“Me too. Honestly.” He leans back in his chair and our eyes meet.
So many secrets over the years and it comes down to my arranged marriage.
“Who is he?” I my fist ache from my squeezing the so tight as I wait anxiously.
“I can’t tell you. He wants to do that himself.” His grey eyes have a hint of blue now. That means he’s no longer angry with me for my stunt at the gala.
I lower my eyes and put a hand to my forehead, thinking. Who could this man be?
“Okay, I’m promised to someone. Why does it matter if I know his name or not?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that there is a strict set of things that need to be carried out.” He fidgets with a pen in his not so thin hands, but he’s not focused like normal.
I want to protest more, throw a tantrum and break shit but when I see Papa sitting there, he looks. . . tired. In fact, it’s more than that, his shoulders are slightly rounded, like a man who caved, gave up. He’s a man that lost something, and I think it’s bigger than him losing me to this man with no name.
Fuck. I don’t even get the last word on this to gain some satisfaction that he’s a terrible father for letting me go so easily, without a fight. My understanding of psychology has come in handy, particularly today. But I’m not able to gloat as pity rises in my gut. It’s never happened before, but I can’t kick him when he’s down and it looks like someone else kicked the shit out of him first.
No matter how I hate being the daughter of a don with no free will, I can’t fight him today.
He’s lived a life of grandeur. He’s a figure that’s larger than life to everyone on the island. Today, I see the years of stress that appeared overnight. Or were they building up and I missed them?
“Does this have anything to do with you and Mama having words on the plane and the incident?”
“Yes, and no. I’m not sure what is related anymore.”
He stands, throwing his chest out enough to square his shoulders but it’s shy of hitting the mark of the confident don I’ve always known him to be. It’s as if I saw a stripped-down version of him a second ago. He’s an Italian race car that was demolished in Rome, and overnight, he will emerge, rebuilt. All the blemishes—gone.
The breath I’ve been holding comes out in a long whew. I didn’t realize I wasn’t breathing but these revelations challenge me to put the puzzle pieces together.
13
Massimo
“Hi Mama,” I say, kissing her on both cheeks. She loves me but she’s not Italian and has never been as affectionate as I’d like. I must get that from my father’s side of the family. Doesn’t matter, I love her all the same.
She’s busy making byrek, my favorite Albanian treat, which involves stuffing pastry dough with cheese and folding them into tiny triangles. She looks up to say, “Massimo, how are you? Work?”
“It’s all fine, Mama.” I sit at the kitchen table, and she brings me a glass of warm tea. It’s a Sunday afternoon in early December. I try to take some time off, but it rarely lasts long. How am I ever going to find time for Valentina?
The condo is larger than most, with three bedrooms and two bathrooms in a nice area of Florence. Not many can afford to live in the city anymore and most are moving out to the suburbs that are frowned upon by the upperclass.
Mama could have nicer things, but she won’t take money from me. If she accepted my help, it would decimate Papa’s ego. And she definitely won’t ask for anything from Grandfather. Supposedly there was a big argument when I was little. I don’t remember it, but I’ve heard bits and pieces that account for their strained relationship but it doesn’t explain it.
They rarely talk but Mama still washes his money, I run the Albanian clan with a few top leaders, and life is good.
Today the condo feels damp from the chill, but the hot oven will burn it off and the tea warms me from the inside. Last week, there was a shit storm of snow in the mountains, so ski season is in full swing. It usually is in December. Florence is cold and windy this time of year, hence the wool coat and scarf.
I can’t stop thinking about Valentina and even jerked off last night fantasizing about her full breasts in my mouth and her tight pussy squeezing my cock. It makes me wish January was already here, but my word is my word. I trust letting her have time to wrap things up in Sicily will put her in a better mood. Besides, my house is being cleaned and prepped for a runaway bride.
I can’t figure her out but once she knows her family’s life depends on her, I’m confident she’ll be more accommodating. I’d rather have her with me of her own free will. But if push comes to shove, I’ll lay down the law.
“So, you went to Rome with Savio?”
“Yes, business and pleasure,” I say, stirring sugar into my warm tea. “Where’s Papa?”
“He took your brother to get more books for school. He should’ve done the same for you. You could have been a doctor, you know.”
“What’s with always comparing me to Cosimo? School or no school, he’ll never earn what I make.”