“Yes?”

  “What’s going to happen?”

  “Nothing. They have chaperones.”

  “No, I mean… is he going to take her away?”

  There’s a long, wordless gap that’s filled with clinking cups and one man’s breathing. Santino doesn’t want to say. Her life could end after a dinner just as mine did, and he knows I could have Armando drive this car over there before it happens.

  He also knows he can tell Armando to take me home.

  “Santino.” I mean to growl, but I can barely whisper.

  “I’m here.”

  “Tell me.” The force builds in my tone. “Is he forcing her into a car and driving her to a church?”

  “No.”

  “Do you swear it?”

  “What is this about?”

  Oh, no, he will not change the subject or redirect the inquiry to try to calm me down. I know what has to be done.

  “Swear it!”

  Armando pretends he’s not looking at me in the rearview. I can make another stop and run. Take the bus to Gia if I have to. Maybe Armando will catch me, but he won’t hurt me.

  “Violetta!”

  “Swear on your mother he’s not going to do it tonight!”

  “I swear it.” He pauses and gathers the control I know him for. “On my mother, it’s not tonight as far as I know.”

  “Do you rule this shit town or not?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Find out for sure!”

  I cut the line and throw the phone on the seat. I’m not letting the days get by me like this again. I’m putting Gia in my sights and keeping her there.

  Armando’s phone dings. He looks at it and starts the car.

  Our eyes meet in the rearview.

  “Go, if he says you have to,” I say. “I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

  He waves to me. When I wave back, I’m shaking.

  Celia and I prepare dinner, then I send her home with a wink. I put on lipstick and give my hair a quick pass with the curling iron. I wear jeans and a blouse. Generic. Not distracting. I barely have time to get dinner on the table before I hear the front door beep, then the sound of his keys hitting the front table.

  “Santino,” I say.

  “Forzetta,” he says as he comes in. We stand on opposite sides of the foyer.

  “Well? Did you find out?” I ask.

  “I did.”

  “And?”

  “It is just a date. Like I said.”

  I close my eyes to hold back tears of relief.

  I still have time to break the chain.

  My eyes are still closed when I feel his lips on my cheek, then my mouth.

  “Thank you,” I say. He takes me by the chin and I open my eyes.

  “Are you feeling all right?” He’s inspecting me, and I wonder if he can see the contents of my body better than any pregnancy test. I step toward the kitchen before he can tell me the truth of what I am too frightened to know.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Armando says you went to the store today?” he asks in the kitchen, rolling his sleeves over his tight, olive-skinned forearms. On the counter in front of him are the 2 and 0 candles I got at the drugstore.

  “I did.” I take the chicken from the oven.

  “You went to the drugstore for birthday candles?”

  “Yes,” I reply, chipper as a bird.

  While I get dinner on the table, he changes clothes and washes his face. When he comes downstairs, he smells of soap and fresh cologne.

  “If you want wine, I put the white in the fridge,” I say. When he nods and brings it back opened, long fingers grasping two glasses by the base, I realize my mistake.

  “Say when,” he says as he fills the second glass.

  I want that wine. The sticky sweet on my tongue, the warmth in my chest, the dry tang after.

  “When.”

  He stops the pour and pushes the glass to me, then sits.

  “How was your day?” I ask as if the last time I saw him in that chair, I hadn’t been on my knees.

  “Good.” He eats, going along with my pretense that everything’s fine. “Yours?”

  Mine. Sure. It was great. I realized I had a missed period and went to the drugstore for a pregnancy test, but I didn’t want to get it in front of Armando because he’d report right back to his employer and Gia was going on about the guy who bought her, so instead I asked about the first thing that popped into my head.

  “Fine.”

  “Birthday candles.” One eyebrow raised, he eats his chicken.

  “It’s coming up. Mine.” As if the 2 and the 0 aren’t enough of a clue.

  But maybe they aren’t, because he stiffens and puts on his bossman face. Why… I don’t know. Maybe he has a big surprise planned? Or maybe he forgot it completely. It’s possible he doesn’t even know the date.

  “What would you like? For a gift?”

  It’s fair to say he doesn’t know me well enough to know what I want. That must be the source of his discomfort.

  “I thought just a cake.” I swirl the wine, try to read his thoughts, fail, and go on. “Maybe people? Some family? Might as well, right?”

  “It is a Monday.” He seems to be chewing the inside of his cheek like he’s gnawing on a thought.

  “We can do it the night before. Regular Sunday dinnertime. It’ll be fun!”

  “It will be fun.” He doesn’t sound convinced.

  “Unless Gia’s getting married that weekend.”

  “Definitely no.” He eats, shaking his head.

  He’s confirmed for me, and when the tension leaves my chest, it feels as if I’ve been restrained for so long, I forgot what it felt like to have my hands free.

  “This call to me today? About Gia?” He seems suddenly unconcerned about whatever was bothering him about my birthday.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry about that.”

  “This panic you had… it’s not necessary. There’s a process.”

  “There is? I was somehow dragged through it blindfolded.”

  He stops mid chew, then starts again. “I regret that.”

  “I’m just saying, the process can’t be such a big deal if you decided to do it differently.”

  “You were different,” he says, still eating. “There was no debt to secure.”

  “Tell me.” I lean on my elbows with the glass swirling between my fingertips. “Come on. Tell me the fun I missed.”

  “It’s not that fun.” Santino sits back and takes stock of me. I’m trying to keep it light, but he’s a wild creature, and I know he sees through me. I assume he’ll cut off the conversation, but I’m wrong. “First, as an act of good faith, Damiano will put the debt money into escrow, then send flowers. When her father confirms the escrow, he’ll give the flowers to the Virgin.”

  “I’m sorry? The virgin is Gia?”

  “No.” His impatience doesn’t seem directed at me, but himself. “The Virgin in the shrine.”

  I nod, assuming it’s the Virgin Mary in the church’s chapel. Putting flowers at her feet requires a big donation.

  “Then Damiano will offer a ring. The father accepts it. The debt is paid. The matter is closed. She is his, and he may walk with her when he chooses.” His lips purse as if he’s trying not to say something. “The wedding’s a formality between him and God.” What is understood, but remains unsaid, is that the woman isn’t part of the contract with God, just the deal between the men. “They have to turn four corners together or she will not bear children.”

  The night I was taken away, Santino and I walked around the block with two women following. It was romantic date and ancient superstition all wrapped into one, horrifying night.

  “You didn’t miss that one,” I say.

  He shrugs, but concedes. “When it comes to children, I won’t tempt fate.”

  So he wants a family and will perform foolish rituals to increase his odds. All I can think is that the nonnas kissing chalices and fingering rosary beads must be on to something, because if I’m pregnant and my math is right, our first time was the charm.

  “When will all this happen with them?” I ask.

  “Why?”

  “She’s excited. I can’t talk her—or you or anyone—out of anything. But I want her to have the things I missed.”

  “Not to go against her father’s wishes or try to talk her into running from what she can’t avoid?”

  “Like I said. I want it to be better for her. I want to talk about weddings. Dresses. Flowers. Let her get excited that maybe it’ll be fun and we can plan the thing.” I pick up the dishes. “That’s the deal. I don’t want her to miss what I missed.”

  I bring the plates to the kitchen sink. He joins me there without a single glass or fork in his hand.

  “You cannot make this go away, Violetta.”

  “So you said,” I singsong to make the comment less cutting.

  As I move to pass him, he grabs my arm and pulls me close.

  “I remember those first days here, in my house. I wanted to kill the man who made you weep like that. Rip his guts out of him. Throw his body in the ditch where I left the boy who made Rosetta cry.”

  When he admits to murder, a gallon of blood leaves my heart and flows to the surface of my skin. I’m hot everywhere, and his face is so close he must be able to feel the heat radiate.

  “But,” he continues, locking our eyes, “the guts were mine, and suicide is a sin I’m too much of a coward to commit. So I let you cry, and I swore I’d never make you cry again. But the only thing worse than hearing you cry behind that door was when you held it all inside your silence.” He leans away from me a few inches—no more—and releases my arm. “I am sorry for what I stole from you. If I could give it back, I would.”

  “Why would you let it happen to Gia?”

  “There are things you don’t know.”

  “What don’t I know?”

  He opens his mouth to answer, then shuts it and takes two steps back.

  “Così stanno le cose!” he cries instead. It is what it is.

  Maybe he’s right, but it’s bullshit.

  “Then what are you worried about?”

  “That you’ll try, and I won’t be able to protect you. Violetta, my blood violet, you do not…” He puts his hands on my shoulders and meets my gaze. “You cannot understand what will happen if I stop this marriage for any reason.”

  He’s right. I don’t understand anything except the raw panic and truth in his eyes.

  “What if I told you”—I lay my hands on his arms—“I don’t want her to cry. Not like I did. And I know you want her to know she’s a debt bride.”

  “That’s her father’s choice.”

  “Damiano saw me in the hall. He knows I was listening. And I’m just a woman. A mouthy fishwife. If I see Gia tomorrow morning, and I slip and tell her… who’d be surprised?”

  His features are utterly still. I can smell the wood burning. I might get this if I’m careful.

  “I want Gia better prepared than I was,” I say. “Maybe she’ll like him. Maybe she’ll be thrilled.”

  His nod is so slight it would be easily missed if he wasn’t so motionless otherwise. “Do you swear you won’t try to stop the marriage?”

  The funny thing is, if you put a gun to my head, I’d say he knows damn well that I intend to throw my entire being into stopping Gia’s wedding to Damiano. His desire to believe me runs hotter than his actual belief.

  “Santino,” I say, letting my hands drift to his chest, “how could I even try to pull a stunt like that without your blessing?”

  His smile is just short of a laugh. “You want a blessing?”

  “I’ll take one if you’re offering.”

  “I bless this effort.” He anoints each of my palms with a kiss. “To help my cousin tomorrow. To be a friend to her always.” He presses my hands together. “This morning, you offered your mouth in exchange for a favor.”

  “I did.” I move closer to him. He cups my cheek.

  “You offered me what is already mine.” His hand slides back and tightens into a fist at the back of my head.

  He and I have learned to speak each other’s language, so I know what’s coming when he yanks me to my knees on the hard marble floor. I have no words. My brain can’t make them. My body, however, is clear about what it needs. It’s in the heat of his gaze, the taut restraint in his arms, and the hunger curling his lips.

  “This mouth belongs to my cock.” He uses his free hand to open his pants. “Show me what it does when you see it.”

  When his dick is out, fisted in all its thick, hard glory, I open my mouth for him. He holds onto my head with terrifying strength and guides his erection along my tongue and back as far as I allow. He pulls halfway out. I breathe, close my lips, and suck on the sweet violence of his cock.

  “My cock owns your throat,” he growls, yanking me off. My chin is wet with spit, and when he maneuvers my head by the hair, I am made of firing nerves and boiling blood. “Open up, so I can fuck it.”

  He pushes back in. I am unmoving, open lips, tongue down, throat ready to receive as he pushes deeper with each stroke. Holding back a gag, I take all of him until his cock is buried in my face with my nose pressed against him. I can’t breathe, choking even as my clit throbs with want. My vision sparks to black. It’s only then he lets me breathe.

  “Whose mouth is this?” He presses it open like he did at our wedding.

  “Yours.”

  “Don’t ever forget it.”

  He takes my throat again and stays there. I am utterly powerless. Completely thoughtless. Lost to his command. Nothing but a vessel, an orifice, for his regal dick to receive pleasure.

  He lets me breathe again, and I look up at him in surrender and open my mouth—his mouth—for his indulgence, forgetting everything I intend to do with or without his permission.

  “That’s my good wife.” Santino fucks my face in quick thrusts.

  His grunts and moans fill the room. I squeeze my eyes tight and focus on flattening my tongue so I can be open for him. A vessel of warm, wet skin.

  “Take what I give you. I will paint the back of your throat and you will swallow every drop.”

  I take the hammer of his dick and the sticky warmth of his orgasm. My clit engorges so fast it hurts, and he comes inside me. I accept every bit of him. When he pulls out, a line of come drips out from my lips. With his thumb, he brushes it back in, and I suck his thumb while looking up at him from my knees.

  “Let the date happen tonight.” He pulls back and puts his dick away. “Go tomorrow. Talk to Gia like a woman, exactly as you say. No more.”

  “This is strictly girl stuff.”

  He meets my gaze, holds it, and finally puts his hand out to help me up. “Leave Armando home then.”

  From his pocket, he produces a ring of keys. He unwinds a black fob with the Mercedes logo and tosses it onto the table. It bounces and stops at the edge as if it would never think to defy him by landing on the floor.

  Did I just win?

  Is this a false victory?

  It has to be, but I dig myself deeper anyway.

  “Grazie,” I say, then add the last lie of the conversation. “I won’t let you down.”

  “Bene. Allora.” He kisses my cheeks. “I will take a swim, and after that, if you’re naked, I’ll paint your cunt the same color as your throat.”

  Together, we laugh at his silly analogy, then he kisses my lips quickly. Without another word, he goes out back, leaving me alone to slide the fob from the table, wondering why he gave me the car now for a drive tomorrow.

  He must trust me.

  Poor guy.

  12

  VIOLETTA

  I haven’t driven a car in ages, but the smooth satisfaction of controlling such a powerful object is a fast reminder of how it felt to be free.

  Not free enough to stop for a pregnancy test. Or not sneaky enough. Maybe I’m just not brave enough.

  There’s nothing to beat myself up about. My period’s late from stress. By the time I get the test, the sheets will be a mess.

  “With your parents here, Zio Angelo’s house is too crowded,” I say to myself in the rearview mirror, testing out a cheerful tone for the duration of a red light. “And Santino’s house is too empty with just the two of us.”

  At every intersection, I change it up, testing casual distressed, and with a conspiratorial wink. They all sound like baloney, so I give up and figure I’ll let it come to me as it comes. I’ll go with the flow, the way I used to do in nursing school.

  I pull up to the house as the sun is getting low in the sky, but the Virgin Mary grotto in Angelo and Anette’s front yard is lit as if it’s the dead of night. At her feet sits a vase of two dozen white roses.

  First, Damiano will put the debt money into escrow as an act of good faith, then send flowers. When her father confirms the escrow, he’ll give them to the Virgin.

  Shit. This is the Virgin getting white flowers. Not the church. The front yard grotto.

  The money is in escrow.

  Am I too late? Has the date begun? Does it matter? Once the money is moved, dinner’s just to grease the wheels of the system before it’s time to crush someone.

  The minutes that ticked away with Santino’s dick in my mouth could have been used to save Gia. My fingers tighten around the wheel. I push the brake pedal hard at the thought that he did it on purpose—as if I’m within my rights to betray his trust by coming here when I’m not supposed to, but he can’t do the same for his own purposes.

  But he could have held on to the car keys.

  He could have kept me home by fucking me for hours.

  No, Santino did not keep me home an extra ten minutes to sabotage me, but idling in front of the house is self-sabotage at its finest.

  Parking the car across the street, I firm my resolve.

  I couldn’t protect Rosetta. I won’t lose Gia.

  Breathing in a little more courage and out a little more fear, I approach the gate, stopping at the shrine to the Virgin for a word.

  “I’m getting you out,” I say, then hop up the stoop to knock with confidence and determination, as if the glue that keeps my insides together isn’t failing.