The grave digger. Unease flutters inside my chest. Who is Damiano talking about and why does that sound like the nicknames Papà gave to his men? They always called each other things like that. Il grasso, il dente, il matematico… Each name had a story. Il dente lost his front tooth in a fight when he was sixteen and walked around like that for a few weeks before my grandfather paid him to get it fixed. Il grasso was always snacking on the job. Il mathematico wouldn’t tell me when I asked, but later I found out from Tito that after every job, he’d always count how many men they’d killed and tally up the numbers in a little notebook he carried in his breast pocket.
Nelo sneers and gives a sharp shake of his head. “Fine. We settle this in your office.”
Damiano jostles the bouncers out of the way, takes me by the elbow, and leads me away. I twist my neck to see if the others follow. They do.
Ras runs up to us. “What’s happening?”
“The thin one has a knife,” Damiano snarls but doesn’t stop walking. “Get it from him as soon as we’re inside my office and figure out how the fuck he managed to get it past the guys at the door.”
“Ale! Wait!” It’s Astrid. I see her trying to get to me, but Ras stops her and says something that makes her scowl at him angrily.
Damiano pulls me through a door marked “Private” and the sounds of the club dim.
I notice there’s no one behind us anymore.
The full realization of what I’ve done slams into me right then.
I just…stabbed a man. Spilled his blood like it was nothing. There was no puppet master pulling the strings this time. It was all me.
The edges of my vision blacken. I sway on my feet, and Damiano’s grip on me tightens.
He stops moving us and brings his face close to mine. “Are you okay? Did they touch you?”
He’s so angry he’s shaking. I suck in a desperate breath and force a single word out. “No.”
He exhales in relief. “What happened?”
“He grabbed Astrid. He touched her over her clothes. It was sick, he wouldn’t let her get away.”
“Astrid stabbed him?”
“No. I did.”
Something that might be pride flickers in his expression, but that must be my imagination, because there’s nothing for me to be proud of in this situation. Yeah, Nelo is sick. But so am I.
Lazaro really did ruin me. And now Astrid knows. I saw it in her eyes when she looked at me moments earlier. She looked terrified of me. Finally, she understands who she’s been living with for two weeks.
A monster.
VALENTINA
“Nelo recognized me from the night before,” I tell Damiano as we follow the dimly lit service hallway to his office. “He said he’ll kill me for what I did tonight.”
“He’s not going to lay a finger on you,” Damiano says in a rough voice. “I’ll make sure of it.”
I pull at my bottom lip with my teeth. Nelo doesn’t play by the rules. I can sense that much. Somehow, I doubt he’s going to listen to Damiano’s warnings.
“What is he mixed up in?” I ask.
Anger carves his jaw into a sharp line. “Him and his crew are a bunch of shit heads. If they even think about touching a hair on your head again, they won’t live long enough to regret it.”
It’s hyperbole, but he says it with such vicious confidence that I almost believe him. Still, Damiano is only a businessman, and Nelo? Nelo is dangerous, and this is the second time I’ve caused issues between him and Damiano.
There had to have been another way to help Astrid that didn’t involve doing what I did. My instincts immediately turned to violence. Is this how I’m going to solve all of my problems from now on? I can’t even convince myself that I won’t. I wasn’t thinking when I drove that ice pick through Nelo’s hand. I just did what felt right.
The panic starts building at the base of my spine. Violence felt right to me. Seriously, what is wrong with me? I can’t get close to anyone when I’m in this state. I really do need therapy. Years of it. And until then, there is no way out. Nelo may have deserved it, but what if I attack someone who doesn’t next time? I need to leave and isolate myself. I won’t put more people in danger because I’m out of my goddamn mind.
“Wait here,” Damiano says when we stop outside of his office. He points to a chair propped against the wall a few feet away and helps me sit down. “I don’t want you in the room with them. We’ll talk as soon as I’m done. All right?”
“Sure,” I say, meeting his gaze. He’s concerned about me, the same way he was when I cried on his boat. He thinks I’m someone who needs protecting, instead of the thing people need protection from.
The sound of footsteps floats from the other end of the hall, and Damiano gives my shoulder a quick squeeze. He opens the door for Nelo and his entourage, blocking me from their sight. I see a flash of Ras before they all disappear inside the room.
As soon as I’m alone, I fold over, and hide my face in my palms. My gut churns. It feels like something rotten has cracked open inside my stomach and filled me with poison.
They’re talking in aggressive tones inside the office, but I can’t make out a single word through the thick walls.
I can’t stay here. I’ll explode if I do.
Running to the closest emergency exit, I barrel through the door. The parking lot blurs around me as I sprint past the rows of cars. I don’t stop moving until I make it to the beach. My heels sink into the sand. The sky is still dark, but the moon is bright, and it illuminates the waves crashing along the shore. The water is always more restless during the night, flashing with foam that looks like white teeth.
I’m so close to the shore, I can feel the ocean’s spittle land on my bare knees. Who would miss me if I walked right into the water and never came back out? My sisters don’t need me. My parents probably want me dead. At this point, if they find me alive, I’ll be in disgrace for the rest of my life. Papà will probably give Lazaro his blessing to kill me for my betrayal. Was I ever a daughter, or just a tool for them to use? Are any mafia daughters ever more than a thing to barter with?
The water is up to my knees now, and the ocean welcomes me. It pulls on my ankles, wrapping its foamy hands around my flesh and coaxing me deeper.
Tears stream down my face. I need to let it all go and start over, but after tonight, I don’t know if I can. Living in fear is the most exhausting thing I’ve ever had to do. And now it’s not just others that I fear. It’s me.
The poison Lazaro filled me with hasn’t gone away. It has corrupted my mind and erased my character. I don’t know who I am.
I gasp when the water reaches the hem of my shorts. It’s cold. Cleansing. Maybe it can cleanse my soul. That thought keeps me moving farther and farther. A big wave crashes into me, and I’m suddenly swept off my feet. I fall backwards, and my head dips under the surface.
Wash it off me. My past, my sins, my memories. I want to be reborn.
My feet connect with the seabed. The water’s not that deep, I can push off and pop back up if I need to, but I challenge myself to hold my breath. The waves toss my body back and forth, and I relax into them, letting nature do its work.
When I’m completely out of breath, I push my head above the surface of the water and glance up at the sky. There are no stars visible tonight, the moon is too bright. I wish I could see them high above me, to serve as a reminder of how small I am in this big world.
Another wave breaks against me. Some salty water gets washed up my nose, and I start coughing. Another wall of water hits me before I get a chance to take a proper breath.
When the biggest wave yet slams over my head, I think I hear my name, but the sound of the rushing water drowns it out. Then I’m submerged, and this time, when I point my toes, I don’t meet any resistance. It doesn’t feel like I’m sinking. It feels as if I’m suspended in space and time.
Panic starts creeping in. I swim, but it’s too dark, and I don’t know which way is up. The water doesn’t feel pleasantly cool anymore. It’s freezing and heavy and as thick as tar. A pain appears inside my chest and darkness seeps through my thoughts. I can’t hold on to any of them.
When I’m finally convinced I’m about to die, two snakes wrap around my waist. They bite into my stomach, digging their dull teeth into my flesh.
“Ale. Ale!”
Not teeth. Fingers. Hands. Two arms.