buzz of people chatting about their Christmas plans. I step into the cold and let the breeze bring me back to reality.
My uncle is a ruthless monster who murdered Niccolo’s father and now plans to use me as his next sacrifice. He has no regard for human life, only his own selfish desires. I am nothing but a pawn in his twisted game of power and control.
The thought of being tied to Rocco Castiglione for the rest of my life fills me with dread. But I refuse to go down without a fight.
My uncle thinks he’s the king of the castle, but even castles fall when they’re under siege.
Chapter 34
Niccolo
Time feels like it’s moving at double speed, leaving me disoriented and disconnected from the days and my responsibilities.
As much as I hate to take off time during Finals week to help arrange my father’s funeral, the Dean of my college says that this is the best-case scenario. All they need to do is find someone to proctor the test, which is far easier to do than finding someone to teach Psychology to first-year college students.
Christine is just as easy to please. When I ask her to meet up, she tells me that she’s studying for Finals and helping Kaye with her pregnancy. The latter catches me off-guard because I didn’t know that my stepdaughter’s best friend was pregnant. Unfortunately, I’m too busy consoling Mother and discussing hors’d oeuvres options to give it much thought.
Dante promised to assist with Father’s funeral arrangements, but I only catch glimpses of him rushing in and out of his office, his bodyguard trailing closely behind. Two men stationed at the entrance of the Terlizzi compound scrutinize IDs and licenseplates before granting access. I can only assume that ramping up security means the family is in danger.
My saving grace comes in the form of Salvatore, who deals with all the logistics of who should be an usher and what church we should host the funeral at. I can plan a party from a checklist, but Salvatore possesses a deeper understanding of the intricate dynamics within the Terlizzi family organization. When I suggest one of the cousins help as a pallbearer, I’m lectured on the nature of the man’s personal activities for ten minutes before being told no.
My sister meticulously organizes floral arrangements for the funeral—a wreath, a spray, and even memorial plants to be taken home by distinguished guests. Initially, I fail to appreciate the significance of her contribution, but I received another lecture when I dare to voice my opinion.
In the end, Salvatore, Lucia, and I emerge as the heroes of the day.
