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“I still don't know him. But, to make a long story short, I'm not in love with anyone, so there's no way I can love my fiancé.”
“Then why are you getting married?” I type, eyebrows furrowed.
“Because I have no choice.” She shakes her head from side to side before giving a distant smile. “What I wanted was to become a lawyer. If I had my choice, I would never have left New York.”
“And you can’t go back there?”
"No. Not in this life.”
"Why not?"
“Because in our world, the value of women is not in what they have in their heads, but in the advantages that marrying them brings.”
“In the world of crime?” I ask, without understanding.
“In the mafia, Gabriella.”
Surprise sweeps across my body immediately, and I don't imagine my face makes any effort to hide it, because Rafaella hurries to type another sentence into the translator.
“Didn’t you know, Gabriella?”
I should move to respond, I know that. My arms should be raised, and my fingers should be typing words on that keyboard, but my entire body is too busy rebelling against myself as the pieces I didn't even know I had start to come together.
Mafia. The Mafia. The Italian mafia. The Godfather’s mafia.
“My God!” She performs the miracle that only Italian women are capable of, she exclaims quietly. “Gabriella,” she calls and brings her hand to my face. My mouth opens, but no sound passes through it. “I thought you knew. I would have told you sooner,” she whispers after looking at the door.
“Vittorio?” It's the only thing I can say, but it's enough for her to understand what I mean.
“He's our Don.” When she realizes that this doesn't tell me anything, she adds. “Our highest authority, Gabriella. Don Vittorio is the boss of La Santa.”
I swallow hard before turning to the keyboard and typing.
“Are you telling me my life belongs to an Italian mafia boss?”
Rafaella reads my question, and the feeling that appears in her eyes is not strange to me, but it is the first time, since we met, that I find it in my friend's eyes when I am the target of her gaze: pity.
“I'm telling you, Gabriella” She types and looks at me, but I don't look away from the screen to look at her face, anxious for the next words that will appear. Rafa exhales long before completing. “That your life belongs to the most cruel and powerful mafia boss ever born in Italy.”
CHAPTER 21
________
Gabriella Matos
The steaming cup of tea in front of me is harmless, but it makes my heart race in my chest. Getting permission from the cooks to use their ingredients and stove to prepare it was a struggle that I only managed to win thanks to Sofia's kindness.
Rafaella not mincing her words during her conversation with Tizziano, a few days ago, did not affect her mother's impartiality towards me, even if the conversation I had with Rafa at the end of that day, perhaps affected mine towards the cook. I mean, what kind of mother lets her daughter be forced into marriage?
I shake my head to clear away the questions when the other topics discussed that early evening line up behind my question about Sofia, demanding their turn to be reflected upon, as I have been dealing with them in the best way I know how: by ignoring them.
I have decided that everything that has the potential to destroy me will be locked in a black box in my mind. Fears? Black box. Anxiety? Black box. Longing? Black box. Concerns? Black box. Guilt? Ah, definitely black box.
Perhaps the more appropriate name would be Pandora's box, but I've come to the conclusion that this is the only way to stay sane. As things stand, madness is just a thought away. It'sa selfish decision, totally and completely selfish, but that's one more fact that I bury in that black box.
“What is that?” Luigia asks when she enters the kitchen and sees me standing right at the counter facing the entrance, protecting the full cup as if my life depended on it.
“Tea,” I answer in Italian, and the housekeeper rolls her eyes at the obviousness of my answer. “ForSignoraAnna,” I explain, and now Luigia rolls her eyes and walks back past me. I'll go after her.
