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“Sicily. He has taken her to Sicily to marry Enzo,” Sebastian spits out in reply, and I roar like a mad lion who is about to attack and throw the glass of water I had in my hand against the wall where it smashes into a million pieces. I want to punch something or someone. I have never felt this deep rage that I now find consumes me. It appears that Sebastian and I are match.
I can’t believe it. Her own father has taken her to marry Enzo! Her father has taken her to marry the very man who tried to rape her when she was a fucking child. I am livid. I am angry, but most of all I fucking hate myself that I let it all happen.
As I stand there panting, taking in all the information, all the feelings and all my emotions, Jake stumbles in, looking just as bad as I do. Black eyes, a split lip, and a bandage across his head. Shaun puts his hand on my shoulder and stands next to me and Stephen stands next to Sebastian, his hands in his pockets. Romeo walks toward Jake and stands next to him filling in our man-made circle.
The group of us look at each other, anger seething amongst all of us. Sebastian and I look like rabid dogs, waiting to be unleashed. Jake has pure evil in his eyes, clearly wanting blood in return for the beating we both took today.
“I am going to get my wife,” I spit out to them.
Sebastian nods, “I am going to get my sister.”
And within the hour, Sebastian, his team of soldiers, Jake and I are on a private plane headed for Italy.
34
Frankie
I am currently on a private plane again headed to the other side of the world. No one has spoken to me, but at a guess, I’d say I am headed to Sicily, to my papa. I have cried tears for Marco, not sure if he and Jake are dead or alive. Knowing my papa’s men, they would have finished them off and left them on the tarmac to die, and it is all my fault. Guilt, remorse, sadness; they all whirl around in my head and my heart. My body is shattered from the fight that I lost. The fight for my life, my survival and my fight for love.
I have been given food and water so I know that papa doesn’t have plans to kill me, at least not straight away. But he obviously has something planned for me, and if I know what it is, then I think death would be a better option.
Just thinking about what lies ahead of me is enough to make me vomit, and I do, multiple times in the sick bag that is provided. I know Enzo and my papa would have planned this ambush and I know they are conspiring to make me marry Enzo. How they knew about Marco and me, I am not sure. We were all so careful.
I haven’t been able to sleep this entire trip on the plane and now as we start our descent into Sicily, I estimate that I have been awake for over 15 hours and experiencing my third time zone. I have no idea what the local time is or even the date, confusion and fatigue have settled into my bones, but I am not going to ask any questions. I will remain silent. Be a good mob daughter.
We disembark the plane, big hands push me roughly forward, and I am shuffled into another waiting car and driven to my family’s compound on the cliff tops at Cala Rossa, on the west side of the island of Sicily.
I lean my head against the back of the seat, taking in the view from the window, knowing that whether by my papa’s hand, Enzo’s hand or my own hand, that I won't be alive for much longer to enjoy it again. I always loved the pink bougainvillea that adorns the island and I take comfort in seeing them now.
As we drive through the gates where my fate will be sealed, I look around and realize that the last time I was here, papa announced my engagement to Enzo. It was following the celebration party that Sebastian and I left here and made our way back to New York to hatch our plans for my escape. Within the week of returning to America, I had left without a trace. That was a year ago now, and when I left then, I thought I would never see this place again. But yet, here I am.
I have happy memories of Sicily for the most part. Fresh seafood, lots of sunlight, playing with the kids from the mob soldiers or other business associates. As a child, this mansion was a delightful place, until I hit my teen years and things changed.
As the car weaves up the driveway, I can see the amazing flowers that bloom and smell their beautiful aroma. The terracotta colored mansion appears through the manicured lawns and palm trees, and I see papa’s foot soldiers positioned all around the place. More soldiers are here than usual, and I wonder if that is because of me and my arrival.
The car stops right at the front of the building, and I am pulled from the car by the arm again, the tight grip pressing into my muscle in a way that makes me flinch. Unlike the last family compound I visited, there are no family members waiting to greet me warmly at the door, my memory flashing briefly to my wedding day and feeling part of a normal family for the first time in my life.
I am pulled inside roughly, bruises and welts are already decorating my arm from the fighting at the airport, and I am taken to papa’s office, where I know he will be waiting.
The man holding me reaches out and knocks exactly three times before entering. The standard door knocking requirement. I roll my eyes. Although I know Sebastian is working behind the scenes to make changes to the family, the knocking indicates that nothing has changed here for my papa. Traditions will never die under his watch.
I am pushed inside and see papa and Enzo, both sitting on the leather arm chairs near the window, each sipping a glass of whiskey. Neither of them look up at me, and they carry on with their conversation as if there has been no interruption.
Arrogant assholes I think to myself as my eyes roam the room, noticing again that nothing has changed since I was here last time. There is still a fireplace with a mantle adorned with family photos, a well-stocked liquor cabinet and his large timber desk, with a box of cigars sitting on top next to his golden lamp and small laptop.
The soldiers who brought me in all leave and close the door behind them, and I stand in the room, waiting. Both papa and Enzo act as if I am not there, like nothing has happened. It is a good five minutes before their conversation and laughter cease and they turn their attention to me.
“Ahh, here she is, the lucky bride to be!” Papa announces as he stands, walking closer to me before stopping a few feet away. His eyes assess me. I am not sure how much he knows so I keep quiet.
I can feel his fury in his aura, but I remain steadfast, not backing down, not stepping away and not jumping into his arms. “Diletto, come let me look at you,” Papa says as he grips my arm and pulls me close for a hug. I am his daughter, but he is furious with me right now. His grip digs into my arm, and I know if he keeps going that my bone will break. He leans down and whispers, “You think you can escape from this, but you can’t. Do your duty, and you will live, Diletto. It is what is required, it is what I expect of you, and it is what you will do. Do not cross me again.”
He pulls back. “Diletto,” he says perfectly like we are entertaining guests not forcing me into a marriage that I don’t want and legally can’t be a part of, because I am already married, a fact that papa may not know already, or maybe he does—either way, marrying Enzo can’t be legal.
“Come and greet your very patient fiancé.” I look toward Enzo as he stands. He is eyeing me like I am his prey, and I see his tongue sneak out and lick his lips. He is practically drooling and my skin crawls. I must have a look of disgust on my face because the next thing I know papa’s hand comes out and he slaps me hard across the cheek, and I fall to the floor with the force.
“You will show respect to your fiancé and me, get up and show your gratitude!” Papa spits at me. I have seen him angry and venomous like this before but never at me. His outrage has never been targeted at me or Sebastian or mama. I now realize that any love he had for me is gone and it is replaced with repulsion because I left. I left the situation, but I also left my obligations and responsibilities and in his eyes that makes me filth. I am still a very handy pawn for his game of business, and as I stand, Enzo walks closer to me and looks me up and down. His hand lifts to cup my cheek, and I stare at him, right in the eye not showing any weakness.
“She is tough, Alessandro. You raised a tough girl,” he says to my papa who is still seething with anger. I stand there, still as a statue as Enzo leans in and whispers, “I can’t wait to finish what we started all those years ago, Diletto. I have been dreaming of it ever since.”
