“We were born into this. If there was any choice, it was for Dad. He made the choice to enter the mafia world. We don’thave the choice of leaving. The mafia is both a nectar and a poison; no one just leaves after getting into it, no matter how indirect. Dad isn’t even a soldier, but he was so invested that he ingrained mafia ways into us from when we were kids. He already put us out there; the world knows us. So, even if we’d like to pull back, they will find a way to drag us back in.”
“If Mom were here, would she have stopped Dad from revealing us to the world?”
“I don’t know, Bella. There’s no way to know. She’s not here,” he answered, his eyelids drooping.
A silent moment passed before his gaze left the table and found mine.
“But you have higher chances of leaving this life behind. That is, if you don’t marry a mafia man.”
“I’m never doing that!” I disclosed. “I’d rather remain a spinster for life than marry another version of Dad.”
“Knowing Dad, he’s probably joking with his fellow mafia men about his lovely daughter being ripe for marriage,” he uttered, chuckling. “Time will tell, I guess.”
“He won’t force me into anything. Nobody can.”
“I know.”
“Besides, the worst Dad can do is suggest someone.”
“Honestly? I wouldn’t be so sure,” he started, his eyes on the wall far behind me. “I’ve sat at tables where Dad made decisions that shocked me. In many instances, he has made me wonder where his head’s at in terms of moral upstanding. Heonly knows what’s currently in front of him, and that’s putting it mildly.”
“I…I don’t understand. Are you saying Dad is corrupt? Like, those traitors or double agents?”
“Not that. Slow down,” he clarified, chuckling. “I’m not saying he’s involved in secret deals. All I’m saying is that he can be unpredictable in some situations.”
“Unpredictable,” I repeated.
“Forget it,” he dismissed. “Last one to get to the kitchen makes lunch.”
“You cheat,” I yelled, dashing towards the kitchen after him.
A knock on my door pushed me back into reality. Albeit a harsh one.
“Come in,” I called.
The door opened, and Sasha, my tailor’s apprentice and occasional delivery lady, walked in. She shut the door behind her, a black dress covered in transparent film flowing from the hanger she held up.
“Good morning, ma’am,” she greeted, a polite smile on her face.
“Morning, Sasha.”
“She said she’s sure this is the perfect choice. That you’ll love it.”
“Right,” I uttered, gesturing for her to place the dress on the edge of the bed.
“I heard about…” she started as she carefully laid the dress on the bed. Rising back to her full height, she continued, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks,” I answered in a monotone.
“I’ll leave now.”
I had to give it to her. She did know how to read the room.
I nodded, and she turned, quickly exiting the room.
If any of my dad’s men had seen her, which was almost unavoidable, since she’d have to pass through those stationed at the main entrance doors, chances were that my dad would send for me soon. Well, that was assuming he was now in the mood to speak more than monosyllables. Since my brother died, he had been distant and…absent. He barely answered my questions, hardly had anything to say to or around me at all. While I had easily chalked it up to some masculine grief mechanism or logic, I couldn’t deny that it bothered me. It was unusual.
Anyway, I should start preparing.
