No. I stared at Cezar, his eyes already devoid of their usual life. This wasn't what I wanted. I don't want Cezar to kill another family member. I don’t think he could handle that. He might be broken beyond repair, but at this point, I could hold the pieces for him and rebuild him every single day until the pieces start to stick. If he did this, there would be no pieces left.
Looking back at Ion, I realized that I didn't want to hurt him either. I didn't want that fucking bastard to win, to tear apart his own sons for his own greed. I can't let him win. He was the real enemy. Lowering the gun, letting myself hold it just a second more before handing it back to Ion. “No. I don’t want to play this game, Cezar. I don’t want to hurt Ion.”
“What the fuck is going on in here? Why the fuck are you pointing a gun at Ion? Didn't I tell you two to get her ready for dinner?”
Cezar lifted his hands in the air with his gun dangling by a finger. “What are you talking about? This is a game between a wife and her two husbands.” He chided Nicu, who was standing in the doorway. “But you wouldn't know anything about that because you're not a husband yet.” He made a show of counting his fingers, “And even if you do…you’ll be like… third.” His face scrunched up with the disgust in his voice making it sound so bad, and I couldn't help but bang my head on Ion’s chest.
“Cezar, we talked about this.” It was getting too taxing to keep having this conversation over and over with him.
“Yes, yes, yes. A white dress, a ring, and a signed piece of paper.” His eyes rolled so hard I thought they would stay that way. “Sure, ya, foryouto believe it, but forme,” he shoved Ion out of the way and pulled me in for a kiss. “It's already set in stone.”
“Oh fucking christ.” We all looked at Nicu, who rarely showed that much emotion and was glaring at us with his arms crossed. “We need to get you ready for dinner. Father’s waiting.”
He threw a soft gray,knee-length, quarter-sleeve dress onto the bed before I could complain and tell him I had nothing to wear. “Wear that with your flats,” was all he said before turning his back.
Ion went around me and picked it up, “Why did you get her a sleeved dress? It's just going to be hard for her to get into it with her shoulder wound.”
“That's why, idiot,” Nicu threw over his shoulder, “if the wound is showing, it's easier for him to find.”
Ion’s eyes lit up with understanding before coming up to me. “You’re gonna need help.”
Cezar popped over, “Oh, I can-”
Ion got right in his face, “Iwill fucking help her,” his tone telling me that it was final. It didn't matter either way to me because they had both seen me naked…well, for Ion, mostly.
“Come on, let's get this over with,” I whined, my hands going to the hem of my shirt when Ion stopped me.
“Let me help.” He was surprisingly gentle and considerate. He went slow, never made any remarks, or let his gaze stay too long in one spot. His hands touched me like I was made of glass, fragile and hesitant. Like I was something he shouldn’t be near of, let alone touch, and it kinda broke my heart.
Once we were done, Nicu took my good arm and put it in his. “We’re going to dinner. Try to keep your mouth shut unless he talks to you directly. Do you understand?”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
He smiled down at me for only a millisecond before putting on that ruthless, I-have-no-soul mask.
“And you two,” he paused, turning to face his brothers. “No matter what goes on down there, I need you to trust me.”
Cezar was the first to step forward. “What if-”
Nicu said it again, this time giving Cezar his full attention. “Ineedyou to trust me. Follow what I say, and we’ll get her out of this alive, alright?”
Cezar still didn't say anything, but gave a short nod. “Alright, brother. Old signs?”
Nicu nodded, facing forward, “Old signs.”
We continued down the hallway, down the stairs and took a left. As soon as we turned, a large dining area opened up, already set with china and flickering candlelights down the center. Plates of food were served in the center in large dishes, family style. Big, muscular men with large guns were at the ready, lined against the walls, and I knew this was trouble. At the end of the table, in a large king-like gold chair, sat a man who looked like he was in his sixties.
He wasn't terrible looking; his slicked back salt and pepper hair, more salt than pepper, gave him a distinguished look. He had a shaved down beard, well trimmed, and his forehead had large laugh lines, but that was the only thing that aged him. He smiled and waved for us to come in. “Come. Come! Sit down; the food is getting cold.” It sounded nice enough; his English almost held no trace of an accent, but when Nicu’s arm clenched underneath mine, I knew something was up.
Nicu took the seat next to his father, putting me on his other side while Ion and Cezar sat across from us. All of us sitting in silence, waiting for their father to talk first.
“Kazia… can I call you Kazia?” I nodded, even as I wished I could rip his tongue out of his mouth so he couldn't say my name again.
“Try the manti! Geta makes the best manti in all of the country.” He smiled as he motioned for Nicu to get it for me.
As soon as he grabbed the plate, his father barked out in a cruel laugh, “What is this? Why are you so slow in front of this beautiful woman? What did that time in the States teach you? How to be slow and dim-witted?”
I bit my tongue, wanting to bark out at him to quit it, but Nicu looked unfazed, just scooped a couple of the tomato sauce covered dumpling looking things onto my plate, adding some of the white cream to the side and placing the plate back in the center of the table.
