Then he's gone too.
Just me and Papa.
I should say something. Scream at him. Cry. Demand to know how he could do this to us. How he could gamble away everything Mama worked so hard to build.
But I don't have the energy.
I'm so tired.
"Antonella." Papa's voice is hoarse. Broken. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never meant?—"
"I know." I cut him off. "Go to bed, Papa."
"I'll fix this. I'll find a way to?—"
"There's nothing to fix." I meet his eyes. See the shame there. The guilt. The weakness that's always been hiding beneath the surface. "I'm fixing it. Like I always do."
He flinches.
"Go to bed," I repeat. "We'll talk in the morning."
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Then he shuffles past me, shoulders hunched, head down.
The stairs creak under his weight.
I wait until I hear his bedroom door close.
Then I sink onto the couch.
My hands are shaking. I didn't notice until now.
I press them flat against my thighs. Force myself to breathe.
In. Out. In. Out.
This is what I do. This is who I am.
The one who holds everything together. The one who sacrifices. The one who fixes.
Mama used to call me her little general. Always organizing. Always planning. Always taking care of everyone else.
She didn't know it would come to this.
She didn't know I'd have to sell myself to save our family.
I close my eyes.
Marriage to a stranger. A Sartori. The most powerful family in Chicago.
It should terrify me.
And it does. A little.
But I'm not stupid.
I've been thinking since Lorenzo and Nico walked out that door. Turning the pieces over in my mind. Trying to understand.
They could take everything we have. The business. The house. Our labor. They could work us to the bone for the next twenty years and still not recover two million dollars.
