Marcello, too, offered me his most appraising scrutiny, though as usual, he kept his counsel to himself.
“Nothing’s different. I’m pissed off at Angelo. That’s nothing new.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Savio kept going. “Since when do you give a fuck what happens to Giorgio Bonifacio?”
I frowned at him. “Since it upset Lucia.”
“I thought you were considering gettingridof Lucia.”
“I…” I trailed off. “That was before.”
“Before what?” Savio prompted me. Little asshole.
“Before I slept with her. She’s a good lay, all right?”
“If you’re going to bat for her against Father, I’d say she’s more than a good lay,” Marcello spoke up, and I flipped him the bird. The thing about him was that when he did use his words, they could be irritatingly insightful.
“You care about her,” Savio jumped in again.
“She’s going to be my wife,” I said as an explanation, but that wasn’t on par with the typical actions of ourfamiglia. Cavettis didn’t care. We were ruthless bastards who didn’t give a damn about anyone but ourselves and our legacy. We certainly didn’t feel more than that. We didn’t do love.
Love.
The word felt almost foreign to me. Only one person had loved me, and she’d been gone for so long that I barely remembered her.
Rather than allowing my brothers to get the upper hand, I volleyed the ball right back at them. “Make sure Father doesn’t find out about you two jumping the twins. Knowing him, he has plans for them.”
They each looked horrified, and I left them there. Ready to go back to myfarfalla.
15
Lucia
Romeo had stayed out all day, and while this wasn’t abnormal behavior, today had supposedly been when he’d take me to see my sisters. Yet, he hadn’t. In fact, he hadn’t come around since this morning, and I had to accept an unassailable conclusion.
He’d lied to me.
What I didn’t know was why. Had he meant to get my hopes up only to dash them? Had this been meant as a way to reestablish his power over me? Did he fear he’d gone too soft and wished to tighten up the reins? Or had he simply forgotten?
Only as I brought up and discarded option after option did another possibility enter my mind. What if he’d been hurt? Every single day Romeo left me to go do “mafia family business.” I never knew specifics about what he did, just like I’d never been privy about what my father or brothers did on a day to day basis. But it was deadly work. What would I do if he died? Or if he became so injured as to be powerless? Would I be in danger from Angelo or the other Cavettis?
Would they consider me and myfamiglialoose ends they would need to tie up?
It would be so easy for them to erase all of us from existence. That had always been a possibility. What interested me about this line of thinking was how much it highlighted Romeo’s protection of me. He’d interceded on my behalf for Giorgio and maybe also for my sisters. Without him standing as a hindrance to his father, who knew what Angelo might decide.
The patriarch apparently wanted a wedding, some sort of legal connection between the Cavettis and the Bonifacios. I wondered if something were to happen to Romeo if his father would marry me off to one of his other sons. If I’d be transferred like a bank balance. And whether that would improve my circumstances or worsen them.
I envisioned what such a scenario would be like. If I’d be given the chance to see his body. If I’d be treated as a widow if we weren’t yet married. What it would be like to look at the man who’d both tormented and made love to me and recognize that he was dead. My breath caught and my chest ached at the idea, my throat burning as if singed.
Pain. I would feel pain if Romeo died. Despite how messed up our relationship had been, I would feel sorrow. A lot of it. I would grieve his loss. I would mourn. I would miss him.
I missed him even now.
Where had that come from?
Was what I felt for him just a need for him to guard me or something more? I thought about the night we’d first had sex and felt my insides quiver. I loved what he did to me, even when it verged on discomfort. The ecstasy he offered stayed with me. I felt his arms holding me tight, his lips on mine, his fingers pressing against me. Even though I’d been sore that next day, I’d always wanted more. Maybe what I felt for him was pure addiction.
Romeo wasn’t like the men I’d seen in romantic comedies or dramas on TV. He wasn’t some benevolent suitor showing up to tell me he loved me. He wasn’t Prince Charming or some knight in shining armor. But I did care about how he was, which was so ironic. Hadn’t I threatened his life not all that long ago? Even if I’d known when I’d said the threat just how idle it was.
