“Sorry,” Ezra says. “We’re born to the family we’re born to. You can want normal all you want, but you’re a Campisi. And as much as it pisses off Vincenzo, you are the smartest of us.”
Vince scoffs.
“You need to come home,” Ezra says, ignoring our older brother. “You need security. You need to learn the business, even the parts you don’t want to see. And now that you’re done with school, he wants to introduce you to some people.”
“People?” I ask. I’m physically and emotionally numb at the moment, barely able to comprehend this conversation.
“Men,” Vince says. “Suitable matches.”
I stare at him, then look to Ezra for confirmation. He nods.
“He wants you to have someone,” Ezra says.
I look at my brothers, then back at the dead woman. Christina Petrella. “She had someone. Look where that got her.”
I think of Maria, who was largely free from this, living her best life in LA. And now she’s getting pulled back in, marrying Mikey Dee, probably on the road to having little mafia babies.
With all of my soul, I don’t want any of that.
“No,” I hear myself say.
“No?” Vince says with a laugh.
I look him straight in the eye. “No. I don’t want any of that. I don’t want it.”
He shakes his head, then slaps me across the face. It makes a loud crack in the quiet, cold space. He sneers at me as he rants, getting closer and closer until I shove at his shoulders, trying to get him away from me.
He shoves me back, hard, hard enough that I lose my balance and fall into the metal shelving that lines the unit. Hard enough that I crumple to the ground, Christina Petrella right there to greet me when I hit the floor.
“Fuck you, Leanna,” he says. “I’d give anything to be in your place, to have the brains and education to run a whole international business empire. I’d give anything to have our father look at me like a leader, a real leader for the family. But instead, he has to play chase with you while you shit on his legacy. I take pride in this family, and you want to run from it. But guess what? You can’t.”
He spits in my face before he turns and shoves Ezra out of the storage unit. He takes a few steps, and I realize what he’s about to do, so I lunge, crawling toward the door, even though my back is aching from hitting the shelves.
“Maybe a few hours with your old friend will help you come to your senses,” he says as he slams the door, closing me in.
12
NIK
It’s beenfive Fridays now.
For five weeks, Ana has danced for me.
For five weeks, I have enjoyed the sweet smell of peaches, the feel of her small hands on my chest and thighs, always over my clothes.
I still haven’t seen her face, and somehow, that makes it sacred. There’s power in the not-seeing.
Something raw and intimate in surrendering sight.
It’s a kind of vulnerability I don’t allow outside this room.
But, I have an idea of how she might look, naked and on display for me—a visual feast.
I imagine those round breasts, plump and ready for play.
I imagine a light, pink nipple, peaked in the cool of the room.
I imagine a flat stomach and wide hips, long legs spread wide.
