Papa nods. “He’s a free man. I have no control over him or his family. Although that will change after you’re married.” He says that last part with an iron tone that will stand no disagreement, and trust me, I’ve tried to disagree. Many times.
“Yes, a free man,” I mutter. “Free. Unlike me.”
Papa shrugs. “You will learn to tolerate him. If not love him.”
I don’t answer.
Papa rests a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t be afraid, mypiccola. If he ever hurts you, he’s a dead man. Not even marriage can protect him from that.”
I nod slowly, not sure I believe it. Papa could simply be telling me what I want to hear. He’s done it before.
I release his hand and he returns his attention to the race. After a few moments he leans toward Leonardo and whispers something in his ear. Leonardo frowns, then quickly departs with my other brother, Salvatore. I watch the pair make their way down the main aisle, and they soon vanish from view in the corridor beneath the stands.
I remain hidden behind Maurizio’s frame, but finally curiosity gets the better of me and I peer past him. The Rizzo family is still watching the race, but The Cleaver is no longer present. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. I’m gonna go with bad.
“Did you send Leonardo and Salvatore to talk to the Rizzos?” I ask papa.
“What?” he asks without looking from the track. He waves a dismissive hand, as if to silence me.
I realize I’m not going to get anything more out of him until the race is over.
The Rizzo’s had made a request earlier in the week, asking that I move in with their family before the wedding. Thankfully Papa had already refused the request. You see, he’s a traditionalist, someone who believes a groom shouldn’t sleep with his bride before the wedding night. That would be far harder for Papa to control if he let me out from under his thumb a month before. Either way, I’m just happy his beliefs worked out in my favor this time: the longer I can stay away from The Cleaver, the better.
Maybe the Rizzo’s had insisted on the move though, or otherwise made some sort of threat, and now Leonardo and Salvatore were going to have a little chat with The Cleaver. One that involved fists, hopefully. I wish. More likely my brothers had gone to discuss business with him, now that The Cleaver is practically family.
The thought makes me shudder.
I do my best to return my attention to the race. With only one lap left to go, my father returns the binoculars to me and covers his eyes with his hands, unable to watch.
I lift the cushioned eyepieces to my face and observe. Incredibly, with only twenty-five meters to go, Allegro starts to slow. The remaining horses quickly catch up; the instant before Allegro crosses the finish line, one of the others darts past, claiming first place.
Boos and hisses erupt from the crowd.
Papa tentatively lowers his hands from his head and glances at me. “What is it? Who won?”
“Allegro—” I begin, and pause. I wait for the hopeful expression in his eyes to waver, and when it does, I finish: “Lost.”
Disbelief, anger, and relief compete for dominance on his face. “Ah,piccola, don’t do that to me.” A smile spreads across his face. “So thecazzocame through for us at last. Unbelievable.” He rubs his hands eagerly. “Maurizio, take her home. I’ve got winnings to collect!”
“What about Leo and Salvatore?” I ask.
Papa waves a dismissive hand next to his head. “Leo has his own car.” He shuffles away with his own bodyguards.
I lean past Maurizio to look for the Rizzo family, but I can’t spot them in the crowd dispersing down the aisles. I try not to read too much into it—the race is over after all. Maybe they left early to avoid the usual congestion that grips the parking lot after a race.
“Well, you heard the boss,” Maurizio tells me. “Time to go, Angela.”
I cross my arms. “I’m just as much your boss as he is. Did I mention I hate it when you call me Angela by the way?” Maurizio only calls me that when he expects me to do precisely as he asks, which is invariably something my father ordered, usually under the guise of my safety.
Maurizio calmly beckons toward the aisle. “Come on, let’s go Angel.” He winks.
I sigh and turn to go.
Two of the bodyguards slip ahead of me and I follow; Maurizio and another guard assume positions behind me.
Though I might not act like it, I’ve always loved Maurizio. He’s been my bodyguard since I was twelve, and almost like a second father to me, there for me all the times Papa was not. Maurizio would do anything to protect me, even give his life—he’s taken bullets for me after all. When I was younger he used to call me Little Angel. Now it’s just Angel.
I return my gaze to the pair of bodyguards ahead of me. Theyaretrying to protect me, but sometimes I feel overprotected, if you know what I mean—to the point of suffocation. Though I suppose right now I’m glad they’re with me, especially after sighting my husband-to-be.
