By the time the SUV stops in front of my house, I feel faint with fear and confusion.
I can’t even bring myself to look at Angelo as I say, “Thank you for everything.”
Grabbing the plastic bag, I quickly climb out of the vehicle and shut the door before rushing up the path to the porch.
Father, we need to talk.
Why are you allowing this man to cross paths with me constantly?
I unlock the front door, and as I step into the house, I let out a breath of relief when I hear the SUV drive away.
Freaking finally.
I shut the door and make sure to lock it again before walking to the kitchen.
I can’t believe what happened today. Why did Angelo drive me around? What does he want?
People like him don’t do anything without expecting something in return.
I set the bag down on the counter and unpack the groceries.
It’s only then I remember the dollar bills in my handbag, and digging the money out, I stare at it.
Even though Angelo ordered me to keep the money, I’m definitely giving it back to Father Parisi on Sunday.
The Parish can take the groceries as a donation from Angelo. I’ll explain the situation to Father Parisi and ask him not to mention anything to anyone.
Pulling out a chair by the kitchen table, I sink down on it and let out a groan.
It feels as if my usually quiet life is spiraling into an abyss of chaos and violence, and I don’t understand why.
Suddenly, Giorgio walks into the kitchen, and before I can hide the money, his eyes lock on the dollar bills. Without a word, he stalks toward me and grabs the notes from my hand.
Crap!
“The money belongs to the Parish,” I argue as I stand up to take it back from him.
He shoves the money into his pocket, and stepping into my personal space, he sneers, “Now it belongs to me.”
His hand connects with my shoulder, and he shoves me so hard I fall against the table. Pain throbs through my lower back, but I ignore it as I keep my eyes locked on Giorgio.
I expect him to beat and kick me again, but luckily, the shove is enough for him.
When he leaves the kitchen, I fall back into the chair and rest my face in my hands.
I can’t take much more. Father, please let Giorgio go out so I can be alone.
Seconds later, I hear the front door slamming shut as Giorgio leaves the house.
Thank you.
A sob rattles from my chest, and wrapping my arms around myself, I allow the tears to fall.
I’ll do anything, Father. Please help me out of this impossible situation.
It takes me a few minutes before I manage to gain control over my emotions, and looking at the groceries, I get up and put everything away.
Giorgio probably went to Fallen Angels to gamble, which means he won’t be home for a while.
Thank God for small mercies.
Walking to my bedroom, I strip out of the warm clothes and change into a summer dress. As I pass the mirror that’s mounted against the wall, my reflection catches my attention.
I stop, and seeing the bruises on my arms and legs, I feel miserable. Gripping the seam of the dress, I lift the fabric until I’m able to see the purple, red, and brown marks all over my torso and sides.
Every bruise feels tender, and I know it’s a miracle I don’t have any broken bones.
Refusing to wallow in self-pity, I lower the dress and leave my bedroom.
Giorgio’s out, so I’m going to prepare a feast for dinner and eat until it feels like my stomach will burst.
When I’m back in the kitchen, I gather some potatoes and sit at the kitchen table to peel them.
I’m making crocchè, a Sicilian dish made of mashed potato and egg covered in bread crumbs. After I fry the little balls, they’re crispy and delicious.
I also prepare scaccia, a thin flatbread layered with vegetables, cheese, and meats.
Once my meal is ready, I grab a soda from the fridge and carry the plate to the living room.
Sitting on one of the couches with my legs folded beneath me, I place the plate on my lap and grab the TV remote.
I put on Virgin River, and as I get lost in other people’s lives, I enjoy every bite of my food.
The TV show takes place in a small town surrounded by trees and a beautiful river.
I’d love to live there.
Maybe my dream will come true one day.
When I’m done eating, I place the plate on the coffee table and lie down on the couch. I watch episode after episode, and it helps to ease my worried mind.
While I watch Virgin River, there’s no evil stepbrother who’s going to end up killing me.
There’s no mafia leader who’s taken a weird interest in me.
There’s only my dream of a brighter future.
Pain explodes through my body as I’m suddenly thrown against the coffee table.
Waking up with one hell of a shock, I don’t have time to protect myself. My eyes snap open, and the next second, I’m grabbed by my neck and hauled into the air.
When my gaze locks on the man, icy fear pours through my veins.
Vito Strano.
He’s one of Damiano Falco’s men.
“Where is Giorgio?” Vito demands with a threatening tone.
“Fallen Angels,” I wheeze through the tight hold he has on my neck.
I’m tossed like a rag doll, and slamming into the liquor cabinet, the bottles rattle as I fall to the floor.
I quickly push my upper body from the wooden floor and stare in total shock at the group of men who belong to one of the heads of the Cosa Nostra.
Without another word directed at me, the men trash the living room before leaving.
It’s only then the realization of what happened sinks in. My shock spirals into a chaotic mess of horror, panic, and bleakness.
This way of life is going to kill me soon. I just know it.
Getting up off the floor, a cry escapes me when I accidentally step on a shard of glass. One of the glass doors of the liquor cabinet shattered when my body hit it. I didn’t even notice.
Careful not to step on any more shards, I limp to the bathroom and sit on the side of the tub so I can remove the piece of glass from my foot.
I pull my first aid kit from the cupboard and use an antiseptic wipe to clean the cut before putting a bandaid on.
Letting out a hopeless sigh, I stare at the drops of blood on the tiled floor.
It’s happened before where men have come looking for Giorgio, but it’s the first time one of them hurt me. Usually, Giorgio’s the one getting beaten up by them.
Hopefully, they’ll kill him tonight so I can live the rest of my life in peace.
Guilt floods my soul, and I motion the sign of the cross.
Forgive me, Father. Today’s just been very stressful.
Rising to my feet, I’m careful not to put too much pressure on the cut and limp to the living room so I can clean up the mess.
I’m so tired.
A little help would be nice.
Not that I’m being pushy, Father, but can you send me a fairy godmother to clean up this mess?
With a heavy sigh, I get to work, and once the living room has been restored to its former glory, minus the glass panel in the liquor cabinet, I slump down on the couch.
How did they get in?
Darting to my feet, I hurry to the front door. The lock isn’t broken, which means Giorgio didn’t lock it when he left.
Bastard!
Shaking my head, I turn the key. I almost secure the deadbolt, but then Giorgio will kill me for sure for locking him out of the house.
Letting out another tired sigh, I mutter, “Just another day in the Cosa Nostra.” I walk to the kitchen to wash the dishes, and as I pour water into the sink, I whisper, “It’s getting too difficult to continue living like this. I just want it all to end.”
