Chapter 5
1967 Words
One year later
Bruno’s face still haunts me, no less than the expression of the brown-haired girl—nameless, faceless, and unconscious.
My fingers drag over the leather seat of the car, while I am dragged as well toward my own birthday, at home, after being stretched, made up, and pricked all day to look perfect. The celebration was organized by our matron, the Don’s wife, Fiamma Vitale. She looks like an eagle, attentive to everything, elegant, and with a level of power the others lack.
“Be polite, flatter the woman, and don’t pay attention to the men,” Dante De Luca warns, and I nod.
“Is he going to pick a husband for her today?” Paolo asks, his usual mocking laughter present, though attentive to my father’s answer.
“Mind your business, boy. And keep an eye on her…”
“A husband?” I swallow.
Tick-tock.
Time is treacherous.
I thought my fifteenth birthday would never come, and now I hate this day completely. My father forced me to celebrate it at a party organized by the Family, because it is important that I present myself well and show strength after the tragedy.
This date is crucial for the women of the Cosa Nostra, because the clans begin to think about alliances between the commandments. I don’t know much about that, but Siena does, and as soon as I arrive home, amid congratulations and toasts, I see her restless, shifting with excitement, her eyes still searching for mine.
She jumps up from her chair and runs to me, hugging me enthusiastically.
“I can’t believe this party! Everything is perfect!”
“Donna Fiamma went all out. I don’t understand why so much effort.”
“A husband? You know she’s one of the family’s biggest matchmakers… Can you imagine if you married Arturo?” she says, referring to the youngest Vitale son, about six years older than us.
“My brother’s best friend is not a life goal, Siena!”
“Better than the other two!” she grumbles.
“Are we really discussing this?” I smile. “I just wanted to eat and go to bed.”
“You’ll kill the matron if you do that. If she had a daughter, I know her birthday party would be exactly like this.”
“Lucky her she only had boys!”
“You’re unbearable!” she sticks out her tongue. “I know you wanted your mother to be here today, friend. I know.”
Siena also lost her mother, long before I did, and she doesn’t even have a single memory of her. Traitors to the Cosa Nostra are usually erased from our memory as if they never walked this earth.
“Did you say something wrong to the future Capo?” Siena suddenly asks.
“God forbid. He scares me, and as far as I’m concerned, he can stay miles away. Why do you ask?”
“The way he looked at us… I think I’m going crazy,” she concludes, forcing me to look toward the Vitale family. The couple greeted me, and Fiamma has been kind since I arrived. Only the sons remained distant, and none of them are looking in our direction. Siena must be going crazy. “Lucky for us, he spends more time outside Sicily than usual. I heard we’re aligning with the Americans…”
“How do you even find out about these things?”
“Live with a father who forgets you exist, and at some point, he really forgets. And then he says things he shouldn’t. It happens quite often,” she shrugs, feigning indifference.
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Only if I tell someone.”
“You just did,” I tease.
“And now we have a secret.”
“What secret?” her father approaches quietly, and I choke on the soda I was drinking, coughing slightly. The man smiles as if amused and pats my back gently.
“Thank you,” I say politely, pulling away from his touch. His affection gives me chills, if I’m honest.
“Siena, we’ll be leaving soon, after a brief meeting… The Vitales have already left, but maintain your composure,” he demands.
“Yes, sir.”
“Valentina, congratulations. You look incredible tonight. You will be a great woman.” I never understood the chill that runs down my spine whenever Giácomo approaches me. Something in his gaze reveals what torments him—and it unsettles me.
He has haunted my nightmares since the night my mother died. The greedy way he looks at me is terrifying, considering he is a man over forty-five. I may be young, but I’m not stupid.
“Thank you.” I keep it brief.
He brushes my cheek with his thumb and walks away.
“My father likes you a lot,” Siena states, and I don’t respond. I change the subject, rambling about the other girls’ dresses that night, trying not to think about the nature of their conversation.
Would they be more “guests,” like my father called them?
After distracting myself with my friends, I didn’t notice the hours passing. I see Raoul returning from the meeting, not understanding why he was there at such a young age. One thing was carrying out the Family’s dirty work. Another was deciding it.
His eyes don’t meet mine, nor does he smile, as he usually does when he sees me.
I head to the library, where, just for today, the men gathered out of consideration for the others at the party, while the south wing was momentarily forgotten.
I try to listen, to know if there is another one of them there. Who knows? Maybe I could help. Maybe…
No one sees me enter, because I use the emergency access. All the main areas of family houses have them for security, but only members know where they are.
My father feels so secure that he completely ignores that space, trusting that none of his children would misuse it. I feel my hand covered in dust as I touch the wood dividing the rooms, my nose itching, but my dangerous curiosity pushes me forward until I can see inside.
At first, the voices are low, but soon I focus enough to distinguish them.
“Giácomo, understand that this is a long-term plan. You knew that from the beginning!” my father says, his expression serious, while the disgusting Underboss reflects.
“He didn’t choose Siena, and I can accept that. It wouldn’t benefit either of us to have her with a Vitale. But twenty-three years? We’ve already waited seven, and there’s still more than half left! You can’t be that patient! What’s his problem? He’s not a child—he knows his responsibilities!”
I understand absolutely nothing.
“She’s still young, just a child, and I still need to shape her into what we want. In the future, her obedience will be essential, and you know that. She’s not ready yet. Young Vitale only gave us time to refine her.”
“You know it’s too much time.”
“It’s enough! If you don’t have patience, you’re not the only one who loses! Just be patient!”
The other seems to accept it.
“Now, about today, I must remind you León needs a novice.”
“We can’t overdo it just because that Spanish i***t promises Italians to those pigs. Tell him we have several from different countries, but none from here this week. I already spent a fortune with the police, and even they aren’t magicians who can keep erasing traces of our mess.”
“Good times, when working in our own yard was easier, right? The police have become harder to contain, and I hope Salvatore handles that, because it affects his business too.”
“That human rights bullshit has ruined the domestic business. But international routes have never been better. The last one is French,” my father boasts.
“You’re very bold bringing them here. While half the world operates in hidden places—private islands, secret properties—you do this in your own house.”
“Have you noticed no one ever comes here? All suspicions end in the nightclubs or even the modeling agency. But no one comes here, to the house of a respectable man. After that, they go with Bruno—to containers, night houses—and that’s it. No traces, no headaches.”
“And the others?” Giácomo asks, and I sense tension between them.
“What others?”
“Don’t fool me. I know you divert merchandise for your own business, or did you forget this s**t is mine too?”
“Relax! I’m not interested,” the other mocks. “Just curious… another time, I’ll make you an offer.”
Dante drinks from his glass of wine and barely nods, as if he doesn’t like Giácomo interfering in whatever he’s planning.
“The guest from today—how long is she staying? Or did Bruno already take her?”
From that strange conversation, I only understand that there is another girl to be taken somewhere—God knows where.
“The French one will stay with a novice, because Bruno is busy with a larger shipment.”
I had already thought about how disturbing trafficking women was, but I never imagined seeing it in my own backyard. It was something that only existed in newspapers.
And now…
Now there is another woman.
The French girl.
And I’m going to help her.
Silently, I leave the room and move down the hallway, back toward the party—but Paolo intercepts me.
“Snooping around, little sister?”
“Jesus! You scared me!” I swallow. “I’m looking for Siena, but I think she already left.”
“Really? And the one by the pool?” he laughs mockingly.
“I hadn’t seen her. Thank you, Paolo.”
“Shorty. Be careful not to get lost again.” He narrows his eyes in warning, focusing on me.
Paolo and I are not only physically different—him with dark hair and striking blue eyes like Dante—but different in essence. Sometimes I think his warnings go beyond simple annoyance or his need to mock me, but soon sarcasm takes over, and we go back to hating each other.
As soon as everyone leaves me alone to go to my room, I run to find a phone. It’s urgent. I use the one in the guest room.
I place a cloth over it, like I’ve always seen in movies, and dial the police. I say there’s a car in the area with a kidnapped woman. I do what needs to be done.
But time always drags… and drags me with it.
An hour later, I’m torn from my bed by two hands around my neck and the infernal fury in my father’s eyes.
But I was rewarded.
As he beats me and I hear his loss of control, I learn that I succeeded. The French girl was saved, because the police couldn’t cover it up once the report was made. The soldier who carried out the transfer was killed, and my father was never implicated.
Me—injured enough to remember that, once again, I didn’t keep my mouth shut—have just received my sentence: a boarding school in London, with the strict understanding that my life must become a Hades, a hell designed especially for me.
My father takes his revenge on me tonight—with his hands, his strength, and red leather straps that tear into my flesh.
But the French girl is saved from this hell.
And I like that.
- Writer
