“One day you will see this was for your own good,” she said before knocking on the door, the soldier letting her out and leaving me alone again.
I grabbed my phone, desperate, and tried to call Mel, my only friend, beyond these walls. The call went straight to voicemail. Again, I sent a message instead, fingers trembling:
Hey Mel, call me girlx
Again, silence was all I got in return. I contemplated jumping off the balcony, but after much consideration realized I would probably just break some bones and end up back in here. My room is only on the second floor, after all.
By the second week, the Carlisi family journals appeared at my door, accompanied by a note from Luciano: First of many to read. At first, I refused to read them. I threw them off the side of my balcony, but within an hour Luciano was at my door with the journals in his hand. He didn’t say a word to me, just shoved them in my arms and marched away, the door locking behind him.
“Fuck you!” I screamed at the closed door.
When the silence became too suffocating, I decided to pick up one of the journals, and the stories of my family's past began to weave their dark spell around me. The underworld, so brutal yet strangely magnetic, started to pull me in but also made me question my sanity.How am I okay with this?My thoughts drifted back to the bunker and my own personal experience of the torture that happens daily in the underworld.
By the third week, I’d devoured every single journal Luciano had sent, though some things still weren’t making sense, as if some information had been left out. I begged the soldier at the door to get Gabriele for me. His visit was short, which I guess is normal for him. “Yes, Charlie?” he said through the door. I was surprised Luciano even let him come speak to me.
“Can you please get me a tablet?” I begged him from the other side.
“What for?”
“I want to do some research. You know, on the other families, like the Andretti, Rossi, De Luca… Gabriele, are you there?” I asked, the silence drowning me again.
But when I woke up the next morning, there was a tablet on my bedside table for me, full of preloaded documents and gallery slideshows on not just the Italian families but also the bratva, cartel, the local MC Clubs and information about some of our businesses. I tried going on Facebook to see if I could contact Mel, but it was blocked. What the…? I tried a couple more sites before it dawned on me that they had restricted my access to the outside. Luciano may have given me what I wanted, but at the same time, it was a reminder that he currently was in control of me.
Sitting on my balcony, sipping my morning coffee, I pondered over the information I had learnt so far about my family. It seems like we don’t have much of a family lineage left. I’m the last Carlisi in America; for now, the legacy falls on me to keep going. My mother’s only sibling—her brother, Lorenzo—died in his twenties. And the remaining of our distant family still live in Italy.
My mother loved her dad, Marco, but I can tell in her journals that she despised the way he ruled the Cosa Nostra. She still dealt all the drugs and firearms in our turf, but she stopped the skin trade and torture of women. Anyone who didn’t agree with her, she had killed until everyone followed the new way of life. She bought more clubs and brothels so she could make sure they were run a certain way and the girls looked after.
The more I read, I felt like I was becoming familiar with the language of power and blood. Somehow, those worn, yellowed pages made me feel closer to my mother, to a past I barely knew, and every night, I went to sleep with a small smile on my lips, waiting for Luciano’s arrival.
I woke up from a nightmare the other night, my heart pounding. Rolling over, I found a bare-chested Luciano in my bed, asleep. He looked so peaceful—so unlike the ruthless man I knew throughout theday. I should have been furious at his invasion of my personal space, but instead, it tugged at something deep inside me. I lay beside him for hours, staring at him, and when he started to stir, I pretended to be asleep. His hand gently pushed my hair away from my face before silently leaving my room.
These nightmares have haunted me every night since that day. I try to shove them deep into the back of my mind, refusing to let them take hold, but when I’m most vulnerable, they sometimes sneak out and for some strange reason, Luciano decided to be here with me throughout it. I won’t admit it to him, but I am grateful for it.
The morning sun beams, and I think to myself, to survive in this world, I need to be sharper, tougher, smarter than Luciano or anyone else expects. I need to become more like my mother, and the ruthless person I’ve read about. I will not let my fears show, and most of all, I will treat everyone how they treat me.
With a surge of confidence, I storm to my door and slam my fist against it, hard and loud. I know there’s a soldier on the other side of the door—there always is. “Get me Luciano. Now!” I demand, pounding on the door repeatedly, the fire in my voice refusing to be ignored.
A voice with a strong Italian accent barks back, “He’s busy.”
“Like fuck he is. Tell him to get his ass up here right now.” I kick the door hard despite it hardly moving.
“And if I don’t?” the voice challenges me.
“You can explain the mess in the bathroom that poor Rosa will find later today.” With that, I turn on my heel and stomp towards the bathroom, every step louder than the other to make my point. Pulling my hair into a messy bun, I turn on the tap, letting the hot water fill the tub, and slide in and start to count, “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six,five—”
The bedroom door bursts open with a force that shakes the very walls. Luciano marches into my bathroom, a storm brewing fiercely in his piercing blue eyes, dark and unyielding. “You want me? Here I am,” he yells at me, unhappy that he was disturbed.
I lean back casually in the tub, playing with the bubbles, moving them around so he gets glimpses of my body. A smile tugs at the corner of my lips. “I thought you were busy?”
His gaze cuts into me, sharp and full of warning. “Don’t toy with me, Principessa.” The way he’s standing, his hands in the pockets of his Armani dress pants, trying to hide his growing bulge, makes me hot.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I purr back, my eyes dancing with mischief.
He scoffs, a sound thick with frustration. “I don’t have time for your games.” He turns to leave, but I’m not done—I haven’t even started playing with him yet.
Rising sharply, I lean across the edge of the bath, my tits on full display. I catch his reflection in the mirror, and every inch of him tenses, his eyes darkening with a hunger that makes my pulse race quicker. Luciano slowly turns back to face me, his eyes drinking me in. The way the light catches on my wet curves and the subtle sparkle of my pierced nipples has him licking his lips with desire.
“I’ve had some time to think since you locked me in my room,” I say, my voice in control. “I’m ready.”
