“I’ll fill you in on the details later.”
Before I can say anything else, he stands up just in time for Julian’s arrival.
“Everything alright here?” Julian glares at the interloper.
“Everything’s fine.” I squeak. “We were just talking about the fall event calendar.”
I’m the worst liar ever, and I can tell Julian isn’t remotely buying it, but he seems to let it go as Nate turns to leave.
“See you around, Gabi.”
I nod at him and gather up my things, avoiding Julian’s gaze.
“I should get to class.”
By Friday,Nate has called me a few times, seemingly abandoning our Discord chat.
I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, but our conversations feel more stilted. Part of me wonders if he’s actually Eros, but I’m too embarrassed to ask now. I keep thinking about what he said in the café—if I was going to pretend I didn’t know who he was. It makes sense that he’s Eros, but I think I’m a little disappointed.
When he invites me to a dock party on Saturday, my first instinct is to say no. Parties with strangers aren’t my scene, and it gives me anxiety even thinking about it. But at the same time, I feel like I need to step out of my comfort zone and give this a chance. I can’t just let the months pass me by until I’m forced to marry Riccardo and let him touch me. I want to live while I still can.
I call Mariella and ask for her help. Being the only daughter of the Vitale family, she’s spent a lot of time in this penthouse and knows it well. She’s also one of the smartest people I know. When she isn’t helping abused women through the Aegis network she created, she’s doctoring for The Society and theCosa Nostraalike. Whenever there’s a problem, she almost always has a solution, and she doesn’t let me down.
She tells me about the panic room in the penthouse, explaining that it has a private elevator. All I need to do is get to the primary suite, and I can use that to leave without Julian finding out.
That’s a problem for tomorrow. For now, I have to focus on the more immediate disaster—which is tonight’s dinner with Riccardo.
I’ve felt sick to my stomach all day just thinking about it, and I could hardly concentrate in class. If I didn’t already know Michael would rage at me, I’d tell them I came down with something. Unfortunately, I doubt that excuse would work. So I drag myself out to the car beside Julian and settle in for the thirty-minute ride to Laurelhurst.
The Venturis are related to the Vitales, and like the Vitales, they come from generational wealth. That wealth has trickled down to Riccardo, and he flaunts it every chance he gets.
Over the years, I’ve heard stories about him sowing his wild oats and blowing his cash on coke, escorts, and high-stakes poker games. But like most men in the Mafia, there comes a time when they have to settle down and appear "respectable".
Marriages in theCosa Nostraare transactional, usually involving cash or business arrangements. In my case, it was my stepfather Michael’s responsibility to strike a deal. He’s never seen me as anything more than an annoyance he had to deal with, and he was all too happy to sell me off.
Riccardo’s reputation has limited his choice of brides, but somehow everyone involved makes it sound like he’s doing me a favor. Michael pitched me as “different, but obedient,” telling Riccardo I’d play the dutiful wife and wouldn’t nag him.
Riccardo made a point of relaying all this after our first family dinner, when he told me I didn’t look autistic—as if that were a compliment.
A more insufferable man has never existed, and I knew then that I would never love him. But, truthfully, I also feel like it’s what I deserve. Romeo’s life wouldn’t be ruined if it weren’t for me, so it only seems fitting that I should suffer for the rest of my days, too.
When the car pulls to a stop on the driveway of the Venturi home, I’m not remotely prepared. But I never really am.
Julian gives me a sidelong glance as he holds the door open, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he looks sympathetic to my plight. I’m not sure whether it’s because I have to marry Riccardo or because I had the misfortune of arriving at the same time as my parents.
I stand at attention, every muscle in my body rigid as I watch them pile out of the car. Michael exits first, dressed like a slickcar salesman in a suit three decades out of fashion. Except, instead of slinging cars, he spends his time at a mob-owned nightclub. A noxious cloud of cologne follows him wherever he goes, and his gel-lacquered hair could survive a category five hurricane.
Likewise, my mom Angie prefers to wear dresses so tight she has to shuffle from place to place. Her signature makeup look is from the eighties, and her hair is teased within an inch of its life. She’s almost always chewing on gum and looking down her nose at everyone else. We’ve never had anything in common, and most people wouldn’t even guess we’re related.
The only person absent tonight is my half-brother Joey—the golden child.
He was born four years after me, and he already had our parents’ favor simply because he was a son, rather than a daughter.
It’s not as if there was ever a competition. My mother never hid her resentment toward me. She loved my father, but for some reason, the fact that I inherited his traits did little to endear me to her. I was born in his likeness—so similar she could hardly stand to look at me. In turn, that resemblance seemed to breed bitterness in my stepfather. In a way, I’ve always been a haunting reminder of the man who came before him.
For those reasons, I spent the majority of my childhood making myself small and holding my breath. I did my best to stay out of their way, living for the moments I could spend with Abella, Valentina, and my aunt.
When my father died in a Mafia dispute, Martina took me in for a few years, and it forged an unbreakable bond. She was my father’s sister, and the only parental figure who didn’t mind the things others complained about.
