a trap set by a friend

FRANCESCA

Everyone goes their separate ways for lunch. I spend the rest of my day getting my new stuff in order and hanging out in the library, doodling aimlessly or getting lost in the pages of a good book.

I keep my phone close, waiting for Dante to call. He said we were all going out tonight. I’m just waiting for the Don to give me my marching orders. He must have something for me to do.

My phone rings, interrupting my thoughts. I expect it to be Antonio, but it’s Sophia. I haven’t heard from her in a while, so it’s a surprise.

I’m not sure if I should answer or not. If I don’t, she’ll probably start blowing up my phone. I don’t know whether to be happy or annoyed.

I don’t want her involved. For her safety and mine, she needs to stay away.

But I answer the call anyway. Best to act normal.

“Hey,” I say, my voice low.

There’s a pause on the other end before she responds. “Sorry, forgot to unmute it.” It’s nice to hear a different voice. It hasn’t been that long since we last spoke, but it feels like forever.

I hum in response. “Is something wrong?” I ask.

“No. Can’t I just call my best friend?” she retorts, sounding defensive. Her voice is off. It doesn’t sound like the Sophia I know. It sounds forced.

“Okay, yeah,” I say, deciding to let it go. Maybe I’m just being paranoid because of the FBI’s note and not talking to her.

But there’s a nagging feeling in my gut that something’s not right. I’ve lived with liars and traitors my whole life.

Just by hearing their voices, I can tell their moods. Sophia sounds nervous and determined.

Suddenly, I don’t want to talk to her anymore.

“I’ll talk to you later, okay?” I say, anticipating her trying to keep me on the line.

“No, please!” she blurts out. “Let’s talk. I need my best friend with me. I-I need to gossip.”

I was right. “You never gossip,” I say flatly.

“Yeah, well, now I do.”

“Okay…” I trail off. “Spill the tea.”

“Chris, uh, lost my interview résumé,” she mumbles.

Now I’m certain something’s off. “I’m pretty sure you got the job and were starting work.”

“I told you that?” Her voice goes up a notch. “I mean, I didn’t say that.”

“Right,” I say, not believing a word.

“Yeah!” she exclaims. Sophia isn’t like this. To others, this might seem normal, but I know a liar when I hear one.

“I’ll call you later. I have to go,” I say quickly.

“Wa—” I don’t let her finish. I end the call.

Something’s wrong. Something is ~very~ wrong.

I jump when my phone rings again. I’m ready to give her a piece of my mind when I see my husband’s name on the screen.

My hand shakes as I realize he probably knows I was on a call.

“Hello,” I say, my voice trembling slightly.

“Who called you?” he asks immediately. His voice is deep and commanding, just like I’m used to.

“S-Sophia,” I stammer.

“Are you lying to me?” he asks suddenly.

I tense up. “No. Of course not.”

“You don’t stutter, Francesca.” He notices everything.

“I-I…” I decide to come clean. “Sophia was acting weird on the phone. She sounded desperate, but not really. She just sounded different, you know. And it’s making me paranoid.”

He’s silent for a moment. “Did you cover the tattoo when you went to their house?” he asks out of the blue.

“Yes…” I trail off. My eyes widen as I realize what this could mean. I don’t care about my punishment, but I can’t risk the Family.

“I think her father, FBI Officer Magritte, saw. I think the concealer got wiped off, I don’t know, but I think he saw. I’m so sorry. I didn’t remember until now. I’m sorry, Antonio.”

My voice wavers. I want to cry. If Mr. Magritte figured it out, then he must have sent the policewoman. How could I forget such a crucial detail?

“I’ll look into it, Doll,” he says, then hangs up before I can tell him about the note.

What if my phone is tapped? Sophia has my number. I said Antonio’s name.

I’ve been so stupid! I’ve made things so much worse. I shouldn’t have answered her call. I should’ve just kept to myself. I’ve ruined everything. I’ve ruined my whole life.

I’ve signed my own death warrant. Suddenly knowing all these secrets and dealing with all these bottled-up emotions is too much. I don’t know how much more I can take before I break.

I’m not even a month into my marriage and I’m already causing trouble.

***

Footsteps approach the bedroom and I start to panic. My hands are clammy and my chest feels like it’s about to explode.

“Antonio, I’m so sorry,” I blurt out as soon as he walks in.

He doesn’t look angry, but he doesn’t look happy either. He just looks...normal. I’m not sure if I like that. Actually, I know I don’t like that.

He ignores me and takes off his blazer. “I-I didn’t mean to, I-I mean I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I say, desperation creeping into my voice.

He removes his watch and tosses it onto the side table. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and when he looks up, I swallow hard. His eyes are icy.

“I know,” he finally speaks. “And since you—unintentionally, of course—brought this on us, you won’t have a say in what happens next. If the cop was smart, he’s already figured out you’re with us.”

I nod as he settles onto the bed. “I understand.”

He takes off his shoes before he speaks again. “So, Francesca, do your friends and family matter more to you than the Family? Than me?” His gaze locks onto mine.

I don’t hesitate with my answer. “No, never.”

Deep down, I know I’d rather die than betray the Family. Despite their terrible deeds, they’re my family. My loyalty is with them. Everyone in the Family knows that breaking ~omertà~ is a sin greater than murder itself.

“I would never betray you, Antonio,” I assure him, meeting his gaze head-on. I want him to see the truth in my eyes. My loyalty is unwavering.

He motions for me to come closer. I don’t hesitate to move toward him. He pulls me onto his lap and nods. “Then I trust you, ~bambola~.”

I almost let out a sigh of relief. He trusts me. For others, this might not mean much, but for me, it’s like being handed the world. Women here are just puppets, ordered around.

We’re treated like lifeless dolls. To be trusted is a big deal, especially by the Don.

“Have you ever been to Italy, my wife?” he asks suddenly, his hand rubbing my thigh over my clothes.

I frown, confused. “Yes, but only when I was a child, before we moved here.”

“It’s an interesting place. The government really believes in us there.”

I shiver. I know that some parts of Italy are controlled by the Mafia. I’ve heard stories. The Godfather spends most of his time there. People tend to avoid my family in Italy.

I hum in response, leaning into his chest. He kisses the side of my head. “Would you like to visit Italy someday, my love?”