Page 3 of Vicious Secrets
“Look, I’m going to rejoin the party. I need a breather.”
Mom nods, not looking up as I slip out of the massive bathroom that feels a tenth of its size from all the emotion echoing off the pristine tiles.
Plastering a soft smile on my face, I make my way into the backyard and under the party tent to schmooze with my soon-to-be crime family. I should have known when Oscar invited me to this party it wasn’t for funzies.
I avoid meeting my stepdad’s stare as I weave through the crowd in search of a stiff drink.
Oscar Cesaro has grown on me over the years. Never has he tried to replace my late Dad or take over my life. Instead, he respects me, and in turn, I appreciate him despite his career choice. My mother marrying into the mafia was a shock. But I chose to live in blissful, idiotic ignorance of the mafia’s workings. Brushing it off because of how happy Oscar makes Mom.
Asking that I marry into the west coast faction of the mafia to settle tensions oversteps every boundary known to humankind. Or so I felt until I discovered being Oscar’s stepdaughter puts a target on my back. In hindsight, that realization feels painfully apparent.
Snagging a glass of wine, I return to my spot at the table of gossiping wives. If there’s one thing interesting about this party, it’s how much the women know and how bad the made men are at keeping secrets secret.
“Everything alright?” Mel, a younger blond woman and wife of some Capo, asks me.
“Yeah, Mom needed some more time to process the news,” I say around the glass rim.
News that I heard from these ladies first and from my fucking parents second. Earlier in the night, they all gladly shared their knowledge of my future husband, Siro Dirosa.
“He’s a wall of ice and anger. Only talks to a handful of people, and never women, whenever he’s seen.”
“Siro works constantly. At least you won’t have to worry about his input about the wedding.”
“My hubby says he’s as high-strung and trigger-happy as they come.”
Mel nods. “Siro’s scary-looking and doesn’t make appearances often; his reputation is more like a legend. He’s like a brother to my husband, and Vi’s adamant Siro’s cold, not cruel.”
Maybe coming back to hang out with these ladies is a horrible idea.
I knock back my wine and settle into my seat. “So, what else do I need to know?”
Lorena, another Capo’s wife, pipes up first. “You’re not officially engaged until you pass the bride test.”
The women at the table flinch and flush in unison as if someone electrocuted the table and chairs. Several of them look at the centerpiece or tent poles like they’re the most exciting thing in the world.
“Bride test? Like cooking, cleaning, and child-rearing?” I ask, damn well knowing it can’t be that simple if it’s making everyone blush.
Lorena scoots her chair closer, leaning toward me to whisper, “Sexual compatibility. With oral sex.” Her words sound stunted and unnatural in tone.
I freeze, tensing my back and neck muscles to the point of pain. I want to snap my head to the side to stare at her like she’s a ghost.
“How... what? Sorry, I don’t... I don’t get it.” My voice stumbles as my brain tries to make heads or tails of what Lorena said.
Lorena leans back in. “Siro will perform it on you. You don’t have to do anything to him. You pass if he likes it.”
“Wow. Wonderful. Great. Metrics with no basis in reality.” I blink slowly. Each blink blurs my vision like my eyelids are swiping layers of a technicolor filter over my eyeballs.
My gut churns. Something tells me they’re not messing with me. This is a real thing I have to submit, too, and... ick. Can I put myself through that for my family’s safety?
Unfortunately, the answer is yes.
Chapter 2
Robyn
Ananxiousitchundermy skin threatens to consume me—mind, body, and soul.
I’m sitting at the bland yet messy nurse’s station, poorly hidden behind the high walls of the desk, and sucking down an energy drink through a straw. The extra caffeine is wasted on a day like today, but hey, a distraction is a distraction. Maybe I’ll get lucky and be called into the supervisor’s office for breaking the petty “no drinks at the station” rule. That would surely make time go by quicker.
