Chapter 6

15 years old Arriving in London is not easy. It may sound absurd, considering I got away from all the human filth that lived in that house. But even so, I feel displaced, because Sicily is still my home. That is where I lived with Mom, learned my first words, and shaped my character. There, I discovered that my purpose could not simply be to get married, have children, and die. Or to surrender to eternal mourning. There has to be something more. When the little French girl who was so far from home managed to return, I truly prayed—with faith. However, I stopped believing in the higher being who commands all things when he did not do enough to save her. Because I understand that, even if he exists, we are still at the mercy of our own choices. Free will still exists, and Mom was its victim. She chose to submit to Father without fighting, and sometimes that awakened even more anger in me. I am grateful for having found some greater purpose in this life. I could have even died after the beating and the lashes Father gave me that night, but even so, I would have died happy. I still feel my body aching in the places where I have bruises—strategically inflicted and hidden beneath the thick brown coat. Father was furious and needed to take it out on someone. I was only spared worse because he merely suspected I was responsible. I never confessed that I had called the authorities. I would die before doing that. With every slap across my face, I could see him waiting for me to beg for my life, to confess. But no. I was unyielding. Without more proof, his choice was to send me to boarding school to “learn how to keep my mouth shut,” as he said. And I went, without complaint—obedient and deceptive. Silence is your shield, Valentina. Mother’s words echo. As soon as we get off the plane, I cannot even see what London looks like or whether it is as I remembered from the last time I was here. We rush straight to the boarding school, because the Consigliere has commitments in that city and will return to Italy afterward. “Sandro and Leonel, this is Valentina.” We only nod formally. Both are grown men, a little over twenty, but with the experience of fifty-year-olds. I had never seen them before. “I do not know your exact orders, but I expect you never to lose sight of her. You know what is at stake.” “Yes, sir. Not for a single minute,” Leonel replied. “We will rotate every twenty-four hours and, if there is any problem, we have orders to report it and solve it.” Orders from whom? I hear them talking about me as if I were not standing there, and I realize the two men are not my father’s soldiers. “Exactly. If you cannot reach me on my number, speak to Paolo and no one else.” Sandro lifts his chin as if challenging him and steps forward, facing my father. “I’m sorry, Consigliere, but those are not the orders. The Godfather requests to be informed first, and if your intervention becomes necessary, you will be notified.” I see Father clench his fist until his knuckles turn white. He was clearly being challenged by the soldier, in the Capo’s name. I just do not know why. Why is Don Salvatore responsible for me before my own father? It makes no sense… Despite the clear challenge, Father says nothing. “Come, Valentina. Meet your new home.” A strict-looking headmistress, with wrinkled skin and a rigid stare, is introduced to me as Catherine Desh, the woman responsible for directing the institution. She only looks at me without truly seeing me, then turns back to my father, offering him an ugly smile, as if she did not quite know how to smile. “Sir, rest assured your daughter will leave here with a first-class education. We shape true ladies for society, excellent wives, and exceptionally accomplished women. We are a reference in etiquette and behavior, and you will not regret it. Every Sicilian father and mother will also want a daughter like yours. I guarantee it.” “There is no need for more recommendations than the ones I have already received. I only emphasize that I do not accept bad behavior from her. I authorize you to act as you see fit, as long as there are results. Valentina can be… somewhat difficult at times. It is essential that you know how to shape her without my needing to be here all the time.” “Do not worry. Certain disciplines will be arranged with extra hours for your daughter. Rest assured of your satisfaction.” Her gaze meets mine, making it clear that her authority is unquestionable. At this point in the conversation, I truly feel far from home. But I lift my head as if Father’s veiled threats and Catherine’s do not affect me. With only a nod, he leaves. As soon as the door closes, I am introduced to the teachers. The way they speak and greet me reveals that they know who I am and what I represent. It shows that if they fail with me, there will probably be consequences. But one teacher in particular catches my attention. Elinor Evans, teacher of behavior, social development, and etiquette. She must be around forty years old, pale skin, beautiful shiny black hair. Severe eyes, but not cold or emotionless. She watches me carefully, and it makes me nervous. She smiles at me the way Mom used to smile. “Valentina, it’s a pleasure. You may call me Miss Elinor.” “Pleasure to meet you.” Her scrutiny gives me chills, and I lower my eyes. “Do not lower your eyes. Lift your chin,” she states. Startled, I do as she says, but I end up looking at her with something between defiance and insolence. “Very good. You have character,” she praises, surprising me. “I only suggest that you direct your defiance toward the right people, girl.” The woman seems to be inside my mind. “Your eyes speak, and a lady must remain silent even with her gaze, child.” Suddenly, the intensity in her eyes disappears, as if she were showing me in practice what to do: silence. “But we will have plenty of time for that kind of lesson. Do not fool yourself, girl, my subject is the strictest of all. No one cares how much science, languages, or mathematics you learn. But if you are a well-trained woman, nothing else matters.” The speech bothers me a little. It would bother me more if it were not for the way she says the word trained, making it impossible not to feel like a little dog being obediently trained, exactly as Dante wishes. Even though she teaches etiquette, something about her captivates me and pushes me to want to be like her. It must feel good to walk around with defiance in your eyes, unafraid of not seeing tomorrow. And if there is one thing I have learned, it is this: It is always darkest before dawn. And my tutor seems to fear none of it.