Salvatore: a Dark Mafia Romance(9)

“Salvatore’s right. Girl just buried her father,” my father admonished my brother, his gaze locked on me.

I didn’t trust this, didn’t trust him. My father had always been better at cutting me down. Certainly not defending me.

“You just make sure she knows who the boss is, son. I don’t ever want to see another incident like this afternoon again, you understand?”

Ah, there they were, my father’s true colors.

I nodded without looking at him, swallowing half of my drink.

“Good. Let’s eat.”





3





Lucia




Salvatore surprised me. I expected violence. I’d prepared myself for it. But this, this kindness? His attempt to understand? Was that what it was? I didn’t like it. And I didn’t like how my body reacted to having him so close.

When I heard him leave, I went to the outer room. My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten all day, and as appealing as a hunger strike seemed, when you were actually hungry, it lost some of its appeal.

I took the lid off one of the two dishes to find a thick steak, potatoes, and mixed grilled vegetables. I swallowed, salivating already, and sat down. Picking up the knife and fork, I glanced at the door before I dug in. If he returned, I’d be ashamed at having given in. Even if he kept his word and stayed away, when he saw I’d eaten, wouldn’t it just be a second victory to him?

I placed a piece of the meat in my mouth. So buttery and delicious, it melted on my tongue. God, that made me not care what he thought. I took a second bite, then tasted the grilled potatoes spiced with rosemary and more butter. A bottle of wine stood open on the table. I poured myself a glass, sipping it before returning to the meat. I finished nearly my entire plate and took the wine with me to my room, locking the door behind me even though I knew he had a key. Of course he had a key. It was his house.

I sat on the bed and poured myself another glass. That comment had gotten to him, just like what I’d said in the car had. I didn’t know much about Salvatore’s relationship with his father, Franco, but I had felt Salvatore tense when Franco approached us at the church. I’d been guessing when I taunted Salvatore with my comment about being his father’s puppet but didn’t realize I’d hit the nail on the head. When I’d said it was his father’s house, not his, I’d seen it again, that I’d gotten under his skin. I would learn more, watch their interactions, find and exploit their weaknesses. Maybe it was a matter of pitting son against father.

Then there was Dominic, his younger brother. I knew his relationship with Salvatore was strained, and I didn’t like the way Dominic looked at me, but maybe I could use that too.

Salvatore had mentioned knowing how it felt to lose someone close. I knew he’d lost his older brother, Sergio, and his mother, both within a year of each other. I assumed they were who he meant. I felt like a jerk for a minute. I picked up my glass, drained it, and poured some more. Was he trying to connect with me over our shared pain or something? Why? What would be the point?

I lay my head back on the headboard and closed my eyes. I was tired, overwhelmed with emotion, jet-lagged, and exhausted. I’d cried over my father after the funeral once I’d been left alone here. Why hadn’t I talked to him when he’d called? Why had I refused to see him when he’d come to the school? I knew he regretted what he’d done, selling me to buy his and our family’s lives, but what choice had he had? I was a peace offering, in a way. An olive branch. The white flag of surrender to keep everyone else safe—my sister, my niece, my cousins, aunts, and uncles. It was the deal: no more bloodshed. We surrender. You own us.

I just happened to be the sacrifice.

Whose idea was it, I wondered, my father’s or Franco’s?

I swallowed two sleeping pills and finished the second glass of wine. Setting it on the nightstand, I pulled back the sheets and climbed into bed. I wanted to sleep, to stop thinking about everything.

Darkness fell when I switched off the lamp, and I closed my eyes. My thoughts moved from Salvatore and Franco and my father to Izzy. The pregnancy had saved her, or she’d be the one here in this bed right now. They’d wanted her, the firstborn. I’d heard my father and my sister arguing, yelling like I had never heard him yell before. Not at us, anyway. That’s how I’d found out she was pregnant. That was when Izzy had run away, leaving me to a fate that should have been hers.

I couldn’t blame her, though, not when I thought of Effie. She was protecting her baby. But it didn’t absolve her for leaving me without a good-bye. Without telling me the truth herself. She knew what would happen to me.