Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
The man with the camera stilled when Ettore loomed, glowering savagely at him.
The cameraman quickly got the hint, put up his hands in placation and backed away.
Not long after, Zio Como approached the table and the moment I saw him coming to speak to me, I sat up eagerly. But when I opened my mouth to speak, I was rudely shut down with a hard look that warned me to stay silent.
My uncle spoke then, but the words were not for me. He looked to my husband and said, “I know what you must think of us. I, myself, am shocked by what has occurred here today. This is not the girl I raised. I can’t apologize enough to you and your family. I was not a part of this treachery and it pains me to say…” he looked at me then with heavy disappointment, “I don’t know this girl.”
And that was it. That was the moment my heart broke in two.
My ears rang and I struggled to breathe through the hurt.
When he went on to say, “She belongs to you now. Do what you must. I have washed my hands of her. She’s dead to me,” those broken pieces of my heart crumbled to dust.
My heartbeat slowed. Every shallow breath burned my lungs and when Zio Como walked away without even looking at me, my throat clogged with unshed tears. Seconds passed and my vision blurred. Not wanting Ettore to witness my tears, I turned my back to him as the first of them fell.
I don’t know how he knew, but from the corner of my eye, I saw something white appear. Between his fingers dangled a white linen napkin. Grateful but mortified, I took it and discreetly dabbed at my eyes.
By this point, the pressure in the hall grew until I thought my head would explode from it. The men on his side of the room were watching the men on my side with an eagle’s eye, waiting for one of them to merely look at someone the wrong way. A brawl was imminent and just when one of the Scala men rose from his table with a deadly look on his face, his fists balled, Ettore stood.
He held out his hand to me and, after the night I’d had, it would seem I was mentally beaten into submission, because I took it without prompting. He pulled me up and then, together, we were walking over to the empty space that was the dancefloor. My stomach dipped as he pulled me towards him, placed a stiff hand at my waist and began to sway us from side-to-side.
It took a moment for the music to catch up, but when the beginnings of Frank Sinatra’s The best is yet to come started to play, I could have died.
This was a sick joke, right? Who approved this song?
Both in bloodstained dress clothes, we slow danced while everyone watched us in dubious silence.
A minute passed, then another. Guilt swarmed my insides. I glanced up at him and he peered down at me. I didn’t intend to speak, but my lips parted and I blurted out, “I didn’t know you had children.”
His cool eyes narrowed on me. “Is that right?”
I shook my head, timidly. I should have stopped there. “Where are they?”
He led perfectly. We swayed in sync. Although he spoke calmly, there was an unmistakable undertone of anger. “After what happened I didn’t think it was safe for them here. Their nonno took them home.”
I couldn’t hide my shame. My response was a mere whisper. “That’s fair.”
As we danced, Ettore glanced down at my neck. “You bruise easily.”
Maybe I was imagining things, but I sensed a little guilt in there somewhere.
I didn’t bruise easily. The marks on my neck were a direct result of him brutally choking me.
“Not really, no.” My response spoke volumes.
His lips thinned, I lowered my face and an awkward silence followed. The longer we danced, I found my husband’s touch far less alarming. We’d had a day. I suspected we were both overwhelmed and somehow, partially numb.
Suddenly, a loud yell sounded. We turned towards it and saw two groups of men standing far too close to each other. My uncle got between them, attempting to calm both parties, but soon there was pointing and then they were shouting in each other’s furious faces.
My hand tightened around Ettore’s lapel and I began to hyperventilate, still going about the motions, slow dancing. I looked up to find my husband observing the mess that was about to come.
Wasn’t he going to do anything? Why wasn’t he stopping this?
I opened my mouth to suggest he get on that but Ettore spoke at the same time. I was stunned when uttered an unenthusiastic, “Kiss me.”
My eyes widened. “What?”
He appeared annoyed. “Our families have been through a lot today, wouldn’t you say?”