Stef
“Stef, if you don't stop squirming, this brush is going to end up in your eye,” her mother fussed.
Stefania closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm as her mother applied the makeup brush to her eyelashes. It wasn't easy—anger rolled and writhed in Stef's stomach like a poisonous snake.
It had been five days since her father had gotten the mysterious call from Mr. Quattrocchi and Stef had breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn't about her. Except that after Quattrocchi had introduced Benny to this “Leo Lupo,” it seemed like the young Canadian hoodlum was all her father could talk about. During every meal, as Stef picked at her food listlessly, he would return to the subject again and again.
“As stubborn as you've been about choosing a husband, I'm actually glad you've waited so long,” Benny told her, transferring another heavy slab of lasagna to his plate and digging in. “I can tell that Leo is a very special young man. He's different from the others. You'll see it too, when you meet him. He's polite, he's respectful to his elders...you can tell from the way he carries himself that he was raised well. He has real class and sophistication. There's nothing petty about him, and he's got a good head on his shoulders. He's got a bright future ahead of him.”
“It sounds like you should marry him, then,” Stef said, pushing some beets around her plate. The juice they oozed was blood-red, and she was reminded of the gory pictures of Arthur that had been tossed onto the table in front of her the week before. Her stomach clenched, and for a moment, she thought she might throw up.
Her father paused, his fork halfway to his mouth as his eyes hardened. “I know you like to act headstrong, Stef, but you'd better not ruin this date with your pouting. A marriage between you and Leo will secure our organization for years to come. So stop being selfish, and think of your duty to your family for once.”
“And what about my happiness?” Stef asked hotly. “Doesn't that mean anything to you?”
“Don't frown so much, dear,” her mother murmured, cutting herself another slice of lasagna. “It'll give you wrinkles.”
“How can you say I don't care about your happiness?” Benny demanded. “Haven't I given you the best of everything since you were born? The finest clothes, the most expensive schools? I've spent millions of dollars on you, I've treated you like a princess, and when have you ever been happy? When have you ever shown me the gratitude and respect that I deserve?”
“Oh, sure, you've treated me like a princess all right. You've surrounded me with high walls and guards, and kept me locked away in a tower.”
Her father waved her away dismissively. “You're so dramatic. I'll bet Leo never talks to his parents like this.”
“Why can't I make any decisions for myself? Why can't you just let me live my own life?”
“Because you'd only screw it up,” Benny answered. “You have such good looks, and so much potential. I'm your father, I love you, and as I said before, I want what's best for you even if you throw it back in my face. You could have a perfect life. You could live like royalty, with a husband who provides you with everything you could possibly need.”
“Including beautiful children,” Gracie chimed in. “Good, strong heirs. And a respectable name.”
“But you're weak, and you're spoiled. If I let you do whatever you want, then what?” her father continued. “You'd dress like trash, you'd eat like trash, you'd look like trash and behave like trash. You'd dishonor me by rolling around in the muck with some nobody like Arthur. You'd get pregnant before marriage like some kind of mignotta and flush the family name down the toilet. I won't let that happen, no matter how much you treat me like I'm some kind of monster. I care about you too much.”
Stef had finished her dinner in stony silence after that. Now she was doing her best to sit still as her mother applied her makeup before her date with Leo.
“Remember to sit up straight and keep your legs together,” her mother instructed as she applied blush to Stef's cheeks. “Don't order anything except a light salad, and don't eat more than half of it. You don't want him to think you're a pig who's going to start gaining weight the moment she's married.”
“I'm sure if I eat more than half the salad, our bodyguard will report back to you immediately,” Stef sighed. “Who's going to be my chaperone this time? Silvio, or one of the other primates?”
“You shouldn't insult your Uncle Silvio like that,” Gracie said with a tsk and a grimace. “The mouth on you. I hope you won't make those kinds of snide remarks when you're with Leo. Maybe some of his good manners will rub off on you. And to answer your question, you'll be accompanied by both Silvio and Leo's right-hand man. Max, I think his name is.”
“Wonderful,” Stef groaned. “Two thugs for the price of one.”
Suddenly, Gracie grabbed a handful of Stef's hair, jerking her head back. Stef cried out in pain.
“Thugs and primates,” her mother hissed. “Is that what you think of our family? Of your father and his friends? Well, for your information, young lady, those men have loved you and looked after you for your entire life. You may look down your nose at them, but they are loyal, they work hard to put food on the table for us, and they deserve your respect. So while you're on this date, you'd better keep your smart mouth to yourself and act like you have some courtesy for the people who protect and serve us so faithfully. Because if your father and I find out that you behaved like a stuck-up brat and ruined your chances with Leo, you're going to find out just how miserable life can be.”
“Okay, okay!” Stef yelled. “Let go! You're hurting me!”
Gracie released Stef's hair, then frowned at it disapprovingly. “Now look what you've made me do. We'll have to brush your hair all over again.” She picked up the brush and ran it through Stef's hair roughly, pulling it hard with each stroke.
Stef tried not to show how agonizing it was, but tears welled up in her eyes. The rest of her life stretched out before her like an endless corridor to hell. Either she could relent and choose one of her suitors to be her husband, or her parents would take away the few comforts she had and force her to marry one of these pathetic gangsters anyway before she became too old to be considered a valuable commodity.
Because that was all she was. Something to be displayed proudly and sold off to the highest bidder. She couldn't help but think of herself as little more than a whore, and her own father was her pimp. What a sick joke.
And if she played the role of the dutiful daughter and went along with it, then what? A marriage that was little more than a formality, with a man who'd probably have his way with her anytime he felt like it, however he liked it, whether she wanted it or not.
A man who might beat her whenever he had a bad day, while everyone who claimed to care about her looked the other way and said, “As long as she's wearing his ring, it's none of our business.”
A man who'd probably start seeing other women before the ink on their marriage license was even dry, bringing home feeble excuses and diseases.
A man who'd likely end up dead, missing, or in prison, like so many of her “uncles” and “cousins” had.
For a savage moment, she thought about how satisfying it might be to actually take steps to make that happen—to sell her husband out to rival mobsters, or to the FBI. He'd be gone, she'd be free, everything he had would be hers, and there would be nothing Benny could do about it.
But if anyone ever found out, could she really expect her father to protect her? Or would he simply shake his head sadly and wash his hands of her?
Normal girls my age don't have to think about any of this, she thought bitterly. Normal girls my age get to go to college and date around and fall in love and eat whatever they want. They aren't locked away and treated like living dolls by their parents. They don't have their lives controlled by criminals, or worry about the Feds breaking down their doors at two in the morning.
“There,” her mother said, finishing Stef's makeup. “Doesn't that look better?”
Stef didn't answer.