Page 97 of Mafia King
“Mi fa schifo. I hate it.Non lo voglio.” He’s getting more distressed.
I hate seeing him like this. Powerless. Afraid. It makes me feel alone without him, and I’m exposed and defenseless, but there’s also a voice in me that hasn’t spoken since nursing school. Right now, it’s given expression through that vulnerability.
It says I am useful. I am strong. I have power over him that I can use to heal.
“Santino.” I shake his chest, but his agitation only grows. Fully awake now, I straddle him and cup his face, saying his name again. “You’re having a dream.”
His eyes open wide as saucers, and his hands grab my wrists hard enough to hurt. I don’t have a moment to struggle or gasp before he’s flipped me onto my back, holding my hands over my head and pinning me to the bed with his pelvis.
“I will destroy you,” he growls in my face.
“Santi,” I squeak, then breathe as much as I can under his weight. “Santino.” My pitch drops a little.
“I will erase you from this earth.”
“Santino.” I’m more steady now. “Santino.”
He exhales and blinks. Then shuts his eyes tight and holds them before opening up, conscious enough to finally see me.
“Cristo.” He lets my hands go. “Violetta.”
“I’m right here.” I lay my palms on his cheeks.
He says my name again, but with less shock. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“I am so sorry.” He turns his head to kiss my hand, then my wrist. “You’re not hurt?”
Before I can reassure him, he gets on his knees and whips back the covers so he can see me in the moonlight.
“I told you,” I say. “I’m fine.”
When his shoulders relax, I know he believes me, and when he kisses my face, apologizing over and over in two languages, I know he’s awake.
“What were you dreaming about?” I ask.
He doesn’t tell me. Instead, he says, “It starts today.”
* * *
We’ve been planningall week, and because I’m part of his thinking, I haven’t made any sudden moves. Haven’t stolen the car, broken a vase, or made a single phone call that would signal an end to the status quo.
Even in Italy, when I felt happy and unencumbered, I was anxious, and I don’t realize this until I can ask him anything and get a full and complete answer.
He tells me the deal with the rings, and what the numbers engraved on the inside mean. In the event of his death, he arranged for me to find out what they are.
I memorize the numbers. I memorize the address and the time of our appointment on my birthday. All this happens in between a plan built around a promise.
We can go to the lawyer any time, but we’re going first thing Monday morning—the day I turn twenty. My party will be on Sunday night—the last chance to break Gia’s wedding and fix her life, before all eyes are on us.
At the party, I’ll force Santino’s hand in front of everyone, and he’ll react to keep the peace.
He doesn’t think it’ll work, but I have to believe we won’t have to resort to the brute force of plan B.
* * *
Celiaand I are wrappingbraciolewhen Gia calls from the other side of the world.
