Stef
Stefania Altamura impatiently drummed her fingers on the dining room table, ignoring the meal in front of her and wishing the minutes would pass more quickly.
At the other end of the long table, her father Benny and her mother Gracie were eating spaghetti in heavy red sauce, with spicy sausage and meatballs on the side. Benny mopped his plate with a hunk of bread, slathering it with butter and stuffing it into his mouth.
By contrast, Stef's plate looked like a minimalist art project. A small pile of wilted greens, a slice of dry-looking turkey breast, and a dollop of plain yogurt. With a whole lot of empty space in between.
“Stef, sit up straight and take your elbows off the table,” her mother said curtly. “No one's going to want to marry a hunchback, especially one with bad manners.”
Stef sighed, straightening up and putting her arms down at the sides of her chair. Of all the things she hated about living with her parents, she had come to despise meal times most of all. She loathed the unappetizing food her mother prepared for her, always based on the latest—and most vile—health trends Gracie read about online. Even when she could force herself to eat everything on her plate, she still felt hungry and miserable all the time.
More than that, she couldn't stand the constant scrutiny and criticism. Most of the time, she could spend the rest of the day in her room, reading or watching TV. But when it was time to eat, she felt like she was being studied under a microscope.
“She's wearing too much makeup,” her father commented, shoving a forkful of sausage into his mouth. “Gracie, ask her why she's wearing so much makeup.”
“Sweetie, we've been over this and over this,” Gracie said to Stef in her most frustrated and long-suffering tone. “When you put on makeup, you need to go slow and use the techniques I've taught you. Otherwise, you look like a puttana or something from the circus.”
Stef felt a volcanic flash of rage run through her, but she did her best to keep it under control. Ever since she'd turned twenty-one last year, her parents had taken control of every aspect of her life—trying to turn her into the perfect prospective bride for a seemingly never-ending parade of male heirs from other Mafia families. They kept a close watch over how she dressed, where she went, and who she spent time with. She had almost no friends, and she was strictly forbidden from interacting with any boys that weren't introduced to her by her father. The way her father saw things, it would be harder for her to attract a respectable mate if she got a reputation as a slut.
When Stef asked her parents why things had to be this way now, Benny had told her that he was getting older, and it was time to start thinking about who would take over his businesses if anything happened to him. Since he'd never had any sons, old-world traditions dictated that his daughter marry a man who could fill this role. Stef had tried to protest, but Benny had made it very clear that as long as she was living under her roof, she'd obey him.
So far, Stef had met almost a dozen boys from different crime families across the country, and she'd refused each of their proposals. But she knew she couldn't keep refusing them for much longer, or else she'd tempt her father's wrath and he'd punish her by taking away the few privileges she had left.
But then she'd met Arthur.
To be fair, she'd never actually “met” Arthur. She'd connected with him via her social media account—one of the few ways in which she was allowed to communicate with the outside world unsupervised. He was good-looking and had a perfect smile, and they enjoyed a lot of the same books and movies. They'd chatted for hours, and last night, Stef had finally summoned the courage to suggest that they meet in person. She made arrangements for her friend Alice to say she'd be spending a few hours at her place, but once she was there, Stef planned to sneak out the back and have ice cream with Arthur at a nearby diner.
And her parents would never have to know.
All Stef had to do was survive a few more minutes of torture at the dinner table, and then she'd be on the first date she'd truly planned for herself in over a year. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself, thinking of Arthur's blue eyes and straight white teeth. She wondered what it would be like to get a goodnight kiss from him.
“Make sure you wash some of that greasepaint off your face after dinner,” her father said, dabbing at the corners of his lips with his napkin. “And pick out something nicer to wear. Tonight, I'm going to introduce you to Carmine Ficociello. His father runs the unions in Philly.”
“I can't tonight, Dad,” Stef reminded him uneasily. “I'm going over to Alice's place, remember?”
Benny reached into his back pocket and pulled out a photograph, sliding it across the table to her. “I wouldn't worry too much about those plans. They've been canceled.”
Stef looked down at the photo, and her breath caught in her throat like shards of broken glass. In it, Arthur was lying on the floor of a basement, bruised and bleeding. Three men in ski masks stood over him, holding baseball bats.
Her father looked at her with raised eyebrows. Her mother stared down at her empty plate, her lips pursed.
“How could you do this to him?” Stef hissed. She could feel hot tears welling up in her eyes, making the gory image double and triple before her.
“I didn't do this to him,” Benny countered, pointing his fork in Stef's direction. “You did it when you made plans to see him behind my back. From now on, you'll have no more computer, no more access to the internet. And you won't be allowed to see Alice anymore, either. She's lucky I don't have my guys work her over too.”
“Why do you have to treat me like this?” Stef yelled, standing up from the table and throwing the photo in Benny's face. “Why are you so cruel?”
“Every child asks that of their parent sooner or later,” her father said, trying to sound soothing and reasonable. His tone only made Stef more furious. “'Why do I have to do what you say? Why can't I do what I want?' But that's because even at twenty-one, you're still a child, Stef. You still don't see that everything I do, I do because it's what's best for you, and for this family. One day, when you have children of your own, maybe you'll understand.”
“I hate you!” Stef shrieked, storming out of the room.
“You can hate me all you want,” Benny called after her. “You can slam the door to your room as hard as you want, too. But you'd better make sure you're ready to meet Carmine in an hour, and you'd better be done with these tantrums by then, or I might have to pay Alice a visit after all.”
Stef stomped up the stairs and into her room, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Thinking of what had happened to Arthur made her want to throw up, especially since she knew that on some level, her father was right. It was her fault. She hadn't told Arthur what business her father was in, or how angry he'd be if he found out about them. She'd been stupid enough to think she could hide her relationship with him from her parents. And he'd paid the price, and who knew how badly they'd beaten him? Was he crippled? Would he die from internal bleeding?
She'd never be able to find out now.
For the millionth time, Stef fantasized about running away from home—just packing a bag and getting as far away from all of this as she could. No more threats from her father, no more disapproving looks from her mother. She could wear what she wanted, eat what she wanted, fall in love with whoever she wanted.
But these fantasies never lasted long, because she understood how sheltered she'd been her entire life. Her parents had never allowed her to learn how to drive a car, since even that would be too much independence. She had no money of her own, and even if she did, she wouldn't be able to buy a ticket for a bus, plane, or train without Benny finding out. She had no friends she could stay with, no way of knowing how to make it in the world alone.
She was trapped.
Once she got her tears under control, Stef walked over to her mirror and started to wipe the makeup from her face so she could re-apply it in time to meet Carmine.
As much as she hated it, she couldn't think of a single other thing to do.