by Ava Catori
Too soon she began to swoon and pushed me away gently. I regretfully let her go and asked, "What was that about?"
Had she decided to bite the bullet, so to speak, and make this a real wedding night? Her breath was short, her pupils dilated but yet I became aware that it was too soon.
"Well, I thought the very least I could do was to kiss you goodnight," she said with a playful smile I had never seen her wear before.
I smile back and joyfully told her, "Then you better run to your room, Mrs. Simone."
She giggled.
"I'm serious. Because if you do that again, I may forget that I am a gentleman and have my evil ways with you!"
* * *
13
Isabella
I was grateful for the reprieve. Without pressure, it took the weight of the world from my shoulders. I curled under the covers, relieved I'd found a way to kiss him goodnight. After all, it was his wedding night. I'm sure he'd expected something else. On learning my husband wouldn't push the issue of sex with me until I was ready, it made me wonder if he was an actual gentleman under his macho exterior.
His simple request was that I furnish our home. He’d gotten a few small pieces, but there was more to do. Our home… I still needed to get used to the idea that this was my new home. I was a married woman. This was where I'd reside. Live. I sighed. Would I ever truly feel like I was living again, or would I only go through the motions?
The first week of our new life, I passed the time getting lost in the shopping experience. I could wander off alone and linger among the furniture. I'd finally made a decision after stalling long enough. I went with comfortable and casual over formal and ornate. Simple earth tones would be soothing, and easily go with anything. I wasn’t going to make him live in florals or girly patterns. It was his home too, and he'd kept his word, letting me take my time. I continued to sleep in my own room, and he didn’t pressure me.
When I’d finally finished shopping, which felt like some weird version of playing house, I had no idea what to do with myself.
We tried to talk, but conversation didn’t always come easily or smoothly. We were two strangers learning to communicate.
Gino pulled out a dining room chair and sat at the table. I’d chosen walnut brown wooden chairs in a captain’s style. "How did you spend your day today?”
Did he really care, or was he simply making conversation?
I shrugged and slid a plate on the table. It wasn’t anything fancy, but angel hair pasta was an easy staple to fall back on. "I’m not sure how to say this without it coming out offensive. It’s just that… I mean… This isn't the life I thought I'd be living. Not much goes on day to day, so I don’t have much to say. It feels vacant and void of any meaning."
How could I make him understand, I probably never would if I never tried, so I continued at the risk of irritating my husband. "Gino, I wanted to make a difference in the world. I wanted to help children with special needs, and now my only purpose is cooking dinner. I probably sound spoiled. I don’t mean to complain, but I could do so much more with my life. I went from having purpose to, well, playing house."
Gino cocked his head to the side and looked at me strangely, as if I were speaking a foreign language.
I continued to spill my thoughts, hoping I wouldn’t regret it later. "I appreciate that you’re allowing me time and all when it comes to… well, sex. I do, truly, but otherwise I feel like the rug was pulled out from under me. My entire life changed. I had dreams, but they’ve all vanished into thin air because you snapped your fingers and demanded a wife."
I flinched after letting that last part slip out. The words sounded harsher than I’d intended. But if we were being honest, it was the truth. He wanted a wife, and I caught the raw end of the deal. I knew I was being ungrateful. After all, it allowed me the chance to save my father's life. I should be thankful, not resentful.
Gino dug his fork into the plate of angel hair and twirled. He lifted a forkful of pasta into his mouth. He didn’t fly off the cuff, but instead chewed his food slowly.
When he finally answered, his words struck me with such force, I couldn’t have expected them.
"You only have yourself to blame. You chose this life. You’re the one who went along with it. I thought you decided to give it a go, and attempt to find some happiness in our marriage."
I watched him shove his fork back into his pasta and twist another portion around it. I was stunned. How? Why would he even say something like that? I shook my head adamantly and answered as calmly as I could. I wanted to scream it out, but held my tongue the best I was able. "I chose this life? As if I had a choice. If I'd said no, it would have been the end of my father. What kind of choice is that?"
Gino arched an eyebrow. "Listen, honey, if you felt obligated to marry me just to keep your family living in the style they're accustomed to, that's your choice. Don’t try to pin this on me."
I frowned on hearing his words. Seriously? "It's not just the money. My mother could have gotten a job and supported my sister and herself if she needed too. She’s not above sacrifice. I would have helped as well."
"So what is it then?" He waited on me to finish.
Didn't he get it? "My father’s death would have destroyed my family. How could you even question that? My mother is too young to be widowed, and my sister, she’d be fatherless and reeling from his loss. How did you expect me to react? Let you kill my father? What kind of choice did I have? How would I have lived with myself, knowing I’d chosen my freedom over my father’s very life? I’m not a monster.”
"What?" His voice exploded with anger.
"And you sit there and act like everything is fine? Come on, Gino, I did my part. I married you, but your trying to play innocent doesn’t help matters.” I jumped up and paced in front of the table like a caged lion. "What would you have done if the shoe was on the other foot? Let your family member die? I think not. It’s not like I chose this life, but given the choice, it was the only way to keep my father alive!"
Gino stood, took a step in my direction and grabbed my arms. He looked at me as if he was seeing me for the first time and growled, "Is that the sort of man you think I am?"
I flinched at his barking and couldn’t look him in the eye.
Gino’s face twisted with anger and disgust. "I've been nothing but respectful and patient with you. I refuse to listen to this garbage!"
What did he want from me? To sit quietly and never speak the truth? How did he expect me to move forward, if I was always looking back?
Gino let go of my arms and drew a deep breath. After he sat down, he found a calmer voice. "Isabella, I don't know what kind of garbage your father filled your head with, but his life was never threatened. Let me repeat this, so you read me loud and clear. We never threatened to take your father’s life."
Bullshit. I called him on it. "Don’t deny it. He told me. He needed me to understand the gravity of the situation. He sat me down and told me he’d be terminated if I didn’t marry you. Where’s the choice? Where’s my damn choice, Gino? You tell me.”
My husband groaned. Things were becoming clear. "We told him he’d have to retire because of what he did to Sonny. Then the council gave him a choice: he could lose everything including his assets and power, and start fresh again somewhere else, or he could keep the money and retire comfortably. In return, he’d give me your hand in marriage. He sold you out, pussy cat. You were the price to pay for his mistakes. And rather than walk away, he threw you to the lions. If he was half the man you think he is, this would have never even been mentioned to you, as your entire family would have moved to a new town."
Everything in my body clenched in horror. It couldn’t be true. My chest tightened, my head spun, and as my jaw dropped; all I could think was this had to be a mistake. He'd told me himself. They'd terminate him.
Gino continued speaking, watching my face contort with pain. "So you see, the choice he was given wasn’t between his life and daughter, but bet
ween his money and you. So, if there's anyone you should be angry with, it's your father."
Slowly I pulled out my chair and sat. I stared at my plate, my mind racing in all directions. Sour acid churned in my stomach. I heard the words, but didn’t want to believe them. My father chose money over my happiness? No. My father loved me... He couldn't have... and what of my mother? Did she know too? I looked at Gino, lost. His face softened as he understood how much wool had been pulled over my eyes.
Gino reached out for my hand and stroked it tenderly. "Oh, baby, that man doesn't deserve you as his daughter."
I nodded quietly. How? How could my father have decided... It was too much to accept. I could barely wrap my thoughts around my newly realized reality. Somehow, I knew Gino was telling the truth. My own father sacrificed my happiness for his own. My body shuddered. Silent tears streaked my cheeks. My heart broke, but buried just below the surface, my anger started to boil. What was I supposed to do? My entire life was a sham, a lie, a sorry joke at my expense. I choked out a whisper. "This hurts so damned much.”
Gino moved to my side and held my hands. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I had no idea he twisted his words into such a disgusting lie."
He stood and pulled me into him. I let him hold me. I dropped my head to his chest and sank into the comfort of his arms. He wasn't the monster I thought he was. I hadn’t married a ruthless killer threatening to take out my father if he didn't get his way. It was all a lie. Slowly, the words my father had used made sense. He let me believe the lie. He knew what he was doing. There was intent buried in his concern – for himself, not for me. He knowingly outwitted me, pushing me into Gino’s arms for his own comfort. He threw me away, using me as some damn bargaining chip. My pain turned to seething anger.
Strangely, this new outlook… I saw the situation as liberating. I didn't owe my father anything. That bastard was dead to me. He was no father, but some two-bit criminal willing to trade his family for his own callous needs. Fucking, prick.
It was time to fight for my freedom, the freedom to live my life. I wanted to run from the lies and garbage that bound these people to a weird sense of obligation, and rules that made no sense in a modern world. My father... my own father... Fuck him. Yeah, it was time to take my life back.
* * *
14
Gino
It was the first time since we moved in together that I managed to come home early. This wasn’t the type of evening I planned for. In my imagination, after dinner we would've crossed the road for a walk on the beach. I pictured taking her hand and holding it so tightly that she wouldn't be able to free herself. In my mind, she wanted my hand in hers. We could have sat in the sand and watched the moon rise over the ocean. So much for my romantic plan.
Rage bubbled up inside me. I never liked her father, now this. I’d always pegged him as a sleaze ball, but now I hated him with a venom that ate at my stomach. Since I didn't have a kid, I couldn't really put myself in his shoes, but I knew in my heart no decent father would ever have acted the way he did. Who did that? Trick their own daughter into marrying someone by telling her if she didn't follow through, he’d be killed in cold blood. Fucking bastard.
I realized I wasn’t the best person to stand on judgments for him, because I’d been the one who come up with the idea. I was the first one down that slippery slope, posing the bargain, dangling the choice before his eyes. Regardless, that slimy jerk used it to save himself – tossing away his kid.
I was practically foaming at the mouth with anger, but tried to remain calm. I walked Isabella to the large sofa that had been delivered earlier this week and asked her to sit down. I sat beside her and held her closely. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone. I called her father’s house. Isabella's mother picked up the phone.
"Good evening, Stella," I said forcing myself to have a cheerful voice. "This is Gino, your favorite son-in-law."
She chuckled a bit, being good-natured. "Of course, I recognized you, Gino. It's always a pleasure to hear from you."
"Well, thank you, Stella. That's a very sweet thing to say. I was calling to find out if you and your husband would be home later tonight, and if Isabella and I could drop by for a minute. There’s something we’d like to discuss."
"Of course, Gino. You don't need to stand on ceremony with us; you can drop in any time and we’ll always be delighted to have you. You’re family."
I wanted to laugh. That open invitation would be permanently rescinded later, but somehow it comforted me in the belief that Isabella's mother had been blind to her husband’s deceit.
"Great, we'll be over shortly." I terminated the conversation and turned to my wife. Her tears had dried, but she looked shell shocked. I didn’t know if she’d be up for confronting her father, but I was. This was one of those situations where punching the other guy’s face probably wouldn’t have changed his mind, but it would at least make me feel a heck of a lot better.
Isabella followed me to the car on autopilot. I let her digest the news and didn't attempt to make conversation on the way to her parent’s house. Once parked in their driveway, I turned to look at my wife. There was a resolute expression on her face. I kind of liked it.
I walked around the car and opened her door. "Come on, honey. Let's get this show on the road."
She accepted my hand to get out of the car, but her sad smile enraged me. Her father deserved what he was about to get. Just seeing her expression made me want to beat the shit out of him, but a few seconds later I forgot all about him as I noticed she hadn't let go of my hand, and was now holding onto it for support. We silently walked to the front door.
"Isabella!" Maura squealed as she opened the door and flung herself into her sister's arm. Teenagers were so dramatic. She acted as if it had been years since she'd seen her. Maura let go of her sister and turned to examine me from head to toe, as if I was some sort of alien life form she wasn't familiar with. "Hi, Gino, Dad's waiting for you in his study."
"Good, I'll show him the way," Isabella said. "I need to have a word with him myself."
Reaching out for my hand again, Isabella walked with me to the carved wooden double doors that led to her father's study. She knocked and without waiting for an answer, opened it. She led me into the somber room. The place was lined with books piled in mahogany shelves from floor to ceiling. Two windows where obstructed by heavy drapes. The only light was from a green Tiffany lamp on his desk.
Dante stood as his daughter closed the door behind us. He came around his desk in our direction. Isabella let go of my hand and walked over to her father. The man began to open his arms for a hug, as if to embrace his daughter, then froze. The expression on Isabella's face spoke louder than any words she might have said. Something was off.
"Good evening, Father.” Her words were icy, bitter and cold. "I came to tell you that as far as I’m concerned, you’re dead to me."
Dante opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. I could almost see the wheel turnings in his head. His gaze darted back and forth, between Isabella and me. A moment of silence, and then a mask came over the man’s face. He finally figured it out and took a step back.
He was a fucking idiot. How could he have imagined that his daughter would never find out what the real deal had been?
"I never want to hear from you again, and if not for my mother and my sister, I’d be begging my husband and his family not to honor their end of the bargain. You're nothing more than a despicable, conniving excuse for a father, let alone human being--"
Showing more courage that I suspected he had, Dante interrupted her. "You will not talk to me that way!"
"Or what?" Isabella snorted. "You don't deserve respect. You're a pimp, the worst kind of pimp, the kind who sells his own daughter."
"What?" Stella's horrified question made our heads turn in the direction of the door.
"Get the fuck out of here, Stella," Dante yelled at his wife.
Doing so, the man hammered the final na
il into his coffin. Isabella snapped. With all her force, she reeled back and slapped him across the face. "Don't you dare talk to my mother that way," she growled.
"Well, I think we're all done here," I said, reaching out for her hand while admiring the redness of her father's cheek. “Come on, sweetheart. It's time to get back home."
Stella pulled away to let us walk out. The fury in her eyes was palpable. For an instant, I considered the possibility of sticking around to listen to what she was about to tell her husband but thought better of it.
It was time for Isabella and me to have a long talk.
* * *
15
Isabella
Gino allowed me space after opening my car door. I sat in silence, not ready to speak. The reality of reaching out and bitch-slapping my father, and understanding I'd just cut him out of my life left me drunk with confusion.
I watched Gino walk around the car and let himself in. Sitting behind the wheel, he leaned forward and turned the radio’s volume lower. I think he wanted to say something, but then he stopped as if he knew I needed a few moments.
Halfway home, I found my voice. I watched life pass by my window as he drove. "I'm not really sure where to go from here. Overwhelmed is an understatement. Could we maybe take a walk before turning in?"
Gino nodded, then reached down and placed his hand over mine. "Of course."
My insides twisted like a sheet on a clothesline during a summer storm. Everything I thought I knew... it was all a lie. I was vacant and numb. I’d married a stranger, my father tossed me away like yesterday's newspaper in order to retain his money and power, and my college days were over. Somehow, my life had been decided for me. I wanted to take it back.