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“What are you going to do?”
“Keep my head up, sir.”
“The whole time,” he reinforces, and I agree, before repeating his words.
“The whole time.”
“Then let's go.” I force my legs to finish going down the steps, then walk towardsSignoraAnna's wing, crossing corridors and passing staff until Vittorio waves me into the dining room completely occupied by his family.
I swallow hard, but just as I did yesterday and yet in a completely different way, I straighten my shoulders, plaster a smile on my face, and enter the room. Vittorio comes right behind me, and he doesn't let go of my hand.
All eyes turn to us, but the only face I can focus on is Vittorio's mother. If she were a cartoon, hateful smoke would be coming out of her ears right now.
“Ciao,” Don greets and gives my hand a light squeeze.
“Good evening,” I say and look away fromSignoraAnna, the woman looks like she's about to have a heart attack, and I can't keep looking. The fate that my eyes meet, however, doesn't seem much better.
Appearing to be a completely different person from the one I've already bumped into a few times, Sagrada's underboss alternates his gaze between his brother and me with the corners of his lips raised. The look on Tizziano's face suggests he would love to have a bucket of popcorn to go along with what's about to happen.
“What does this mean, Vitto?”SignoraAnna questions, getting up from her chair when Vittorio walks to the only empty place at the table.
“I heard you invited Gabriella for a meal,Mamma, unfortunately I wasn't there. I decided to rectify that,” he explains simply before addressing his brother who is sitting in the chair next to the one positioned at the head of the table. “Tizziano, find another place to sit.” It's impossible to control the blush that heats my neck, ears and cheeks, and I'm not the only one reacting with shock.
SignoraAnna's eyes bulge, and the underboss blinks, as if he wants to confirm inside his own head that he heard the words correctly and, seconds later, bursts into an outrageous laugh that no other mouth around the table matches. Still, he stands up, obeying Vittorio's order without question and staggering over to an empty chair that is quickly added to the table.
“Sit down, Gabriella,” Don orders and I obey, without options.
I want to blow air through my mouth, emptying myself of the tension that weighs on my shoulders, but I don't do that, I keep my head up and wait while an uncomfortable silence settles in the room.
My eyes land on the man sitting across from me, Vittorio's father. It's the first time I've seen him, and I'm slightly impressed by his appearance, the man is beautiful. He is, literally, a matured version of the Don. I laugh internally, because, as far as I know, he is also a Don. There are two Dons. Okay, definitely, the nerves are eating my brain.
The sound of a chair being dragged across the floor violently snaps me out of my nervous ramblings, and my eyes return toSignoraAnna. Now, she is standing, and her body turns around, about to turn around in her own chair, but Vittorio's impassive voice paralyzes not only her but also the breathing of everyone in the room.
“Sit down,” the order is given casually, but no one would have the impression that it is anything other than that: an order.
Vittorio's mother's nostrils flare as she lets out a not-so-controlled exhale. A servant approaches, ready to push thesignora's chair back into place, but Vittorio raises his hand, stopping him. His mother’s face trembles with hatred, and I'm sure every ounce of it is directed at me, even though her gaze doesn't dare meet mine.
She pulls her own chair until it's flush with the table and then sits down again.
“Very well. We can begin,” Vittorio announces.
It's a silent meal.
***
The smile on my face is silly, but I can't erase it, not when last night's dinner keeps replaying in my head, over and over again. And not the menu or anything made by Vittorio's family, it's my own behavior that I never tire of remembering.
I knew I could do it, because the Don told me I had to, but that doesn't change the satisfaction filling my chest that I walked into that room, held my head high, and didn't let my posture waver for even a second the entire time whilst I was there.
I don't know what kind of consequences this could cause; I don't know ifSignoraAnna will simply accept the affront that was my presence at her table. Judging by the way she obeyed, despite being indignant, Vittorio's order to sit down, I'd say that, yes, she's going to take it lying down.
But even if she decides to throw it out at some point, the knowledge that I won't be forced to put up with any nonsense thrown my way by any of the women who despise me justbecause I'm a foreigner in their midst, makes me breathe a sigh of relief.
I turn, looking away from the mirror, attracted to the one who was the first to welcome me from the moment I stepped into this house. The Saint gives me the same welcoming look as always and wrapped in a bath towel, I approach her.
I tilt my head back and, without effort or justification, a lone tear slides down my cheek as my gaze meets hers. I raise my hands, as always, but it's not until I feel the unprecedented shock of the warm glass against my palm that I realize that, for the first time, I didn't hesitate.
I didn't take measured steps, nor did I stretch my hands to the limit just to not achieve my own desire. Didn't I promise that one day I would do it? I touched La Santa's hands. Whether surrendering my pain and my violence, or embracing hers, I don't know, but if I had to make a guess, I'd say it was a little of both.
