Chapter 2
1553 Words
Valentina De Luca
13 years old
Palermo — six years later
Mom pulls hard on my hair while getting me ready for ballet class, and I have to stop myself from telling her how much I hate all of this. My feet are always covered in bruises, classical music irritates me, and the hairpins dig painfully into my scalp while she turns me into a perfect little princess.
It’s in moments like this that she shows me how much she loves me, because she rarely does when the whole family is together. My father doesn’t like seeing us like this, so Mom reminds me every single day how I’m supposed to behave, how careful I need to be.
Dante De Luca says love is a weakness and that Gianna, my mother, cannot raise useless children… especially me, though I still don’t fully understand what that means.
Over time, I learned to obey and stay out of trouble, although sometimes I simply forget.
There was no freedom for women in the Family.
Gianna tries to hide the bruise on her shoulder and lowers her gaze, pretending not to see it. She always says I shouldn’t look, and I obey, even if there are many things I don’t understand… except that my head hurts because of this tight hairstyle. After making me look perfect, she tries to fix her own messy hair and smiles at me through the mirror.
“Perfect, my little girl.”
“It hurts!” I complain, and she only shakes her head because I always say the same thing.
“It always hurts.”
She says it so quietly that I don’t know if she means the hairstyle… or life.
“Why can’t I stay with Paolo and Raoul?” I protest.
While the boys learn about weapons and business, the girls learn embroidery, manners, and posture. They already handle dangerous things, and I know etiquette rules by heart.
Since I was little, everyone has made sure I understand how we live.
I go get my ballet slippers while watching Mom cover the bruise with makeup. My eyes burn as I remember the night before and how I couldn’t do anything to help her. She won’t even allow me to.
“Mom… why do you let Dad do that to you?”
A tear slips from her eyes, and it takes her a moment to answer.
“Men are our guides and protectors. If your father corrects me, it’s because I made a mistake. Just like I correct you and your brothers. If I teach you this, sweetheart, it’s for your safety…”
She pauses.
“You must love your father. And someday, you’ll have to do the same with your husband.”
The tears fall harder down my cheeks, and she avoids saying anything else, ordering me downstairs because one of the soldiers will take me to ballet.
There have been many tears since she started shaping me at seven years old, and today they are simply a few more.
I walk downstairs, and the house is far too quiet.
Then I hear laughter in the garden.
I tiptoe closer and find my brothers near the fountain. Paolo is crouched beside something on the ground, poking at it with a stick while Raoul watches from behind.
It’s a dead bird.
Or what’s left of it.
Its feathers are stained with blood and dirt.
My stomach twists a little, but I can’t stop staring.
Paolo notices me and smiles.
He always smiles when something suffers.
Dad says that means he has the right temperament to lead someday.
The thought makes me cold.
Then my father calls them from the south wing, and both of them run back inside the house, leaving everything behind.
I wait until the garden falls silent again before stepping closer.
The stick still lies beside the bird. I slowly crouch down, staring at the tiny broken body.
“I told you not to touch my things!”
I jump when I hear Paolo’s voice behind me.
“I was just looking!”
He storms toward me angrily and grabs my arm hard.
“You want to know what we were doing? Fine.”
Before I can pull away, he drags me toward the bird and forces my face closer to it.
“Look at it.”
“It’s disgusting!”
“That’s the point.”
Raoul looks uncomfortable, but he says nothing.
I try to pull away, but Paolo grabs my ballet tutu.
The fabric tears with a sharp ripping sound.
My eyes widen in horror.
“Paolo!”
Pieces of white tulle fall onto the dirt while he laughs.
“You cry over stupid things.”
“You ruined it!”
“So what?”
I try shoving him, but he grabs my hair bow so hard tears sting my eyes.
“Maybe now you’ll learn not to touch what’s mine.”
I push him with all my strength and run toward the house.
“Mom!” I scream.
But she doesn’t come.
I don’t know what to do. Everything happens on instinct.
I cross the hallway, rush through the garden, and enter the south wing.
Forbidden.
But I don’t care.
I walk into the room where the men are gathered. My father’s face turns red when he sees me, then he forces a tense smile.
“What are you doing here?”
My breathing shakes.
“Paolo ripped my dress…”
“And that’s why you came in here?”
Laughter erupts around the table.
“He hurt me too.”
“Valentina, darling, I’m sure you deserved it.”
Did I deserve that?
My chest burns.
“He always does horrible things! And you do the same thing to Mom!”
Silence.
I immediately realize my mistake.
“That’s wrong… it’s not fair…”
The slap comes so fast I barely feel it at first.
My head snaps to the side.
Then comes the burning pain.
“You never betray the family. You never speak.”
My father’s voice is cold.
“You just disrespected your brother, your father, and these honorable men.”
The underboss, Giacomo Sartori, watches me silently.
And for the first time in my life, I feel real fear.
Not the childish fear caused by punishment.
Something far worse.
I understand something horrible in that moment: in this family, telling the truth can be more dangerous than pain.
“A little traitor,” he finally says. “Do you know what we do to traitors?”
No.
And I don’t want to know.
The door opens.
Mom rushes inside.
“Please… no.”
The underboss sighs.
“The girl needs care. Her purity is important to all of us…”
He strokes my hair.
My stomach twists.
“She’ll recover. She’ll grow into a very beautiful woman.”
I don’t understand why the way he looks at me makes me feel sick.
Then he leaves.
Mom is terrified as she takes me out of there.
Later, in my bedroom, she treats my cheek in silence.
During dinner, no one mentions what happened.
Paolo laughs as though nothing ever happened.
Dad doesn’t even look at me again.
And somehow, that’s worse.
When night falls, Mom stays sitting beside me.
“Promise me you’ll be careful,” she whispers. “Silence can be a weapon… and also a shield.”
“I promise.”
“I love you, my little girl.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
She stays with me until I fall asleep.
Believing everything is over.
That there will be no consequences.
How naïve I am.
I wake up suddenly with a chill running down the back of my neck and a horrible sound cutting through the darkness.
Screams.
Muffled noises.
They are harsher than usual.
Longer too.
Normally they end quickly.
Tonight they don’t.
Minutes pass after the first scream. Fear tells me to stay in bed, but something inside me forces me into the hallway.
The house is enormous, and its size keeps certain things far from eyes and ears… especially in the south wing. But sounds like the ones coming from my parents’ bedroom… I had heard them before from a distance, hidden among the trees, too cowardly to get close and find out who screamed like that.
Until last night.
I freeze outside my brothers’ bedrooms.
Paolo’s door remains shut.
Raoul closed his as soon as he heard mine open.
I don’t understand one brother’s indifference or the other’s cowardice.
Nor why I’m the only one standing here wondering how to help.
I keep walking while listening to those terrible sounds, unable to tell whether what I hear is crying or pain.
Mom’s moans grow louder.
I hear the impact of my father’s hands against her.
Harder.
More often.
She’s fading.
I have to do something, even though I know knocking on the door will probably make everything worse.
I take a few steps backward and end up bumping into a small table in the hallway.
A family portrait crashes to the floor with a sharp noise.
The sound echoes through the entire house.
Immediately, the noises stop.
The doorknob slowly turns.
And for one hopeful second, I allow myself to believe it will be Mom.
But it isn’t her.
It’s him.
- Writer
