Chapter 7

Christmas celebrations in Sicily are loud, lively, and abundant. This year, the party is being hosted by the Boss, Salvatore Vitale, and everything feels even more different than the year before. Less than a year away from home, I feel like a stranger in my own land, and London feels more comfortable with every passing day. Well-dressed women, drinks that seem to come from an endless fountain, and sophisticated food. Siena stays by my side, steady, but ever since I returned for the holiday celebrations, we have barely talked. Something changed in her relationship with her father, and now she lives in fear, completely different from how I found her at my fifteenth birthday party. Months have passed, and neither of us is the same. I saved a girl, was beaten, and exiled to another country. And her? I asked her as soon as I noticed the change, but she only said it was all in my head. “Boarding school isn’t doing your reasoning any favors,” she said, followed by a laugh faker than the happiness I feel returning home. I simply did not insist. Around us, many dance, business continues, and life goes on. In the distance, I see Francesco Vitale, the Capo’s second son, who, at only twenty-six, manages to draw sighs wherever he goes. Handsome, strong, slightly sun-kissed skin, and adorned with light-colored hair. He is also the most reserved of the three brothers. While Lorenzo Vitale always wears that businessman expression that looks like he could tear our heads off with a breath, Arturo toasts to life with generous amounts of wine and a cynicism that seems to have worsened over time. Francesco is measured, almost seeming rude, but he is pure kindness. At least with ladies. I admire him, because he contrasts with most of the men here. I am probably staring, because he looks at me after Arturo points it out, laughing endlessly. Embarrassed, I pull Raoul to dance and disguise my lack of sense. “Bored?” “Not exactly, just tired.” “Father could have let you travel a week earlier. That way we could have enjoyed your company more and you wouldn’t have practically come straight from the airport to the party. Who the hell travels on Christmas Day? Actually, who studies during Christmas week? They didn’t let you leave London earlier?” I look at him as if the answer were obvious. “Of course, he didn’t. My stupidity. Sorry.” “Don’t apologize, brother. I miss you, but boarding school isn’t as bad as it seems.” “I know. How many times a day do you say that just to convince yourself?” “I’m serious. I sleep in peace, I live in peace, and without fear of what might happen the next minute.” “Things have improved here.” “Really? They don’t force you to do what you don’t want anymore?” His expression falters, and he squeezes my hand. “Sorry. I just don’t believe what you say. It’s not your fault. We are the same here—without choices.” “Forgiven,” he says solemnly, though with a mocking air. “But for it to be official, dance with me properly. You look like an English girl! Per l’amor di Dio!” At that moment, there is no mafia or fights, there is nothing. Only the excitement of the tarantella. I feel light, free, and laughter flows from me, making me sweat. In that moment, I am only a fifteen-year-old girl, as I should be. The dance ends, and we seem like children laughing. The smile dies slowly when I realize that my departure from Sicily was nothing more than an escape. It is impossible to run from your own life when I know that, in all these months away, they merely closed my eyes to what happens in these lands. My father is a monster, and I feel complicit. What makes me any different from all of them? “Hey, are you okay?” he asks, noticing my mood change. “Is it strange that I miss home?” “You left nothing here, Valentina. Take advantage of the fact that you can escape for a while… because when the time comes to fulfill your destiny, you will long for freedom.” “Are they busy?” I ask casually when Raoul checks the clock. “I have no choice,” my brother says without emotion. “What are you going to do?” “Still nosy, huh?” he tries to joke. “Just a Consigliere emergency.” He steps closer and kisses the top of my head. I notice Paolo and him leaving, but my father remains. I look around and realize they are still the same. The whispers, the secret meetings, and the business. No one seems to notice the pattern, because probably none of them carry the memory of that girl tied to a chair, burned forever into their mind. I wake up terrified in the middle of the night. Premonition, fear, anguish, or only memories from the past. I do not know the reason, but I wake in the middle of the night, shaken, staring at the old walls of my room in the De Luca mansion. Months within the walls of the boarding school seem comfortable to me now. I look out the window. Everything is dark, except for one small light far away in the garden. The entrance to the South Wing. I tremble. After the brown-haired girl and the French girl, I avoided thinking about what happened here, but everything haunts me like a damned ghost. That lit lamp keeps me from forgetting. I focus my eyes on it, and it is as if that small beam of light begins to expand, growing and swallowing me whole. Seduced by it, I push the sheets away, put on a pair of boots, some coat, and go down the stairs. I follow the same path I took months ago. I already know what I am going to see, but I do not know how prepared I am for it. Slow, doubtful steps lead me to the same tree. Facing the same window. Déjà vu. That beam of light that seduced me now spills in long, silky layers. Wild. Tonight, in the middle of the darkness, the beam is a woman and her flaming hair. A strong shade of red is shaken every time Paolo touches her. He did not take her to the room in the South Wing. Right there, near the entrance, he punishes her for sins she does not carry. I lose my breath, and my body begins to convulse. Desperate. I cover my ears and close my eyes, saying a prayer, as if someday I could forget that scene, now tattooed on my mind. On my soul. I twist with the girl. It hurts.