depthful conversations

FRANCESCA

HE AGREED.

Fabio is at the wheel, driving us back from a high-end mall nearby. As we cruise along, I notice people stepping aside. Their eyes drop, not in respect, but in fear. They all know who we are.

Fabio speeds past police cars, but they don’t react. They know it’s us. Antonio can do anything he wants here.

This is his territory, and I’m torn between pride and sadness.

Amalia is sitting next to me. She’s invited Lisa and Stella along too. They’re nice, especially Lisa. Stella is more of a brooder, but she’s okay. We chat and laugh.

I’ve picked out a dress for the party. It’s simple and modest, but expensive. It’s a symbol of Antonio’s status.

I’m not sure if he’ll like it, but as my mother always said, better safe than sorry.

“I love the dress Francesca picked out. It’s stunning,” Lisa gushes.

“I know, right!” Amalia agrees. “And it cost a fortune.”

“It was a waste of money,” Stella says flatly, out of nowhere. “Beautiful, but a waste.”

“Why?” Lisa asks, her brow furrowed.

Stella looks at me. She’s sitting across from Amalia and me in the limo. “She’s never going to wear it again.”

They turn to me for a response. I shrug, but I can’t deny she’s right. I can’t wear a party dress twice.

“Depends. I might donate it.”

“Some girl would be lucky to get that dress. It’s worth thousands,” Lisa says.

I chuckle. “So is yours, Lisa.”

We gossip the whole way home. We talk about outfits, our husbands, the Mafia, and eventually, children. I place a hand on my stomach. I’m not sure what to think.

Maybe I’ve missed my period, or maybe it’s just late. I was going to buy a pregnancy test, but everyone is watching me. Most of the people here know we’re part of the Mafia.

And if I really am pregnant, I can’t let anyone find out.

I want to be a mother. I want to raise my child with love, but I’m scared for its future.

I don’t know what Antonio thinks. He said he wanted me pregnant, but I don’t know if it’s just to secure his position.

I suspect that’s the reason, but I hope it’s not.

***

I put the shopping bags in our room. The party is tomorrow and I still need to decide on my look. This party is important to my husband, so it’s important to me too.

But I’m not ready to face him yet. He confuses me. I don’t know how to act around him. I don’t know where we stand. I want to apologize, but am I really to blame?

Maybe. Maybe not. I just don’t know anymore.

I jump when someone bursts into my room. I tense up even more when I realize it’s Antonio. We stare at each other for a moment before he looks at the mess I’ve made on the bed.

“I’ll clean it up,” I mumble, in case he wants to sleep.

When he doesn’t respond, I see his eyes lingering on the dress I bought. It’s a long ball gown. Personally, I think it’s beautiful and it suits me, but it’s not really my style.

It makes me feel prudish. But then I remember that my feelings aren’t really considered. They weren’t by my father.

~Stop comparing me to your father~.

I flinch. Maybe I do compare him to my father a lot, but is that my fault? The only male figure I’ve ever known is my father. Who else can I compare him to?

~No one~, a voice in my head says.

“That’s the dress for the party,” I say.

He closes the door and silently walks toward the bed. I turn away. There’s no point in me irritating him anymore. I want his forgiveness, not his anger.

I rummage through my makeup kits for the perfect colors. I want to look flawless. A woman’s beauty is a reflection of her man’s power. I have to look perfect.

I need to be everything he needs so he won’t look elsewhere. But I know that’s not possible because a man is considered powerful if he can control his wife and his mistresses.

I don’t want to share him. It’s sad that I can’t trust him alone with another woman.

I stand up from the floor with the golden palettes and a dark red lipstick. The dress I chose is black, so I need something to match it. I’ve bought gold strappy heels to go with the outfit.

I walk past Antonio and place the makeup on the bed. I want to look at him but decide not to.

Mafia men hold grudges, and I don’t know how to make him understand that I want things to be okay between us again.

I regret taking the note, but I don’t regret hiding my sister’s plan. I don’t know the plan, but I know it’s going to happen.

I jump in surprise when I feel hands around my waist. Antonio rests his head in the crook of my neck and hugs me from behind.

“A-Anton—” I stutter like a fool.

He cuts me off. “Just let me hold you.”

I decide to keep quiet and let him do what he wants. I miss his warmth and the innocent touches we used to share. It’s been days since we’ve had a normal conversation.

Well, as normal as it gets for us.

I lean back against him and place my hands on his, silently telling him that I miss him.

“Antonio…” I start, but he tightens his arms around me.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into my neck.

For a moment I think I’ve misheard him, but when he keeps repeating it, I know I haven’t.

“Baby, what…?” I’m so confused.

I turn around in his arms and place my hands on his chest, looking up at his face. His hands stay on my waist and pull me even closer.

He’s not crying. That’s clear. We’ve been taught since we were kids that crying is for the weak.

I reach up to cup his cheeks. His apologies feel strange to me, out of place. Mafiosi aren’t supposed to apologize to their women. That’s the lesson I’ve been taught.

“Don’t. Please,” I whisper.

He dips his head until our foreheads touch. His hand brushes my hair back before cupping my cheek.

“I’m sorry, Francesca,” he says again, his voice steadier than before, as if he’s finally regained control of himself.

“Why?” I ask. “I should be the one apologizing. I lied.”

A small smile tugs at his lips and my heart leaps. I’ve never seen him smile before. It feels like I’m dreaming.

His smile is infectious and I can’t help but return it. Even though the last time we spoke, I was terrified for my life.

With just a hint of his attention, I melt in his arms. I’m truly pathetic.

He pulls me closer and I wrap my arms around his neck. I like being this close to him. Actually, I love it.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I murmur.

“Yeah.” His breath fans my face before he continues. “I made you vulnerable, ~bambola~, by making you a witness to those murders.”

My hands tighten around his neck. I don’t know what to say. “I know you did what you had to do. I just don’t understand why you’re sorry now.”

He bites his lip before answering. His voice is so soft that if I weren’t this close, I wouldn’t have heard him.

“You needed to know what you’re involved in. I’m sorry that I’m not really sorry for doing that, as much as you hate me for it.”

I raise my eyebrows. This is major progress. “Hate is a very strong word, Antonio, and I don’t think I’ve ever hated you. Even after you did what you did. I just couldn’t hate you,” I say.

It’s not a lie. Despite every time I’ve cried because of him, I just can’t bring myself to hate him.

Maybe it’s the wedding vows that stop me, or the lessons my mother taught me about how to behave around my husband.

From the moment my fate was tied to his, I was his. There’s no point in mourning something that can’t be changed, and I’m not one to grieve.

“Why?” he asks, sounding genuinely interested.

“Because you’ve been good to me. Better than you should be.” I swallow. “I feel safe around you, Antonio, very safe. I don’t feel that way with many people.”

His grip on my waist tightens and his next words shatter me. “Francesca, I shouldn’t have slept with you.”

~Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.~

But tears well up in my eyes anyway. I’m just so tired of all this. Of him. Every move he makes, everything he does, is always so calculated. It’s just so manipulative.

“Was this all planned?” I ask, trying to put space between us but he doesn’t let me go. “I know I shouldn’t have hidden things from you, and I am sorry.

“And I know I was going against the code, and I know that I should’ve told you about Arianna, and that stupid note, but I just couldn’t! She’s my sister for God’s sake!

“And I was worried that you might kill her or tell Father who’d gladly do the job for you. Father’s getting her married to Scream!

“Scream, the Terror of New York is what they call him! He’s going to ruin my little sister and I can’t just let that happen.”

He stays silent and pulls me into a warm embrace. Tears stream down my face. I’m such a hypocrite because I don’t push him away. I want him despite all of his wrongdoing.

“~Bambola~, Arianna escaped,” he finally says after a moment. “And I need you to know that I’m not going to leave her unscathed.”

I freeze and I instantly try to push myself away. Key word: try. I’m not successful though. “Antonio, let me go! Where’s my sister? What are you going to do to her?”

When he finally lets me go, I get a good look at his face while he stares down at me. “Calm down,” he says after a moment, furrowing his brow.

This only fuels my anger. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!” I snap.

He grips my arm tightly and pulls me closer. “Watch it, Francesca.”

I stop acting out instantly. Not because he told me to, but because of how immature I must sound. Acting like this will lead me to make rash decisions and that’s not good for me.

I know where it ended for me last time, and this time I’m not going to fall for it. Arianna escaped. She must’ve had something planned.

I think through my options, but then I realize there’s still nothing I can do to help her.

He softens at my fragile state. I’m not afraid of him, but I am afraid for my sister. If they find her now, they’ll kill her.

I need to calm down because if I don’t, I might just provoke him to do something out of spite.

“What are you going to do to her if you find her?” I ask him quietly.

“When we find her, she’ll regret running away. I assure you of that, ~bambola~.” And the look in his eyes doesn’t say anything otherwise.

But I have a feeling he’s not telling me the whole story. There’s more to it. A lot more. Antonio isn’t stressed that she’s slipped out of his hands. It’s almost like he planned her escape.

And I instantly know there’s more to Arianna’s story than he’s letting on. I’m not sure whether I’m ready to know.