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“How would you know? You were never a mob wife, maybe…” I stop myself when I realize what I just said, and my mouth hangs open for a few more seconds before I remember to close it. I look at Vittorio nervously, but the expression on his face is still the shadow of amusement left by his laugh.
“You could ask them,” I say softly. “Someone could ask them. I'm not saying they need to want something more, these women, from what I understand, already have what some others would kill to have. But maybe, some of them want more and, maybe, there was a way to reconcile everything. What I mean is, if being in the mafia means taking what you want without asking permission, shouldn't that privilege extend to women? Aren't they just as much a part of the mafia as the men? They are the ones who birth the children of the mafia,” I speak so quietly that I don't even know if Vittorio hears or understands me, because the words came out quickly and clumsily.
But the thing is, I don't believe Rafaella is the only woman in the entire organization who wants to be more than a wife. These women are cared for and protected from birth, it's much more than I had, much more than I dared wish I had. To me, freedom is not as attractive as it must seem to them.
I understand, however, that when the worst monsters you can face are your parents and siblings, and the others, those who have no face or body, are just stories told before bed, this truth does not seem absolute. The Don stares at me as if I had just finished speaking in Greek or Latin. His gaze warms my body when it does that thing of seeming to bare my soul.
“What would you choose?” he asks after a long time.
“I guess not all cages keep us in, some are made to keep monsters out. I just think it should be a choice, although I alsothink not being able to choose is a ridiculously low price to pay for protection.”
Once again, silence sits with us. I finish my cereal and lift the glass of juice to my mouth. The words spoken and heard spiral in my mind without knowing where they should settle.
“You will need to tolerate my company at an event in four days.” He changes the subject when I put a slice of cake on the plate, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I know I was the one who started the matter, but that look... I don't know how long I could keep myself under it. It takes me a few seconds to process the information, because this is the first time Vittorio has told me something in advance, but the explanation comes soon after. “I need you to get ready.”
“Get ready?” I ask as I place the plate on the table.
“Do you consider yourself a good actress, Gabriella?”
“The only role I ever played was a tree, in a school play in sixth grade,” I say and, first, Vittorio tilts his head, as if doubting what he just heard, and then he gives another of those loud laughs that they transform his entire face and, again, I am infected and I laugh too.
“Well, then I guess you'll need to rehearse. I need you to play a role.”
“And what will you give me in return?” The words jump out of my mouth and, when I bring both my hands to it, covering it, it's too late, I've already said what I shouldn't have said.
My eyes widen with the realization that I just tried to bargain with the Don. Why am I so crazy, God? I didn't even really intend to achieve anything.
But since every time I asked Vittorio for something, this was the answer I got, I thought it would be funny to see the spellturn against the sorcerer. However, that was it. It should have remained just in my thoughts; the words should never have been said out loud.
The expression on Vittorio's face is nothing indecipherable, it is clear as water and says: ‘Are you crazy?’
I chuckle nervously before asking:
“What do you need me to do? What role should I play?”
“That of a woman in love.”
CHAPTER 34
________
Gabriella Matos
“I still can't believe you said that to the Don!” Rafaella says, filling a glass of water, and I throw myself on a sofa in one of the living rooms in Vittorio's wing, breathing heavily.
We moved the tables away and, for the last two hours, my friend has been trying to teach me how to dance the traditional Italian waltz, trying and failing miserably. Rafa drinks her water in long sips and, when she takes the glass away from her mouth, it is almost empty.
“I don't even believe I told him that,” I confess, talking about the conversation this morning when I told the Don that he should ask women what they want to do.
“And I still can't believe you still have your tongue after saying something like that.” Two more sips of it, and the glass is empty.
“Oh, let's not forget that the Don needs my tongue so I can pretend to be in love with him at that dance.” She fills the glass a second time and hands it to me.
“And your legs to dance with, because you're in love with him.” Rafa plops down on the seat next to me on the sofa.
We laughed at the absurdity of it, at all the requests I imagined Vittorio would make of me this morning, pretending to be in love was definitely not one of them.
Learn a traditional Italian dance to dance with him, then? Whoever my guardian angel's is, he must be laughing his ass off right now. Four days. I have four days to learn how to dance and, if the first attempts mean anything, I have serious doubts that I will succeed.
