by Lisa Cardiff
I popped out of my seat like a jack in the box, tears streaming down my face. My hands curled into balls with the urge to lash out at my father. “You can’t keep me holed up here like a prisoner! I’m over eighteen. You can’t control me anymore. I won’t let you. I’m done listening to you. You’ve taken away everything from me. My music, my future, my dreams, my choices.” I hesitated for a fraction of an instant, realizing I was treading into uncharted waters, only I couldn’t hold back any longer. “My mom. You’re a monster. You drove her to kill herself, and you’re doing the same thing to me. Is that what you want?”
My father moved so fast I didn’t see it coming. His hand sprang into action, hissing through the air and landing open-palmed against my cheek. Flames spread out from the point of contact, quickly replaced by a throbbing, stinging sensation.
Flabbergasted, I stood in the middle of the room like a moron with my hand cupping the side of my face. A slow burn bubbled in the pit of my stomach that felt a lot like hate, and I zeroed in on that rather than the disillusionment and tears lurking right beneath it. Hate would fuel me. Disillusionment would make me weak.
“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand, will never understand,” my dad growled, his eyes snapping and a cavernous rivet forming between his brows.
The harsh tone of his voice cut through my shock with surgical precision, and all I could think was that I needed to get away from him as fast as possible. My limbs wobbly and my stomach knotting, I staggered out of his office, lumbering up the stairs, blindly seeking the safety of my bedroom. With each step away from the study, my rage built until I was practically foaming at the mouth. When I reached my room, I kicked the door closed, cursing my father for forbidding me from having a lock.
Like a wild animal I whipped my forearm across the top of my dresser. Picture frames, my jewelry box, and hundreds of tiny trinkets spiraled across the surface, colliding with the adjacent wall.
Thud. Crash. Shatter.
The commotion did nothing to improve my mood or rid me of my indignation, so I continued my tirade of destruction. I flung open my drawers one after another, tearing neatly folded clothes from their place, slinging the scraps of fabric across the room. I screamed. I cursed. I cried.
When I emptied my dresser, I stood there glaring at the explosion of mostly black covering the floor, my chest heaving like I’d run for miles. I listened for my father’s footsteps, his voice, his anything. Instead, tomblike silence greeted me. My muscles spent and my brain mentally exhausted from expelled rage, I shuffled across the floor to my bed, begging for sleep to take me away from my crappy life for a little while.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
Footsteps echoed in the deathly quiet of my room, and I didn’t bother rolling over to see who it was. I didn’t care. I couldn’t, not when my whole world was coming apart at the seams. The chances of successfully escaping my current life had decreased exponentially. I didn’t trust myself to make good on my promise to get away from my dad and the Trassatos regardless of the cost.
“Em, are you awake?”
Oh, God, it was Sal. Still mortified by what he witnessed, I couldn’t face him. I squeezed my eyes tighter, willing him to leave me alone, to give me more time to put myself back together.
Either Sal didn’t get my message or he chose to ignore it. The bed dipped under his weight, his hip brushing against my knees. He swept my hair away from my face and I mentally cursed the goose bumps popping out on my arms.
“Go away. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Ever.”
“Come on. It’s been almost two weeks. You’ve showered maybe once, and you’ve hardly eaten. You’re too tiny already. If you aren’t careful, you’ll waste away into nothing.”
“Who cares?” I mumbled.
“I care. I can’t stand to see you like this. It’s killing me. Christmas Eve is in two days. We have a lot to do.”
“Oh, joy. I finally get to meet the man who I’m going to marry. No wait, I mean my new prison warden.”
“Hey, a lot of things could happen between now and then. Don’t give up.”
“Don’t give up?” I snarled, flopping onto my back. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one whose life is in shambles. Don’t you get it? My dad has stolen everything from me. My mom, my choice of a husband, and now the last piece of my life that made me me—piano.”
“So you’re going to throw in the towel and let him do this without a fight?”
“I don’t see how I have much choice in the matter.”
“That’s not true. The Emilia I know wouldn’t let this happen. You’ve danced around the fact more than once that you had something up your sleeve. Why don’t you tell me what you had in mind? Maybe I can help you.”
“I had this plan that I would…” I wimped out mid-sentence, my gaze darting to Sal. Could I trust him? While my heart said yes, my brain said no. I scooted up my headboard and pulled my knees into my chest. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”
With serious eyes, he studied me for a few beats deliberating something. “I don’t think I ever told you this, but I never wanted anything to do with this life. I still don’t.”
“Wait. I don’t get it. Lettie said—”
“Lettie doesn’t know shit. She only knows what I want her and everyone else to think. The truth is something entirely different.”
Pushing out a nervous huff of laughter, I tugged on the hem of my t-shirt, stretching it over my knees. Participating in a soul-searching session wasn’t at the top of my to-do list right now. Mostly because I didn’t have the bandwidth mentally or physically. Powerlessness and vulnerability had settled deep in my bones, and I was still freefalling from the fight with my dad.
“Everyone has a private and a public agenda. You’re no different from any of the other guys working for my dad. I’d bet ninety percent of them are in it for the power and money rather than the experience of being part of the family.”
“Can I trust you?” Before I could respond, he swung his legs onto my bed, cozying up beside me. “I already know you’re going to tell me I can, but you’re wasting your breath. I know you can’t make that promise, not with your dad being who he is. Information is a valuable currency in this world, and you could decide to sell me out to get what you want.”
I caught his gaze, trying to convey sincerity. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“I know you wouldn’t want to do that, but if it came to a choice between you and me, you’d pick yourself every time. I’m not saying you’re selfish because you’re not. You’re desperate. Maybe you’re more desperate than me, and that’s saying a lot, or maybe it’s because my wounds aren’t as fresh as yours.”
I squinted, puzzling out his cryptic words. “What do you mean?”
“Do you know how Pietro took in my family after my dad died?”
I nodded.
“Well, my mom didn’t want to accept his help. I convinced her to move in there, and you know why?”
Not sure I wanted to know, my stomach twisted and turned into tiny knots. “I suppose you needed money.”
“Yeah, there was that. Mostly, though, I wanted to find out who killed my dad.”
“I heard he was mugged or something.”
“That’s the official story. I don’t believe it.”
I frowned. “You don’t?”
“No. My dad and Pietro had been butting heads for months. A week before he died, Pietro dropped by our house in the middle of the night. I knew I should’ve stayed in bed. My dad didn’t want me to get sucked into the Family business. He wanted me to go to college as far away from New York as possible and never come back.” He paused, his eyes distant like he was reliving something from his past. “Anyway, they were fighting about missing money. My dad threatened to go to Dominick and Angelo if Pietro didn’t come clean. He gave him one month to get his shit in order, and my dad was dead a week later. Pietro framed my dad, claiming he stole the money.”
My vein
s iced over. I knew Pietro had something to do with his death. While Lettie had only told me bits and pieces of what went on in her house, it was enough to know that putting a hit on Sal’s dad for threatening to rat him out wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.
“Holy shit,” I wheezed.
“I did the only thing I could think of at the time.”
“What’s that?”
His eyes latched onto mine again, and for a second he didn’t answer. “I ingratiated myself with Pietro, hoping I could prove he killed my dad and took the money.”
“Have you found anything?”
“No. Nothing concrete, and I think that’s by design. The minute I became a soldier, Dominick assigned me to Angelo rather than Pietro, though I still check in with Pietro here and there and offer to do things for him. That’s how we ended up at the warehouse the day we were ambushed.”
My breath stalled inside my lungs. “Do you think he had something to do with what happened?”
“I know he did. I just can’t prove it yet.” He squeezed my leg. “So that’s my story. I don’t give a shit about the mafia. I wish I were doing anything but being drawn deeper into this world. This life. I had this idea I could get in, vindicate my dad, and get out. Sadly, it doesn’t work that way. The only way out of the family is death or jail.”
“Or the witness protection program,” I joked even though it was a real possibility.
“Nah. I’d never do that because as much as I hate Pietro, I love and respect the others. Angelo, Gian, Tony, and even your father in some twisted way because without him, I wouldn’t be here with you. You’re my reward for all the bad shit even if we can never be more than this, and I’d make the same choices again it if brought me to you. ”
You’re my reward…
Brought me to you…
His words lodged inside my brain, and if it were possible to glow, I would have. I didn’t think he understood how deeply those words affected me. How they simultaneously gutted me and revived me.
He squeezed my thigh. “So are you going to tell me about your plan? You know, now that I just told you all my dirty secrets. Or are you going to leave me hanging?”
I had to tell him. I wanted to tell him. And maybe with a little luck, we could be each other’s team rather than being alone dealing with our private demons.
“I was trying to dig up enough dirt to threaten my father and force him to let me start a new life somewhere, but I don’t think he’ll ever let me go. He’ll find different ways to control me. The only way out is to leave without a trace, and that’s what I’ll do when I have enough money to support myself for six months.”
“I’ll help you.”
“No, absolutely not. My father would torture you until you told him where I went, and if that didn’t work, he’d flat out kill you. I can’t be worried about you while I’m on the run.”
He framed my face, directing all of my attention on him. “Then I’ll come with you.”
A choking noise rolled up my throat, and I couldn’t draw a single molecule of air into my lungs. “Oh, Sal…”
“That is, if you want me to go with you.”
“You’d do that for me? What about your family and your life here? We could never come back, and you couldn’t contact them. Ever.”
“You’re worth it, Em. Even if you get sick of me and strike out on your own, I wouldn’t regret it.”
Tears welled in my eyes. No one ever went to bat for me and supported me unconditionally. Normally that was a parent’s job. Apparently, my mom and dad never got that memo. My mom loved me in an abstract way. I was something to fill her time between performing and having an active social life. And my dad, well, he only loved me when I did what he wanted.
“C’mere, tesoro.” He gathered me into his lap, his arms circling my waist. “Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to come on so strong. You don’t have to answer me right now.”
“No. No…” I leaned back. “I want you to come with me. I can’t believe you’d give up everything for me. Are you sure?”
He pressed his lips against mine and whispered, “Never been so sure of anything in my life.”
“What do we do now?”
“We plan.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Two things happened recently to ensure tonight would be the best Christmas Eve party my father ever had, at least from my perspective. First, Marcello canceled his plans to visit yesterday, claiming he had a family emergency. He rescheduled our engagement announcement for Easter, which was a little over three months away.
I hemmed and hawed, rolled my eyes, and made plenty of snide remarks, not wanting my father to know I didn’t give a crap. Sal and I had a plan. We were getting out of here in less than four months. While I wished we could push up our departure so I’d never have to meet Marcello Masciantonio, we wouldn’t have enough money by then.
The best part of tonight was the game I came up with. I stashed mistletoe in out of way places all over my house. When everyone reached the tipping point between tipsy and drunk, the game would start, which should be any minute now.
I circled the perimeter of the great room, my shoes clicking over the hardwoods. The traditional Feast of the Seven Fishes for La Vigilia was artfully displayed on the large family style table between the kitchen and great room. Stuffed clams, fried anchovies, baccalà alla vesuviana, pasta with various shellfish, baked eel, marinated shrimp, and more.
The house smelled like a combination of pine needles from the greenery delivered this morning, garlic, and basil. The alcohol flowed freely from an impromptu bar set up near the precast fireplace manned by Tony in his Santa suit.
My brain was foggy from indulging in more than one glass of Prosecco, and I couldn’t reverse the smile on my face if I tried, not that anyone noticed me. They were wrapped up in their conversations, the chatter going from a hum to a roar spiked with laughter in the last twenty minutes.
Sal had a tumbler of whiskey in one hand and his other arm around Gian’s shoulder. Nearly the same age, it was natural for them to be friends. And as much as I rebelled against everything to do with my family, I didn’t dislike Carmela or Gian. Truthfully, I was so dead set on wallowing in my misery, I never gave them much of a chance, and now that I was leaving, having a relationship with them would never happen.
When I snagged Sal’s gaze, I lifted my champagne glass to my lips and tipped my head to the side. The light bubbles fizzled on my tongue all the way down my throat to my belly, mixing with the jumpiness already tumbling around in there.
Sal shot me a cocky grin, then dropped his arm from Gian’s shoulder. Without waiting to see if he followed, I placed my empty glass on a nearby end table and made my way through the kitchen to the mudroom, closing the pocket door behind me. A tiny sprig of glossy green leaves with a burst of red berries dangled from the domed polished nickel light fixture.
I stood directly beneath it, waiting for Sal to join me. Minutes ticked by, and my nerves stretched thin. I started pacing. Did he get caught? Waylaid? Change his mind?
The roar of laughter and clinking glasses floated into the room. I leaned against the white cabinets, defeat coiling around my chest. Maybe it was better if he stayed away. If someone caught us, my dad would summon Marcello to marry me by the New Year, and Sal, well, my dad would destroy him.
Seeing the stupidity of my game, I slid open the door determined to do the right thing and to rejoin the party, only I didn’t get far. Sal stood at the threshold, one side of his mouth hitched upward in knowing grin.
“You’re already giving up on me? I got accosted by your dad.”
He moved forward and like a choreographed dance I edged back. The soft thud of the closing door echoed in the small space. I pressed my hand to the center of my chest to calm my racing heart.
“No, just rethinking the wisdom of meeting you like this. I mean, if someone saw us—”
“Shh.” He pressed two fingers to my mouth, cutting me off. “Nob
ody will be looking for us, and you’ve been driving me crazy since I walked in the door.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Alessandro has been following you around all night like a puppy. If it weren’t so damn pathetic, I would punch him in the face. Did anything ever happen between you two?”
Alessandro was Pietro’s son and Lettie’s stepson. While he had been hanging around me tonight more than usual, he wasn’t interested in me, or at least I didn’t think so. I never gave him reason to believe I liked him as more than a friend. We were nearly the same age, and we used to go to school together until my dad pulled me out in favor of homeschooling. As far as I was concerned, that was it.
“You’re being ridiculous. I’m not interested in him as more than a friend.”
He pursed his lips in annoyance. “I don’t think he got that message.”
“I don’t agree. He’s not interested in me, so stop being a jealous jerk.”
His now angry eyes held me captive. “I’m not jealous. I’m protective.”
“Is that right?”
“I don’t want to talk about him,” he pointed to the ceiling, “when there’s mistletoe demanding I do my duty.”
I arched an eyebrow, my lips twitching. “Your duty, huh? Maybe I changed my mind.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” He closed the space between us, pressing me into cabinets adjacent to the garage door. He joined our hands together, resting them against the polished black countertop. “I came here to kiss a beautiful woman, my woman, beneath the mistletoe and wish her a Merry Christmas.” His lips brushed across mine gently. “And with any luck, next year we’ll be in a place where we can celebrate in the open. Without your father or that little shit, Alessandro.”
He kissed me, and I felt it all the way down to the tips of my toes and up to the roots of my hair. I yanked one of my hands from his grip, and my fingertips traced his jawline, down his neck and rested my palm against the firm plane of his chest over his thudding heart. His free hand painted a line up my thigh, snaking under my skirt, cupping my ass. The tips of his fingers gripped me tightly, claiming me as his own and God, did I wish he could. A moan tumbled from my mouth. I wanted to tell him I loved him and so many other things that had been swirling around in my mind over the last two days.
