Can you imagine the panic in my family as they would feverishly look for a way out?
The things they could do to me, aside from putting me into an asylum, or paying for evergreen therapy, or wiping my memory clean so I can never think of him again.
I bet they’d love to do that.
What could they seriously do to me?
Other than lock me away, forcing me to marry some old mobster who’d touch me with his slimy, shaky fingers, unable to get it up?
Or would they simply kill me and make it look like an accident?
A decent one at that.
Something some poor soul could grieve over, although no one who would bat an eyelash if I died.
Unlike my mother, I can’t always lie to people, be a hypocrite, make myself fit into a box, strike up unusual alliances, or shape myself into something that I'm not.
It’s probably the only thing I have inherited from her.
Back to the Gallos, the precarious balance would be forever ruined, with no hopes of ever bouncing back if I didn’t abide by their rules.
How many wars would my little transgression clumsily start?
How much money would be lost?
How many people would perish if little old me had obsessed over the wrong man?
But what do I know?
Maybe I’m wrong.
I’m not old enough to drink, let alone understand the criminal world I’m living in.
I release a quiet exhale, not knowing what else to say. The news has knocked the air out of my lungs.
I doubt everything about myself now. My thoughts, my feelings, and above all, my beliefs.
What if this is it?
They exile me to some dusty old town still sleeping in the clutches of old times before that day comes when they’ll tell me what to eat, how to dress, and who to open my legs for.
Who to marry, for sure.
And it won’t be the man in front of me.
He’s already been married to my mother.
I find some strength in the last shred of dignity clinging to my soul.
“Okay. All right,” I say dryly, a dark smirk twisting my lips. “Is everyone on board with this?” I ask, fully knowing the answer.
A clipped nod of his head is my answer.
Hatred that I never thought I’d harbor balloons in my heart.
They’re all part of this.
Somehow, I’m their only problem?
