I fought the urge to look at it, focusing on keeping the wistful longing from showing in my eyes as I stared into the thick, green carpet.
“You won’t have to work much longer,” he huffed. “Your only concern will be making a good wife.”
My pulse beat double. “Si…signore.”
“You’re getting off easy.” He snorted. “I should have given him Carmela. Found someone who knows how to control a deceitful girl like you.”
At the thought of my next sister being sold, I felt sick. She just turned twenty. But there was nothing I could do to stop it, just as I was powerless to prevent my own nightmare.
“I’m sure McDonagh will beat me regularly,” I muttered. “He’s a cold-blooded killer.”
I didn’t mean to say the last part.
It just…slipped out.
I regretted it instantly as my father lunged for me. Meaty fingers dug into my upper arm. My father shook me hard enough to make my teeth clack before slapping my face. Pain cracked against my skin. The bastard knew just how to hit without leaving a lasting mark.
“I hope he does beat you; it’s what an evil woman like you deserves,” he spat. “Get out.”
He shoved me toward the door. I tripped over my feet, hustling to escape. Celeste, Pia, and Daniella raced down the hall. I reared back so as not to collide with the little things. They were all under eight years old, and their pink- and white- striped pajamas painted the picture of pure innocence.
“It’s Gabby!” Pia exclaimed.
They looked at me, eyes wide with excitement. We didn’t see much of each other since I became the manager at the restaurant. And then there was the stint where I “studied abroad.”
As one, they skidded to a stop, eager and ready to tell me about their day. But then they saw something through the open office door. They instantly stilled, dropped their gazes to the floor.
At least he doesn’t hit them…yet.
“Buona sera, Papa,” they chimed as one.
“Buona sera, ragazze. Prego!” Papa opened the study door. “Come have a cookie and tell your papa about your day.”
There was a fine line between the military respect he demanded of everyone else—and whatever the hell I endured. From the haggard, haunted look my mother wore, she’d tasted the brutal side of my father I was most familiar with. I’d never seen him lay a hand on her, but I had ears. The harsh whispersjabbed her in private. The makeup she spent a small fortune on was top brand. My nine sisters just had a healthy fear for their great and powerful papa, who did very important work in the city. Someday, they would see past Mama’s artistically painted face as well.
Squealing, the little girls rushed into the office.
But my father didn’t join them. He ghosted through the door, closing it part way, and then rounded on me.
I didn’t move quickly enough. His fist descended, striking my side with a vicious force.
Gasping, I knew better than to cry out. The pain was a vice, banding around my lungs. My muscles spasmed in shock.
“How many times have I told you not to corrupt them with your godless ways,” he hissed. “I won’t have my other daughters tainted with your blight.”
“I wasn’t going to talk to them,” I protested. “Just a smile, a hello, and a goodnight hug.”
Normal interactions. Ones that he usually insisted upon. For appearance, I was allowed small moments with the girls.
But he wasn’t in a tolerant mood tonight.
“You stay away from your sisters!” he hissed, sticky-sweet brandy perfuming the air. “The sooner you’re gone, the better.”
I scooted down the hall and up the stairs. Each step was agony, since I still couldn’t draw a proper breath. But I didn’t stop. Not until I was safe on the third floor, which was a glorified attic. Francesca’s room was up here, and the smaller space, the one with a three-by-two window was where I’d been stuck after my international sabbatical.
Cupping my side, I leaned against the closed door. I winced as the tender flesh pulsed with fresh pain. I wasn’t always forced into isolation from my family. When he was in a good mood, Papa insisted I join them for supper. Or he urged me to go out in public with my mother and sisters. Appearance was everything.
But when he was angry, he forgot that we were supposed to pretend that I wasn’t the black sheep.
