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The dark colors of the L-shaped sectional sofa and tufted chairs deliver an austere feel. Golden accents liven up the décor, and the combination of standing lamps, heavy drapes, and the intricate patterns of the fireplace add a touch of mystery.
Every step I take toward the library moves a different part of me, like a game of chess. Growing up, that was my favorite room. I spent hours there, reading with my mom, coloring, and talking.
Sadness fills my heart, but I refuse to show it. I blink back the tears.
I never understood why my mom chose death over me.
I pretended to understand, yes. Maybe if I marry that sleazy bastard, then I’ll truly understand. But a silly part of me is still that eleven-year-old girl who’s been robbed of a family. My mother’s death sent me to the boarding school. It also showed me who my father was—a truth my mother tried hard to conceal when she was alive. She gave me the gift of a normal childhood, and with her suicide, she yanked it away.
The door to the library is open.
I walk inside, and my father is talking in a low voice to a tall, lean man with a neck tattoo. The man nods and swiftly dashes out of the place.
I marvel at the spacious literary oasis. Floor-to-ceiling books fill the walls, and the smell of leather, lemony floor polish, and old-world dance in the air.
My ears buzz, and a part of me believes I’ll hear my mother’s infectious laughter at any moment.
“Sienna.” My father’s raspy voice slices the air. He stands from the oversized chair and walks up to me.
He’s now in his early seventies but could pass for a decade younger. My father has charisma he uses to his advantage when necessary. He’s fit. I’m sure Clara doesn’t let him eat too many arancini balls anymore.
I haven’t seen him in two years.
“Hello,” I say.
He comes to me and hugs me, and I barely move, awkward.
I should feel something when my father embraces me, but I’m numb.
He lets go of me and gestures for me to sit across the desk. He returns to his chair, and a smile wrinkles his eyes. “Welcome home,piccolina. It’s great to have you back.”
Are we pretending I’m here of my own free will? A current of frustration washes through me at hearing the nickname coated in his Sicilian accent. I’m sure to him, I’m stilllittle one. Not as a term of endearment, but because he could manipulate me as a child. “I wish we reunited under better circumstances. I told you I don’t want to marry Francesco.”
He drums his fingers on the desk, like talking about it makes him impatient. “Marrying Francesco will be good for you. It may not seem like it now, but he’ll give you the security a woman of your standing needs.”
I’d trade thisstandingfor an everyday life. “Can’t I get that security on my own?”
“It’s more complicated than that. I told you.”
“And I’m supposed to go with it? My opinion doesn’t matter?”
“Francesco Caruso took a big fall for me years ago. By committing to him, we’ll unite the families and be invincible.”
I cross my arms over my chest. My heart is beating madly, a rushing buzz in my ears. He didn’t betray me today. He betrayed me years ago when he closed this damn deal. “Well, it’s great that you’re planning out this merger. How about me? Is it too much for me to choose the man I want to marry? That’s what my mother did. Can’t I be granted the same grace?”
He nods slowly and slants his eyes at me. “Your mother,” he says, a hint of raw emotion in his voice. Resentment. Has he forgiven her for leaving us?
I clear my throat. A little voice inside me warns me to retreat, but I can’t. I dissented on the phone, and now it’s my opportunity to do it in person. Even if it’s clear that I can’t persuade him. “Yes. I mean, she loved you. Whether she could handle being a mafia wife was a different story, but?—”
He lifts his hand, cutting through the air in a warning for me to be quiet. A timeless tactic. “Sienna, you shouldn’t hold your mother to a higher moral ground. She didn’t always make the right choices.”
“Obviously not at the end. She was depressed. Unhappy?—”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about your mother,” he says, gritting his teeth.
“There’s a lot you haven’t told me.” About my mother and otherwise, I add inwardly. Though, I wonder if I want to know all the atrocious acts my father has committed against humanity.
He shuffles in his seat, the contours of his face hardening. “I’ve protected you. You’re my daughter, and I’ll never let anything happen to you.”
