Huffing in frustration, I slap my thigh with a tense hand.
“Of course he does.”
“Seriously. I heard him, too, that night. After Flavia had walked off to her room, Sylvia spent a few moments outside, waiting for her husband. The house was full of guests, and it made sense to speak outside. They were quiet, but I could still hear him say that the growing danger in New York had to do with a certain family from Sicily. I knew he wasn’t talking about a regular family. That much I knew. Sylvia asked him if Callum could help. He said he probably could, but he didn’t want to start an outright war. He wasn’t prepared for one, and he also couldn’t fully trust Callum.”
“He said that?” I ask, a glimmer of satisfaction swirling in my head.
Finally, Callum and I have something in common.
Neither of us can be trusted.
Also, good on Giorgio for not trusting Callum.
You can never trust what money can buy. Or whatever else he’d offered him to make him marry my mother.
My money’s still on blackmailing him. I don’t see Callum bending the knee for a suitcase full of cash.
He’s not that kind of man.
“Yes, he did. And he reiterated that a war was not the answer. A powerful family was.”
“A mafia family,” I murmur.
She tilts her head in acknowledgment.
“Yes. I’m not sure how useful this information is or whether you can use it. All I know is that they’ll introduce the idea ofseveral men to you, gauge your reaction, and then make you choose whatevertheywant you to choose. They need you to go along with their plan, especially if there’s a lot at stake. They can’t mess it up. A lot depends on your saying yes and being compliant. Think about it and let nothing out. They have eyes on you. I’m not the only person in this house. People watch you from every corner of this place, and they report back to them. Whatever you choose to do in the end, try to outsmart them instead of openly opposing them. You depend on them entirely, and there are things that they can do to you. Things that are worse than having you exiled on this beautiful property.”
Her words dishearten me.
She doesn’t see it.She can’t see it.
There’s a tear blooming at the corner of my eye, like a snowball about to fall and leave a mark on my face.
My family outdoes itself every time, coming up with something more atrocious, more immoral, more painful, and more outrageous than the last.
They won’t stop until I make them stop.
In the span of an hour, I went from thinking that my power lay in a silky dress, a sexy cleavage, lips made for sin, and flirty, snug shorts to realizing that I’m just another poor soul, a bird trapped in a cage, waiting to be turned into a heap of bloody feathers.
My tears never see the light of day, though. They’re tucked in my soul with all the other unshed tears.
Never cry, Lani.
They’re not worth your tears.
A soft knock on the door makes us turn our heads.
It’s not the knocking in itself. It’s the softness of that touch. And then I hear her voice.
“Lani?”
Relief blooms in my chest.
“It’s Rory,” I say, pushing to my feet. “I’ll walk out with her. You leave a little later, so no one can see you. We’ve never had this conversation,” I say in silence. “Thank you,” I add, snaking an arm around her neck and hugging her briefly. “We’ll talk again. And I’ll never forget what you did for me.”
With that, I head to the door.
9
