Page 68 of Caterina
I hate even more that I understand why he sees it everywhere.
“They were right,” I say, though I’m not sure whether I mean Papà, Vito, Adrian, all of them, or none.
Adrian doesn’t answer right away.
Then: “Yes.”
I turn back to him.
No pity. No triumph. No satisfaction in being proven right.
Just yes.
That strips the last of my resistance down to something much smaller and much less useful.
I look at him and realize I am suddenly, intensely tired.
Not sleepy.
Bone-tired. The kind that gets into your chest and behind your eyes and makes everything feel heavier than it did an hour ago.
“They should have told me.”
“Yes.”
That one lands hard, because he doesn’t argue it. Doesn’t tell me they were trying to protect me. Doesn’t make excuses for them. He doesn’t even soften it.
Just yes.
I swallow against the ache rising in my throat and look away again before my face does something humiliating and starts leaking tears.
“They keep doing that,” I say quietly. “Making decisions, arranging everything, deciding what I can know and when I can know it. As if I’m supposed to be grateful for being handled.”
The words sound bitter, but they are also too honest to call back.
“Do they really think I’m so stupid or fragile that I can’t handle the truth?” I ask, shaking my head. “Or is it that they don't trustme not to… what? Panic? Make things worse? Do something unpredictable? What is it they think I’m going to do?”
Adrian takes a step closer to the railing, not crowding me, just shifting position on the deck.
“I don’t think they think you’re stupid, Caterina,” he says. “Or fragile.”
I glance at him.
“I think they think you’re not supposed to be in this fight at all,” he says.
"It is my fight because it is my family," I snap.
"What I mean," he says, "is that your uncles and your brothers were all destined for this life. The moment they were born, it was written into their future. It's all they've ever known, all they were ever going to do. And yes, it's because they're men. You can slap a sexist label on it if you want. But this is tradition in the mafia."
He pauses, looking out over the yard.
“And like you said before, the other women in your family have all married into it. This is not a life they grew up in. But it is a life they chose. And they have their roles. Yes. They have jobs and successful businesses, but they are also the wives and mothers of the next generation. Again, more traditional roles."
I am not sure where he is going with this, but I do not interrupt.
"Now, your older sister, she chose to leave it altogether, and that takes her out of the picture for the most part. And then there's you," he says. "You were born into it, but you weren't groomed for it. You haven't married into it or given any indication that you want to, from what I can tell. As far as tradition is concerned, you've blown it out of the water. You may not be involved in the violent nitty-gritty of it, but you are involved in the family business. You have an important, high-level position. They have never had to deal with a woman like you before."
He looks at me directly.
