Page 103 of Mafia Bride
“Si. But he was very protective. I never saw your face in Napoli. And I say again, you were a child.”
“But you made the promise.”
“Now you know why I didn’t want to see you.”
His mother. Of course. He wouldn’t want to be like his father in thought or deed.
“Not that it was offered,” he continued. “He was very protective. You were no more than a name and a date.”
Rosetta’s name hovers above us.
ROSETTA BELLA.
She was beautiful from the moment she was born, and I wonder if my father was saving her for a more valuable sale. I wonder if Santino wasn’t allowed to see me because I wouldn’t measure up to Rosetta.
“What about before the day you came to my zio’s? In the hallway. Did you see me before that day?”
Rosetta had been there, alive and stunning at seventeen.
I know Santino noticed me, because he separated my ghost from my body, but being noticed is not the same as being chosen.
“No,” he says.
“Did you ask for me? I know you won’t tell me what was owed or why or anything, and I guess it doesn’t matter now. But what I need to know…was it me you asked for? Or was I what you got?”
“You were a child, Violetta.”
“Was it me?” I’m yelling and I don’t care. “Just answer!”
“No!” I’m only deflated a moment before he continues. “Of course not. Not until you became a woman. Then….then yes it was you.”
In that moment, decisions are made.
I choose the life carved into stone when he dragged me away.
I choose to believe that by letting him see into me in the hallway, I won a prize I didn’t want.
I choose to think he could have wanted Rosetta, but didn’t.
I choose the anodyne path of carving something new into the stone I’ve started, instead of smashing it and starting over.
28
VIOLETTA
Santino drives us to Pompeii, and it takes my breath away.
He has a private tour set up for us, and every stop manages to both fascinate and terrify me. We’ve all heard the stories about how it happened, how tragic it was, but to see it is something else entirely.
I want to reach out and touch everyone who suffocated in a personalized prison of ash. I want to hug the children. I want to hide the pets. Everybody reminds me of my family. My mother. My father. My beautiful sister who was stolen from me too soon.
“Are you okay?” Santino’s hand rests lightly against my lower back.
My body leans against his hand, seeking comfort as my heart stretches into my stomach. His hand covers my entire lower back, like armor for my core. I can’t bring myself to move away from its protection as he leads me into the stone amphitheater.
“I’ll be fine.” I lie, but only a little. Maybe I really will be fine. Maybe this dangerous coil of vengeance and violence will be enough armor.
I swallow the lump crawling up my throat and shade my eyes. Tourists are everywhere, gawking at the destruction of lives and the preservation of artifacts, lining up to sit in the rotunda with their bright fleece and white sneakers.
