Eliza
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” Dad says, tucking his napkin into his collar like the old man he is. Parents are so embarrassing.
“Okay, Daddy,” I say, smiling at him across the table. We’re atJean-Jean, a fancy little bistro down the street from our place. Anyone walking in would think we’re alone, but I know better. At the next table, four of his men sit eating their own dinner with ears out to every conversation, eyes on every person who walks in or walks by the place. Outside, it’s a beautiful early summer day, the sun shining. Blink twice and you’d miss our driver keeping watch on the door, ready to whisk us away at the slightest sign of danger. When you’re the don of a family at war with the ruthless Valentis, you can’t be too careful.
“As you know, there comes a time when every Pomponio has a duty to fulfill,” Dad says.
“I know.”
“You’re eighteen now, but you’ll always be my little girl, Liza.”
I look up, startled by what, for him, is a downright sappy speech. Alarm bells go off in my mind, and my heart does a little stutter step.
Please don’t let this be what I think it is…
“I’m still your little girl,” I say. “I’m barely eighteen.”
And sure, I’ve seen more than my fair share of blood and death, but that doesn’t mean I’m an adult, ready to take on the responsibilities of a mafia woman. All this talk of duty and growing up makes dread sink heavy into my gut. I grip the table, feeling lightheaded. I’m not ready for this.
“There’s been bad blood between us and the Valentis for too long,” Dad goes on. “It’s time we put an end to it.”
“Really?” I ask, drawing back. “You’re going to forgive them for everything they’ve done?”
“Forgive?” Dad asks, then laughs quietly and shakes his head. “We’re both ready for it to be over, that’s all. You know, it started as a turf war. But during the past ten years, the lines were clearly drawn. There’s no reason to keep fighting. They’ve got their territory and we’ve got ours. Happened naturally.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. “I guess that makes sense. No reason to lose more men without cause.”
“I’m glad you understand,” he says. “We’ve all made sacrifices, sweetheart.”
I wonder if he’s thinking of Mom. I know I am. She sacrificed everything for her freedom—including us. Dad could have tracked her down and had her killed, but he didn’t. He let her go.
“I know, Daddy,” I say, reaching across the table to pat his hand. I stare down at it, surprised by how rough and wrinkled his skin feels. I can’t remember the last time I touched him. His fingers are thick and calloused, his knuckles cracked. When did he get so old?
“Now it’s time for us to make another one,” he says. “A marriage shows our good faith with the Valentis, that we’re all one family now.”
“A marriage pact?” I whisper, my blood turning to ice. Even though I knew it was coming in some part of me, I’m still horrified by the outcome of this conversation.
“Al and I agree it’s the right move.”
“Oh, now it’sAl and I?” I ask incredulously. “Like you’re good buddies who haven’t been trying to kill each other for the past decade?”
The families always have plenty of drama and feuding, but the Valentis are pure evil. Even I know that. Growing up, that was the one family I wasn’t allowed to associate with at school or anywhere else. Because Daddy knew how ruthless they were, how treacherous. I was a child when they started this shit. They killed my brother. They’re the reason Mom left. How can Dad just decide that doesn’t matter?
“You’ve been having a lot of fun running around in the city,” Dad says. “I may not have always been the best father to you, but I do notice what you’re doing. And I think it would be good for you to rein it in a bit, don’t you?”
His voice may be gruff, but his eyes are pleading. He wants me to be okay with this. But how can I?
“I can do that,” I say desperately. “No more parties, no clubs. I’ll call up Gianna and hang out with her instead of Lizzie and Bianca. I’ll be good, Daddy. I won’t even drink. You can have Vince report back. I can be good. You’ll see.”
Dad bobs his head once. “We all make sacrifices for this family, sweetheart.”
I’m not making a sacrifice for this family. Iamthe sacrifice.
“Daddy, please,” I beg. “Not Al Valenti. He’ll kill me as revenge!”
“He won’t kill you,” Dad says, shifting around and glancing at the table of bodyguards, probably hoping I won’t make a scene.
Sorry, Daddy. Scenes are my specialty. How else is a girl supposed to get shit done? It’s not like Iwantto cry and beg in public, but sometimes, it’s the only way to get a man’s attention.