Page 3 of When She Unravels
The Messeros run upstate New York. As far as I know, we’ve always managed to co-exist with them without much trouble. They deal in racketeering and construction, while Papà’s primary business is in cocaine—not a ton of overlap. If Papà wants to give Gemma to one of them, it means he wants to forge an alliance. What for?
“You know their reputation,” Gemma says. “The men of that family act like it’s still the Stone Age. I wouldn’t be able to leave the house without an escort, even as a married woman. I’m sure Papà wants to give me to the don’s son, Rafaele. He’s pretty, but his reputation is as black as it gets. Apparently, he became a made man at thirteen.Thirteen.”
The Messeros are famous for their brutal initiation ceremonies. They require aspiring members to kill for their capo. It’s how they ensure their members won’t hesitate to do what needs to be done when someone doesn’t pay their protection fees.
Anger flares inside my chest. Papà wants to do to Gemma exactly what he did to me—marry her off to a killer. I don’t know how I’ll be able to stand aside and watch it happen.
Mamma’s voice sounds inside my head.You may not understand your father’s ways, but everything he does is to protect our family.
Every day I repeat that sentence like a prayer, and every day its power wanes.
What happens when I stop believing it entirely? It goes against everything I’ve been taught, but I constantly daydream about running away from Lazaro. It would be a real scandal. The end of my life as I know it. I’d be caught and handed to my husband for punishment, and he’d enjoy making me scream.
A barbed wire squeezes around my heart at the thought of what my husband would do in retaliation. If it was only my life at risk, it would be one thing, but he’s made it clear that others would pay for any hint of disobedience I display.
“I’ll talk to Mamma about the Messeros,” I say.
Gemma waves me off. “Don’t bother. You know she won’t listen. Just come to the party, please. I really need you there.”
I nod. “We should head back. They’ll wonder where we are.”
When we reappear in the dining room, our cousin Tito is there. There’s no way he was invited to the shower. It’s girls only. He’s hovering behind where Nonna’s sitting, eyeing the giant spread of mortadella on the table, but when he sees me, he seems to forget about it.
“I came looking for you,” he says.
“Is everything okay?”
“Lazaro called. He asked me to take you home.” Tito jingles his car keys in his pocket.
Alarm bells ring inside my head. “What happened?”
“He just said he needs you home.”
The face of the large clock hanging on the wall reads five pm. It’s early. Too early for Lazaro’s games. The things he does—the things he makes me do—they belong in the dark. But what else could he want me for?
I float through the room, patting my aunts on their arms and kissing their cheeks. After a quick goodbye to Belinda and a hug to Gemma, I make my way to the exit. I can feel my mother’s gaze on my back. She’s upset I didn’t say goodbye to her, but I can’t handle her right now.
Humid May air wraps around my shoulders like a blanket as soon as Tito and I step through the back door. The puddles on the ground tell me it must have just stopped raining. His car, a bulletproof G-Wagon, is parked only a few steps away. He helps me into the backseat before slamming the door shut and sliding in the front. “We haven’t seen you in a while.”
I like Tito. We’ve always gotten along. Unlike most of my male relatives, he doesn’t talk to me like I’m some brainless Barbie. “I’m adjusting to married life,” I say.
Tito huffs. “Tell Lazaro he needs to let you out more often. Just because he doesn’t know how to have any fun, doesn’t mean you can’t have any either.”
Despite Tito’s assumptions, it isn’t Lazaro keeping me from family functions. I’m the one who’s been declining invitations whenever I can. I simply don’t have the energy to pretend like everything is fine. Most days I can hardly get out of bed. Today, I came because Mamma told me it wasn’t optional.
Lazaro wouldn’t care if I was out of the house for most of the day. He’s frigid and emotionless. The only time I’ve seen him affected in any way is when—
No. Don’t think about it.
I change the topic. “How have you been, Tito?”
His long fingers tap against the wheel. “Exhausted. There’s a lot of work.”
“I thought you were a bunch of workaholics,” I tease, shooting him a tired smile in the rearview window.
He eyes me for a moment, and then his shoulders relax by a minuscule amount. “Yeah, sure we are. You know what I say, Vale. I’ll sleep when I’m dead. But it’s one thing to kill myself for the family, and a whole other thing to do some assholes’ bidding.” He stuffs a cigarette in his mouth and grabs his lighter off the dashboard. “I’m no one’s lapdog.” The words come out muffled as he lights his smoke. “And I’m not about to bury my nose in anyone’s shit.”
I try to unpack that statement. “Papà’s having you working for someone else?”
