What justice is there in a world where my Selene has to see the face of a monster at the dinner table every night and kiss his cheek as decorum demands? An act any Italian daughter who loves her father would do willingly but must nauseate my girl to perform.
You see, I know her inside and out. Her strong will and back-talking nature are just as active as my own, even if she’s more successful than I am at holding her tongue. But that comes down to how well her little repressing ruses hold up. I know the way she grinds her teeth to prevent from saying something that will get her in ice water infuriates her to no end.
But when it comes to Silvio Bianchi, Selene doesn’t have to say much to get a rise out of him. And although she conceals it well enough, the bruises that appear from time to time on her porcelain skin are great indicators that her father is not one for words when it comes to disciplining his daughter.
I swear, every time I see her disguising the dark, reoccurring color with the same tricks her mother is so well-versed at, I want to march over to their house and skin the asshole alive. Bathe in his screams and pleas and make him beg for the mercy he isn’t even capable of giving his own flesh and blood.
Another point against the fucking syndicate.
What type of brotherhood demands loyalty and protection for all the family members of the soldiers who gave their lives to such an institution, when they can’t provide the same solidarity when the monsters are still breathing and tormenting their kin?
Makes no fucking sense to me.
So, yeah, the Outfit is outdated in many ways. Not just in business but in heart, too.
And if I’m to be made a part of it in any way, it needs to change. But until then, I’d rather enjoy my freedom. The prison sentence will come for me soon enough.
I keep frozen still, just to take in the resplendent view for a few more minutes when I see Selene’s head lift from her book and steal a glance of her own. With ironic precision, the pack of hyenas wearing our school’s colors and pom-poms cackle out loudly at the latest comment Vince must have made. I roll my eyes at their desperate attempt to grab his attention since I know damn well Vince isn’t funny.
My gaze turns back to Selene, who still has a front-row seat to the show those silly trollops are putting on for my boys’ sake. I can only imagine the sting it must make that those assholes have to parade all those stupid ass conquests on the daily.
It’s for her own good, even if she doesn’t know it.
Selene drops her head back into her studies, placid as usual to whatever Dominic and Vincent’s adoring entourage can conduct, but under her flawless mask of indifference, the look of disappointment and hurt is just too damn visible even from here.
Damn idioti the lot of them.
I’ve stood here long enough and whistle my arrival at the only girl any of us should be giving our attention to. When she sees me approach, her whole face lights up, and hell if it doesn’t make my heart leap out of my chest, choking me in my own foolish affection for the copper temptress. It’s as if the sun has finally entered this grey establishment, and I swear I get hard just with the way she’s smiling at me.
I pass by my commilitoni, and I tilt my head to salute Dom, but not Vince. I know that will bug the shit out of both of them. Vincent is my leader in all ways, sure, but just like my father, he’s too brainwashed with the syndicate of today to hear me out, so why should I pay him any fealty? He may not know it, but one day he’ll come to me and ask what my thoughts are. And then I’ll give him my opinion and ideas, as well as my respect, but not a minute sooner. Until then, let him play his little mafia game.
He’s not the only one with brains; mine are just hidden better.
I stroll on through the messy cafeteria, taking a seat right beside my principessa, nudging her shoulder with mine.
“How’s the day treating you so far, bella? I have to say, mine just got a whole lot better after seeing your pretty face,” I tease with a wink.
She gives me a little smirk, unfazed with my flattery, but the little spark in her green-jeweled eyes lets me know how much she appreciates such tender endearments from me. Her shine only dims when another high-pitched laugh is heard from across the room.
“You know you don’t always have to eat alone, or just with me, Selene. We can sit with the others if you want sometimes,” I coo, placing my hand on her bouncing knee under the table.
“What’s the point?” she mumbles, her soft hand now covering mine.
“Making new friends. Girlfriends that can talk about girl shit and stuff. Doesn’t it get tiring only having us three to talk to?” I ask in earnest, worried my girl is missing out on some spec of normalcy she can still find.
“I could never tire of you,” she hushes, squeezing my hand right along with all the air out of my lungs. I lean in and place a gentle kiss on her temple to show her how much I feel the same.
“Not my point, bella, and you know it,” I insist, getting a quick head shake as her reply.
“It would be futile to try now anyway. Most girls at this school already think I’m a stuck up bitch for not socializing with them. Besides, what would we have in common to talk about? Boyfriends I don’t have? School games I can’t watch, or dances I can’t go to? College?” she quips back, removing her hand from mine before anyone can see.
“You never know. Maybe he’ll send you to college,” I naively suggest.
“Are you being for real right now, Gio? My father would rather put a bullet through my brain than spend any more money on me than he has to. No. He’ll sell me off to the highest bidder the minute it’s acceptable to do so,” she snarls, biting her inner cheek to temper her rage.
“And won’t you fetch a pretty penny,” I counter humorously, playing with a strand of her ruby hair.
“That’s not funny, Giovanni,” she snaps, offended that I would make light of such a shitty fate. Shame hits me with a merciless punch to the gut, and I drop the lush red hair from my fingertips.
“Sorry,” I whisper, and I mean the poor excuse of a word with every fiber in me. As much as I like to make light of the daunting, lurking future that awaits us both, some things are just too messed up to joke about.
She lets out a long sigh and pushes her tray away, turning to face me head-on.
“The only consolation I have is if my father marries me to someone his age. Then the old sod will die of heart disease from all the fatty dishes I intend on cooking for him,” she mumbles, and I’m not sure if she’s trying to set me at ease with some macabre jokes of her own, or if she really has put some thought to murdering some old bastard with her chicken cacciatore.
“What if your consorte is young, principessa? With the health of a lion? What will you do then?”
“Easy. I’ll just persuade him to be bold and fearless within the Outfit and feed his greed instead of his stomach. Hopefully, he’ll be less than prudent and suffer a lead kiss through the back of the head,” she rebukes plainly as if we’re talking about the weather and not brain splatter.
“Guess you have everything figured out, even if I think it’s a very bleak way of looking ahead to something that isn’t set in stone yet. You should be grasping for alternatives that don’t make you a murderer, just saying.” I mock back, disappointed in her train of thought.