21
Mia
Antonio’s warning came to me like a slap in the face. And the more I think about it, the less certain I am of my reasoning behind my aggravation. It feels like the crashing down of a tsunami of my accumulated fears that’s so complexly woven together, it’s impossible to distinguish one root cause. Maybe it’s toward Antonio, my father, myself, or all of the above—either way, something inside me is screaming out for some clarity toward my situation. I watch as the city disappears from my view through the car window. We’re racing back toward the house, the silence between us slowly and surely causing the tension to rise. From the corner of my eye, I notice he’s more interested in his knuckles than he is in me.
When we arrive at the house, he walks around the car, opens the door on my side, and waits for me to step out before slamming the door closed and leading me inside, all the way up to my room. I can feel the freedom I cultivated here slip away, and I know I’m once again doomed to stay locked up in this room.
He’s quiet, rubbing his temples after closing the door. I walk to the table and sit on the chair, knowing that I crossed a line tonight.
“This—” He waves a finger between us. “—is no normal thing, and you know that.” His voice is deep, low with anger. Yet, he remains patient, thinking his words over before saying them. “What you did tonight is unforgivable in this family. If you were any other girl, you’d be out on your fucking ass.”
If I were any other girl? What does that make me?
“And I don’t mean you’d be free, I mean you’d be lost in a dark part of the city, crawling your way home and spitting out teeth!”
I flinch at his words, and he pulls a deep breath in, trying to calm himself still. “Mia, you have no concept of the danger this lifestyle brings, do you?” I avoid his gaze, looking at my hands. “You can’t go around shouting at me in the streets! The attention you bring to yourself is fucking deadly!”
He’s shouting now, and I feel a lump in my throat.
“And it’s not me who’s going to end up hurting you, precious, it’s all my fucking enemies who now know exactly how much you mean to me!” His words are sneered but hold so much meaning. Does he realize he’s just admitted to having actual feelings for me?
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he controls his breathing.
“I thought—” he swallows, “I thought that you knew who I was. What I do, the responsibilities on my back. I thought you understood that and respected me for it. But clearly, you don’t.”
He shakes his head with tired eyes, and I feel heartbroken. Not because of his shouting but because of the words he’s saying. At no point before tonight, did he let me know how much I meant to him. And now that I do know, I might have already fucked everything up. His threat from earlier outside the restaurant stays with me. Unless that is, you want this arrangement of ours to come to an abrupt end. I don’t want this to end, and I don’t want my father to pay the price for my emotional outburst.
By the time I look up through my watery eyes, Antonio is leaving. The door closes, and the lock latches. I can hear him stand on the other side, his breaths falling against the door, and then he leaves, his footsteps fading away as once again I find myself imprisoned, doomed to roam this room with an endless confusion toward the person I’m becoming.
I take off my high heels and throw them across the room, knocking over and breaking a desk lamp next to the bed. I lean my back against the wall, then slide down onto my ass, on the cold floor. I curse myself for being so stupid, a million doubts racing in my mind, my logical inner voice seeming to find me only when I have no choice but to contemplate, to question my own judgment. My night started with me feeling on top of the world. I had exuded such a sense of pride toward the fact that Antonio had chosen me to be on his arm. Dare I say it, I was excited to be with someone who everyone around us seemed to look up to and feared. I felt powerful. Then, when we sat down, and started talking, it turned into something far more intimate—or so I thought. Maybe that’s just the price you pay for being on the arm of a man like him. No matter what you do, you’ll always be second, and the work will always come first. Though even that conclusion doesn’t sway my attraction. So what the fuck is my problem?
I get up and head to the bathroom, stand in front of the mirror and stare at myself. Tears have stained the perfectly applied makeup that Fiona did so well. I splash water on my face, but it doesn’t wash away the fresh tears spilling over my lashes. Wanting to forget this whole fucking evening, I pull the dress off, the earrings, the hair clips. Back to my all-natural, wild-looking hair and just a t-shirt on, I slump onto the edge of the bed.
Faintly, I hear a car’s engine start from the front of the house. I stand to look out the window and see Antonio leaving with Vinnie, a duffle bag clutched in his hand. He expects me to be watching, and we both acknowledge that as he looks straight up at me. His face shows disappointment, and I drop onto the bed, listening as the car drives away, Antonio’s face embedded into my mind.
As I lie drowning in my own sorrow, I hear a noise from under the bed. What the fuck? I look down, and appearing carefully, slowly, is little Lea.
“Aww, sweety I’m so sorry!” I pick her up and put her next to me. “Were you in here the whole time?” She meows as if to answer me. I rub her back soothingly and rest my head on my arm, her body stretched out in front of my stomach. “I’m glad you’re here, though.” She purrs in response, lifting her head to touch my hand. At least I don’t have to feel so alone tonight.
A wind picks up outside that at least gives me something to listen to as my thoughts stretch out through the night. My internal examination is reaching a point that quite frankly, is starting to scare me. The words I own you and your father leaking out of Antonio’s mouth, each word poised to be a stark reminder of how irrelevant I truly am, that mine and my father’s lives are disposable. That can’t be how he feels, though, can it? Surely he feels the same way about me as I do him? Or is that just my wishful thinking? Because let’s face it, could I realistically tell myself that my father’s body isn’t being buried out in the woods somewhere? Or that he hasn’t been dealt with already? Is the hope I have toward Antonio’s reciprocation of my feelings enough to make sure that he’s not going to have me carted off somewhere and end up with a tag around my toe?
Truth is, I just don’t know.
I consider the ordeal my father must be going through. Fuck, he must be going out of his mind, thinking the worst, as I am now. My chest starts to hurt considering the possibilities of his well-being. What was in that bag Antonio took with him? I want to tell myself that everything will be okay, but I’d be lying.
* * *
I don’t knowwhat time it is, but it’s still dark outside when I awaken to the sound of a car’s engine. It rushes to a stop, then I hear car doors opening and slamming shut. By the time I get up to look from the window, all I see is the parked black SUV. It looks like the same kind Antonio left in. I stay for a few minutes, but the car just sits there, so I guess everyone’s already gone inside. Retreating back to the bed, I hug my knees to my chest and wait.
You know, I’m realizing now that the life I was headed toward before this mindfuck of an escapade happened with Antonio, was one that I’m sure most people may aspire to have. I mean, if I break it down, what possible outcome would my quiet existence have had? Probably, I would have worked a little while longer in the bookstore, then let Chad, or someone like him, sweep me off my feet—or at least that’s how society brands it when in reality I might have had one, maybe two years of what seemed like happiness. Then, I would have gotten pregnant, become a housewife to a guy who makes a decent living, a mother to kids I’m sure I would have loved and, to everyone looking in on us, they would think us to be the perfect family. When, all the while, our sex lives would have likely halted due to lack of any excitement or attraction to one and the other, though Chad, being the good guy he is, wouldn’t leave me, he would just have his fun with some young thing in the city, for the children’s sake you understand, while I slowly die inside knowing that the life I chose was the wrong one. Well, at least my father would have been happy. I laugh loudly out toward my empty room at the thought. At the obscurity to think, that my abduction into the Moretti house, had in many ways, saved me.
Even though he did lie to me for most of my life, I know my father’s character. He was doing what he could, wanting what he thought was the best for me. Then what does that make me? What would he think of the idea that not only did I willingly give myself to Antonio, but wished him to be a part of my life? And what happens when my father is unable to pay his debts? It’s too disturbing to contemplate. From my core, I want to believe that Antonio wouldn’t inflict that kind of pain on me. I want to persuade myself that it won’t happen, but I can’t.
Even from inside my room, I hear the crashing of crockery, voices shouting out, arguing. I run to press my ear against the door. The shouting continues, then dies off to the sound of footsteps—ones that are unusual in rhythm and pace. They get closer, along with the acoustics of a long-winded breath. Thump! Something lands against my door. I jump back.
“Mia! You made me do this. You remember what I said, I own you.”
“Antonio?” I ask. The voice that is speaking to me with intoxicated slurs.
“You made me do this.”