10

Valentina

I don’t believe in karma. I believe in payment.

Payment for one's sins. Send me to a confessional, and I too would burn for my sins. But I seek justice for wrongdoings. I don’t merely kill for the fun of it. I plan and execute, killing each victim with precision. Starting with the least involved and hoping the last one standing will feel the full brunt of my wrath.

I glance at my phone screen. Six a.m. I haven’t slept all night, tossing and turning, hoping the morning would slide away and never appear. I think about my soon-to-be fiancé and his threat. I can sense there’s more to him than his broody smirk and dangerous reputation. Not everyone with a dark past is pure evil. We all have our flaws, and I am yet to meet his.

I don’t care if they are weaved with lies and deception. I will uncover him and bring him to his knees.

My limbs are aching and heavy from both a sleepless night and my recent visit from a certain bunch of Irish thugs. I stretch and grab my book, savoring the perfect moment to stay in bed and read the morning away. After a few chapters, I’m busting to pee, so I sit up on the edge of the bed and stretch my arms and legs out before heading into the bathroom.

My papa summoned us late last night, and like the good children we are, Vito and I obeyed his wishes again. I hear the loud snore of Midnight; she always snores in the most unladylike manner. Storm, on the other hand, likes to fart and then prance away like it never happened. Luckily, I love them. I emerge from the bathroom, trying not to wake my babies when Storm lifts her head to look at me. “Go back to sleep. It’s way too early,” I tell her, and as though she agrees, she lays her head back on her pink fluffy bed and goes back to sleep.

Wrapping my dressing gown around me, I bound down the stairs to make coffee. I can already smell the scent of freshly baked bread wafting up the staircase, and my stomach rumbles in appreciation. I skip off the last step and head over to the kitchen where I know Vana will be busying herself.

“Did you bake extra?” I walk right up to her and give her a tight squeeze. She feels like long-lost childhood memories.

“What happened to your face?” She pulls back and takes my chin in her warm fingers.

“You know.” I roll my eyes at her. “First rule of fight club and all that shit.”

“Language.” she tsks. “Sit and I’ll make you a coffee and cut you a slice of brioche.” Vana points to the chair at the end of the island bench.

I watch her happily make the coffee as I hear the echo of my papa’s footsteps approaching.

“Valentina,” he says my name with a hint of surprise as he rounds the island bench and kisses me on the cheek.

“Papa,” I squeeze his arm and watch him examine my face.

“Who did this to you?” His eyes grow dark. He always looks like a true mobster when he’s angry.

“No one you need to worry about. I have it handled.” I smile at him hoping my words appease him.

“If they cause you any more trouble. I’ll have them dealt with.” He grabs his freshly made coffee and leaves for his office.

“Is Vito awake?” I take a sip of my coffee before tearing off a piece of brioche and shoving it in my mouth.

“When are you going to eat like a lady?” Vana chuckles and shakes her head at me.

“When I turn into one,” I shove another piece into my mouth and chew with my mouth open.

“Make sure you’re on your best behavior tonight.” She starts to load the dishwasher.

“Why?” I stare at her, silently willing her to spill the beans.

“I am not entitled to say anymore.” Vana closes the dishwasher, turns it on, and promptly leaves the kitchen.

I gaze after her and wonder what she knows that I don’t.

I spend the day lazing by the indoor pool with my babies. They love to swim in the pool. As much as Papa hates it, he doesn’t argue with me when it comes to them. Probably the only thing we don’t butt heads about. Every other subject seems to be ripe for the picking. If we need to discuss it, no doubt we’re shouting about it at each other. Papa disappeared after I heard his shouting match over the phone after breakfast and I haven’t seen Vito yet. I wonder if he’s avoiding me.

_ _ _

The sun sets over the horizon painting the sky in a blood orange glow. I stand on the front lawn and throw the tennis ball for Midnight and Storm, their playful wrestling over the toy making me smile.

Everyone has been MIA all day, and I’m starting to question why Papa asked me here. Just as Storm returns with the ball in her mouth, the front gate opens and in rolls a cavalcade of blacked-out SUVs. I watch them amble along the driveway until they’re parked by the front of the house.

Like synchronized swimmers, they all depart their bulletproof chariots. Papa and Vito climb out of the first two cars and I wonder what the fuck is going on. Giovanni, Tommaso, and their two bodyguards exit the back two cars. Fucking great.

Vito waves at me to join them and I groan in defeat. “Let’s go, girls.” I pat my babies on their heads and we stalk toward the house. Like they were trained, both girls flank me, walking in step with me, on guard.

“Valentina, lock your dogs up.” Papa frowns at me when we approach them.

My eyes slide to Giovanni in his black jeans and black tight t-shirt. I’ve never seen him this casual, and it makes me see him in a new light. Human. His gaze focuses on the bruising on my face and I can feel that he wants to question me.

“Vito, we need to talk later.” I glare at my brother.

“The fuck happened to you?” He steps towards me and both girls stand and growl at him.

“Valentina, control your dogs.” Papa grits through clenched teeth.

“It’s okay.” I pat my girls and scratch them behind the ears, letting them know they can sit.

The wary look on both Giovanni and Tommaso has me grinning ear to ear. Take note, you fuckers. These girls will rip your throats out if you come near me.

“Who the fuck did this to you?” Vito looks pissed.

“We’ll talk later.” I glance at Giovanni for a split second before deciding to head inside. I whistle to my girls to follow me, leaving the men to talk amongst themselves.

I take them to my room and feed them their favorite snacks before closing the door. They’ll sleep until I return. I head downstairs to the kitchen to find Vana has dinner prepared and is setting up the formal dining room.

“Are they here for dinner?” I sit on the island bench and pick at the potato salad with my fingers.

“I hope you washed your hands.” Vana shakes her head at me with a frown.

“Nope, but the girls are clean.” I grin at her and pop another piece of potato in my mouth.

“Make yourself useful and take the bread to the table.” Vana hands me the wooden chopping board with the fresh bread on it and the bread knife.

“Fine.” I jump down and head to the dining room.

“Wife duties look good on you.” Giovanni’s voice startles me, making me nearly drop the knife.

I ignore him and place the bread on the table before turning in his direction. “I don’t do wife.” I scowl at him.

“Who did this?” He gestures to my face.

“None of your business.” He closes the gap between us. The blaze behind his eyes has me back-pedaling. Why the fuck does he care who smashed my face up?

“You are my fucking business,” he growls so low I almost miss it.

“Excuse me?” I grip the bread knife handle in agitation.

He steps closer, so our bodies touch and grabs my wrist. “Tell me who fucking did this to you or I’ll tell your Papa about your little fuck buddy.”

I try to pull my wrist free, but he squeezes it in his strong fingers, the pain almost unbearable. I narrow my eyes at him, unsure if he’s fucking with me or not, and let the knife drop from my hand. It clatters to the floor, the sound bouncing between us. “Some Irish fuckers.”

He pulls my arm so I stumble hard against him. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Giovanni’s gaze burns into me, his sadistic desires painted on his masculine features.

“Could you two leave it for the wedding night?” Vito’s voice breaks the spell and Giovanni lets go of my wrist.

I don’t move from my position. I’m not backing away. His eyes search mine for something I don’t give him, and he steps away from me. Never make the first move. Never let your opponent know you’re weaker by backing down first. I throw him a snarky smile before I take my seat at the table. He collects himself and seats himself directly across from me. Fucking great.

Papa and Tommaso stride in discussing some bullshit with territories, like they’re long-lost cousins. I watch them carefully, trying to pinpoint the time when their business became all too familiar with one another. Papa sits to my left, and Tommaso sits next to his son. Vito has taken the seat at the other end of the table.

“How cute. A family dinner,” I interrupt their discussion. Both mob bosses stare at me.

“This dinner is for your benefit, Valentina. I expect you to co-operate.” Papa clenches his jaw.

Vana enters the room with the antipasto, and my stomach growls in appreciation. I don’t bother with my manners; I grab a slice of prosciutto and shove the whole thing in my mouth, savoring the saltiness., and dismissing the stares of the men and the table. “What? I’m hungry.”

“You’re something, that’s for sure.” Vito copies me and throws a slice of salami in his mouth.

“Please, forgive my children. They seem to have left their manners on the doorstep.” Papa shakes his head at me. Never at Vito.

“So, what exactly are we discussing tonight?” I grab a baby bocconcini and pop it in my mouth.

Giovanni hasn’t touched a single thing. He looks so out of place in this dining room. Like he doesn’t belong in a family setting. He’s too stoic and composed, as though he’s never relaxed in his entire life.

“This marriage arrangement and what it means for our families.” Tommaso glances at his son.

“So, it doesn’t need to involve me. I mean, the decisions have already been made. Have they not?” I take a sip of my Masseto, a wine made at our vineyard in Tuscany. A place I haven’t visited since I was a child.

I remember holidaying there in Summer. The days long and hot, spent by the pool, and the nights spent eating and reading in the hammock swing. Childhood memories I cherish and want to forget all the same.

“Valentina,” Papa’s voice jerks me back to reality.