It’s like living through a fever dream, sitting here at this big, round table in the back room of a restaurant my father rented for the entire night.We can’t risk other customers walking in and out of the main dining room.Not with a war still going on, though tonight is supposed to be the first step in putting the war to bed for good.
It’s too late for that.The toothpaste is way out of the tube, and there’s no putting it back in.Dad doesn’t think I pay attention to things.I’ve never been sure whether he thinks I’m naïve or plain stupid.As far as he’s concerned, I’m someone to pat on the hand and send on my way.Someone to spoil and pamper like a child.He thinks it’s as easy as handing me a new toy or a new dress, I’ll giggle, and scamper away.Then he can go back to the things that really matter.
He’s never given me any credit for having a mind of my own, which is why he thinks I’ll accept this whole marriage idea without question.It doesn’t matter that so many lives were already lost.So many families torn apart, kids left without their fathers, all because of greed.
And partly because of my brother, Alessandro.
Joining our families in marriage isn’t going to erase all of the pain or wash away the spilled blood.There will be people holding grudges.Maybe somebody is hoping for vengeance after what they have lost.One wedding isn’t going to wipe the slate clean, even if Dad wants to believe it will.
Sitting next to my mother, hands folded in my lap, I watch the great Giorgio Vitali chatting quietly with a couple of his most trusted men over by the door separating us from the darkened dining room.I can’t make out their words, but I sense the energy behind them from across the room.The Santoros must be close.
“Posture,” Mom hisses, nudging me under the table before tucking a strand of my chocolate brown hair behind my ear.Because in the middle of all of this, that’s what matters?Whether or not I’m sitting like there’s a broomstick against my back?
Maybe I did let myself slump a little while sitting here, contemplating my fate.The wordsacrificeis one I was raised with.The importance of sacrificing what we might want in the moment for the sake of the bigger picture, the entire family.Legacy, history, all of the bullshit my brother bought into hook, line, and sinker.
And what did it get him?He’s an outcast now, someone whose name can only be spoken in the most hushed whispers.Dad’s greatest disappointment.The son he had pinned all of his hopes on for all these years.Maybe if Alessandro had been disciplined from the get-go, he wouldn’t have turned into the man he became.Somebody who scared me sometimes, and I’m the one person besides Mom who was always able to bring him around whenever he plunged into the darkness that was never far from the surface.
Somebody whose thoughtless, self-indulgent actions led me to this moment.Sitting here in a cream-colored suit, digging my nails into my palms to keep from screaming about how unfair this is.I love my brother, I even miss him sometimes, but he can go to hell.
The doors open, and a slow parade of people begins trickling into the banquet room.A couple of tall, wiry men in dark suits enter first, their eyes scanning the space in a practiced way that tells me they’re used to providing security to the Santoros.Next comes a handsome, dark-haired man in a navy-blue suit, sauntering in with a pretty girl on his arm.She’s not the sort of woman I’m used to seeing hanging around.The wordbimbocomes to mind when I think of them, all flash, fake nails, and obnoxiously huge boobs.
“Luca Santoro,” the young man murmurs to Dad, shaking his hand before turning to the girl next to him.“This is my fiancée, Emilia.”
Emilia.He brought her here?I can’t believe it took me until now to put it together.This is the girl Alessandro abducted, and turned an ongoing war into a bloodbath.
There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence before Dad extends a hand to her.“It’s a pleasure to meet you.Congratulations on your engagement.”
“Thank you,” Emilia murmurs, shaking his hand while wearing a faint smile.She used to be a detective, if I’m remembering correctly—yet another juicy tidbit I wasn’t supposed to find out about.
Behind them are two women.One, probably in her late teens but trying to look older, with shining black curls and huge, dark eyes that sparkle as she smiles at Dad.The woman with her is older, matronly, with gray streaks in her hair.She looks kind and soft.Chic, but in a non-flashy way.The opposite of Mom, in other words, who doesn’t feel complete unless she’s wearing at least thirty carats of diamonds and a fresh spray tan.
“Isabella Santoro,” Mom whispers, standing before prompting me to do the same with a nudge.“Come on.Lesson one, get in good with your mother-in-law.”
Another one of Mom’s pearls of wisdom.Widening my smile, I stand, smoothing my hands down the front of my suit jacket and pencil skirt before following her lead and walking over to greet the women.My legs are shaking.Dammit.I can’t get over the sense of a lamb being led to slaughter.
“This must be Sophia.”Isabella beams my way.I can’t pretend it’s not nice, feeling the warmth of her smile as she makes no effort to hide the way she looks me up and down.I would expect nothing less when I’m about to marry her son.
The girl at her side thrusts a hand my way.“I’m Guilia Santoro.The younger sister who knows all the embarrassing dirt about your fiancé.”
I like this girl.Taking her hand, I reply, “Guilia.It’s nice to meet you.”So far, so good.
Isabella rolls her eyes a little at her daughter before chuckling.“Trust my youngest to be impatient.”
I would say something about being glad to meet her, too, if it wasn’t for the sudden entrance of a man who can only be my fiancé.Of course, I looked him up as soon as I learned his name, and the tall, broad-shouldered, black-haired man strolling into the room, immediately greeting Dad, has the same cleft in his chin and the same deep-set dark eyes.
I’m no saint.I would never make a good nun.I can admit that much at least to myself.So it’s no surprise when the first sight of him makes me rock back on my heels just a little, enough to remind me there’s more to this than family obligation.I’m going to be married to a living, breathing man whose large hand grips Dad’s in what is obviously a tight handshake.
Dante Santoro.He murmurs some pleasantries to Dad before his gaze shifts and lands on me.Understanding pinches his brows together before they smooth out again.Of course, I’m the only young woman here besides Emilia and Guilia, so I must be the sacrificial lamb.
Yet instead of taking a step forward to introduce himself, his father does all the talking.Rocco Santoro passed some strong genetics onto his boys, but the years have softened what were once chiseled features.Like Dad, he’s getting older.
I wonder if he had to pop a painkiller to get through this evening with energy.Yet another little secret I’m not supposed to know about—the way Dad is falling apart from the inside out.Does Rocco know that’s the real reason Dad wants this wedding to happen right away?Not out of any fatherly love, pride, or anything like that.It’s not like walking his daughter down the aisle is on his bucket list.He wants to make sure our families are united before he dies, especially when Alessandro essentially forfeited his place at the head of the family when he fled and cut off everybody he knows.Leaving the family with no skilled leader would mean the end of the family.
This is our best hope of avoiding a blood-drenched war, too, since the Santoro family has every reason in the world to want us wiped off the map.
Dad doesn’t know I pay attention.That I know my brother got ahead of himself and assumed he’d take Dad’s place any day, thanks to his failing health.Alessandro made many rash decisions that resulted in a lot of people being hurt and killed on both sides.
It’s a good thing Dad has a daughter he can use as an olive branch, I suppose.
