Don’t go to bed without blowing out that candle.
For someone who’s been told what to do and how to act all my life, it surprises me that I like it when he does it. It just feels different when it’s him. Less of an imperative or an order, and more of a kind encouragement to take care of myself. Toma was like that, too, when Dante was taken and I couldn’t eat because of the stress and the grief. He shadowed me, made sure I ate and slept and was a comforting presence when all I wanted to do was drown.
Ever since I realised I have a stalker, I haven’t felt compelled to touch the raised skin on my thighs and reminisce about how it felt when I put it there. It used to be a strong outlet to my constant fear of not being enough. For the grief. Because grief isn’t something I can control but bleeding was. I’ve managed notto touch a blade in that way for years now. Though I’m proud of what I have accomplished on my own, it’s easier knowing I’m also doing it for him. He probably wouldn’t like it if I hurt myself that way.
None of my family members would like it either but I’ve kept that side of me hidden and I have no intention of ever showing it to them.
I dial my father, who’s still due to visit me, but hasn’t made any effort to choose a date. It hurts more than it should, but I ignore it. That smile is firmly in place when he picks up.
“How’s my princess? How’s Scotland?”
“It’s great,” I manage to say, the lie tasting ashen on my tongue. “I can’t wait to show you my neighbourhood. They have this super nice pub around the corner with so many craft beers, you’d love it.”
He clears his throat and I brace for what I know will come next. “That sounds fantastic, but I won’t be able to come in this semester,ma princesse. I’m sorry.”
“Oh. Sure. Of course.” As casually as I can—though my voice breaks—I ask, “So, any news about Diane? Busy at work?”
“You know how it is.” He dodges my question again. My father has never shied away from showing me all the ugly parts of our business.
“Did something happen?” I push, anger starting to bubble under the disappointment.
“Nothing to worry about.”
“Dad, I know when you’re lying.”
This is the first time I’m so curt with my dad, and his silence tells me he’s surprised by it. I crush the phone in my hand, my other fist blanching with the strength of my frustration. I deserve to know if anything dangerous might happen to him. I know it’s a daily occurrence. Threats against his life and ourorganisation, debts to collect and enemies to keep at bay. But this is different. He’s keeping me in the dark on purpose.
You wanted out of mafia life, didn’t you?My brain reminds me. My vision blurs but I clamp my lips shut so the tears don’t fall.
“You know what? Never mind. Keep your secrets,” I quip.
“Princesse, don’t be like that. I can’t talk about it, okay? The less you know, the safer you are.”
“It didn’t used to be like this,” I retort, angry and hurt.
“You used to be a mafia daughter,” he replies like it costs him to say it. The words are like a whip. Because he’s right. This is what I wanted. My choice might cut me deeper than a blade ever did. “I’ll call you soon,princesse. Bye.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer and hangs up, leaving me to deal with the emotions left in the wake of this bizarre conversation. I’m not a mafia daughter anymore, but they’re still my family. How do I cleave myself in two and get out of it intact?
TWELVE
TOMA
My bright little rose isn’t so bright as her father hangs up the call. I didn’t place any camera inside her flat but my view of her living-room is unobstructed. She tilts her head back, blinking a few times. Then, shakes her body as though she can get rid of negative emotions, just like that. I watch as she goes into the bathroom and closes the door behind her. Hopefully, she’ll take a relaxing bath.
I didn’t intend to listen in on the call.
Maybe I did.
I’m not going to blame myself for being curious. The time I spent with the Venturas before the summer gave me the impression that Lucie and her adoptive dad, Bruno, are close. Yet, she barely receives texts and this was the first call since the night of her goodbye party. It doesn’t feel right.
She deserves to be loved consistently, not just when it’s convenient.
Before I know what I’m doing, I open seven different windows on my three screens, accessing portals developed by the best engineers and coders in both legal and illegal worlds. I speed through years of camera feeds, following Bruno Armaniand his brother and second-in-command, Michel. They’re not the only ones catching my interest.
A young, bubbly Lucie accompanies her father wherever he goes. She was a cute kid, yet that same fake smile graces the features of the fourteen year-old going to a charity gala with her dad. She’s been doing the people-pleasing and lying for a while, then.
Wherever they go, Michel Armani always follows, with his wife Diane at his arm. The woman is objectively beautiful. A full head above her husband, lithe, brunette. I prefermywoman, with her full body and colourful clothes.
