“Please stop,” I beg, but by then it’s too late. The woman on the ground isn’t moving, not even breathing.
The Cleaver walks through the door and beckons to his men. “Get rid of her.”
The two guards come inside and drag the beaten woman away, locking the door behind them.
I stare at the pool of blood on the floor, all that remains of the woman’s memory. She has a family somewhere that loves her. Maybe children. A husband. And now she’ll never be coming home. All thanks to the evil man I’m going to marry.
I feel he did it mostly for show. To terrify me into submission. He doesn’t understand that it will only make me want to defy him all the more. Though whether I act on this defiance is a different story. I believed him when he said he’d break my arms for disobeying him.
I gaze at the food lying on the floor next to the pool of blood. She died over some spilled pastries, and tea. That’s all her life was worth to The Cleaver.
A short while later I hear a knock on the door.
I don’t invite whoever it is inside. No, I simply stay on the bed, gazing out through the gauzy drapes.
The Cleaver’s father, Mafia don Achille Rizzo, comes in shortly thereafter. I recognize him from the meetings he’s had with my father. His hair is almost completely gray, and his unibrow is salt and pepper. His features are cragged, like a man who smoked too much and spent too much time in the sun in his youth. His nose looks like it’s been broken and reset about a hundred times—just like his son’s, though it’s not nearly as long. Rumor has it he used to be an enforcer before he rose his family to the top of the Palermo mafia food chain.
I quickly raise my collar, not wanting him to see the hickeys Massimo left all over my neck. I’m worried what Achille will do to me if he finds out I’m not a virgin. Assuming The Cleaver hasn’t already told him.
Achille glances at the pool of blood on the floor in disgust; he fastidiously steps around it and the dropped food.
“I hope you’re finding your accommodations suitable,” Achille says.
I nod, because I guess he’s expecting an answer, and I don’t know what else to tell him.
“I apologize for the beating you had to witness earlier,” Achille says. “I’ve always told my son to do his disciplining away from other family members. And I do consider you family, now. It was rude of him to punish the maid in front of you.”
“Punish?” I say. “He killed her. Brutally.”
Achille shrugs like it’s nothing, as if to say, “it happens.”
“In any case,” he continues. “I wanted you to know, I’m moving forward the date of the wedding. You’ll marry Vittorio tomorrow. Once you are family, Giovanni will have no choice but to form an alliance with us.”
It must be true then. The Cleaver wasn’t lying: the marriage deal between my father and the Rizzos really is off. None of this had to happen.
If only Massimo’s brothers hadn’t betrayed him. Then again, from their point of view, it was Massimo who had betrayedthem.
Achille adds: “Your father Giovanni will probably be glad when he finds out you’re Vittorio’s wife: he needs this alliance more than we do. There’s a reason he didn’t outbid us—he doesn’t have the money!”
I’m not entirely sure I believe that. If Papa really had called off the wedding, he would’ve done everything in his power to keep me from falling into the hands of the Rizzos. I think it’s more likely that Massimo and his brothers tricked my father somehow, maybe telling Papa he won so that they could take his money and leave him with nothing in return.
“Vittorio won’t touch you until tomorrow night, after your wedding,” Achille continues. “The guards outside are mine, and they’re under strict orders to only allow your maids inside. At least for today and tonight. Tomorrow, though, you will move to Vittorio’s chambers.”
I swallow uneasily, dreading the very thought of sharing a bed, let alone a room, with him.
“He’s a good boy,” Achille adds. “You’ll grow to love him, I’m sure.”
I can only stare at him in disbelief. And then I erupt in maniacal laughter. “Love him?Lovehim? I could never love someone who beats a woman to death for the crime of dropping a pastry.”
Achille glares at me, then starts to go. But he seems to think better of it, and pivots back toward me once more. He opens his arms. “Give a hug to your new papa?”
I shake my head, trying hard to keep the disgust from showing on my face.
New papa. What a crappy thought.
“Come on,” Achille says, smiling widely. “I’m not leaving until you do.” He raises his unibrow twice expectantly.
I sigh.
