Blood Always

9

“They had valid ground to claim blood for blood after Gino Venturi was killed. Matteo is the one we have to thank for Alessia coming home alive. They were involved, but not totally to blame.” “Ha!” I barked with a callous laugh. “Thank him? That’s a joke.” “Enough!” my father yelled, slamming his hand on his large executive desk. “The hatred ends now. That chapter in our lives has closed. It’s time for all of us to move on—am I understood?” I sat so still, even my heartbeats slowed. My father wasn’t the type to raise his voice. He didn’t have to. His presence and general demeanor were usually enough to command attention and respect in any company. He had been pushed too far, and as always, it was my fault. Ice cold water doused my flaming anger as he continued. “You may want to blame the Gallos for what happened to Alessia, but you would only be lying to yourself. There are two people who are responsible—Sal for his treachery, and me for not doing my job and seeing through his façade. If you need someone to blame, then direct your anger here, because that’s where it belongs.” With the last words, he thumped his hand over his heart. “I will not watch more of my family—blood or otherwise—fall victim because of my neglect. I have to fix this, and to do that, I need your help.” Game, set, match. Dad wins. Was it any wonder he was the mafia boss and I was no more than one of Santa’s little helpers? With a few simple words, he not only put me in my place, he had me feeling guilty for arguing with him. He was honor and loyalty personified, whereas I was irreparably flawed like a shiny red apple rotting from within. I wanted to rip at my hair and scream at myself for always being such an asshole. Instead, I cleared my throat, eyes dropping to my week-old manicure. “What can I do to help?” I wasn’t going to join the Gallo family cheerleaders, but I could calm my t**s and listen to what Dad had to say. His posture softened, reminding me of those inflatable decorations in people’s yards when the compressor turns off and all that was left was a puddle of fabric. His job wasn’t easy, and recent weeks had been particularly challenging. The last thing he needed was an insolent daughter making his life harder. It wasn’t like I intended to be difficult. My emotions seized control of my brain when I wasn’t careful and kicked logic to the curb. The ironic part? Most people assumed I was void of emotion. I kept a brutally tight hold on my feelings in order to avoid a total overthrow of rational thought. It made me seem cold, when actually, there was a constant storm of emotions inside me raging to break free. “I’ve put a lot of thought into this. There are ways to help bond our families together, such as celebratory gatherings, but nothing comes close to having the same effect … as a marriage.” He let the word drift in the air like a delicate feather wafting down to the ground. For someone who generally reacts on an emotional level to everything, even if only internally, those devilish voices in my head were remarkably silent. Marriage. He wanted to marry someone from the Lucciano family to the Gallo family. No matter how I twisted the words around in my head, I couldn’t picture it—like one of those 3D images you had to cross your eyes to see. My mental eye squinted and stared, but nothing formed. There was just a canvas of meaningless geometric patterns. I’d spent my life hating the Gallos. Now, my father wanted us to become family? He gave me his explanation as to why—but how on earth did he expect that to happen? The Jews and the Palestinians didn’t just wake up one day and decide to grab dinner together. Granted, our bad history didn’t go quite that far back, but it was equally as hostile. “You’ve already talked to De Luca about this?” I asked, for lack of a better question. I wasn’t sure if I was stumped or in shock, but either way, my brain was a wide-open sky without a cloud in sight. “Yes, and he’s in agreement. In fact, he’s offering himself as the groom.” “Soooo, that would mean a woman from the Lucciano family would become his wife?” “That’s exactly what it means. I think it’s important for Matteo’s bride to be a relation to upper management. This alliance is too important to offer up the daughter of a capo. Unfortunately, that would mean the best candidates are your cousins, your sisters … and you.” Me. There were no other candidates. By the tone in his voice, it was clear I had caught the bouquet and would be the next one down the aisle. I was expected to be Mrs. Matteo De Luca, wife to the Gallo family underboss. For once in my godforsaken life, I didn’t overreact. I didn’t react at all. “I can’t wear white,” I said absently. The comment wasn’t all that surprising, per se, but not exactly the first thing I expected out of my mouth after finding out I was going to marry my enemy. Judging by his pinched brow, it wasn’t what my father had expected either. “You … what?” I could feel his heavy gaze pressing down on me, but my eyes stayed glued to my hands. “White. I won’t wear white.” “Um … okay. This is the twenty-first century. I don’t think anyone is expecting you to be a virginal bride, but you can wear whatever color you prefer, within reason.” “It’s not that. I just hate white weddings.” I dragged my eyes away from my cuticles and met my father’s concerned face. “If I do this, will I still be a Lucciano?” I sounded like a child. Hatred for all my inherent weaknesses painted a blush across my heated cheeks. I abhorred being weak, but no matter how hard I tried to eradicate the flaw from my person, it always resurfaced like a red stain on white carpet. My father closed the distance between us and pulled me to my feet, cupping my cheeks in his palms as his eyes bore into mine. “You will always be my daughter—my flesh and blood—and nothing beyond that matters. You know who you are. No label will ever change that.” His thumb gently swiped at a treacherous tear. I hadn’t cried since my brother died. I wasn’t exactly crying now.