FORTY-EIGHT |

I reached the bar I felt like my mind and my body were out of tune, different entities, one lagging behind the other. I tripped onto a bar stool, hoping that if I stopped moving the room would stop spinning.

"Are you okay?" The bartender's voice asked distantly. Everything felt muffled and far away.

"Water," I replied hoarsely.

He placed a cool glass in front of me a moment later and it took all of my energy and concentration to move it near my mouth. I gulped it down, feeling the liquid dribble down my chin. It made me feel a little better, well enough to sit up and look around.

I was still trying to wrap my head around everything I had been told about Arturo and his past, the girl he had invited into his bed. The betrayal stung.

"Where have your friends gone, Bella?" The man who had paid for my drink was staring at me across the bar with interest. When I looked at him, all I saw were the ways he wasn't Arturo. Clearly Arturo hadn't felt the same when he looked at Leila.

"They went home."

"And left you to drink alone?"

I could tell the guy was interested. He leaned in my direction, a smile on his face like he had just struck gold. He wasn't bad looking, I supposed. In fact he might have been handsome, if only my vision would stop moving.

The man didn't wait for me to reply. "A girl as pretty as you left to drink on your own? It is sad."

I rolled my eyes at his blatant attempt at flirting, but another part of me was enjoying it. The angry part that wanted to get back at Arturo, to hurt him as much as he had hurt me.

"It's my birthday, too," I lied. "Hence the dress. I kind of feel stupid wearing it now."

"It is magnifico."

The bartender refilled my glass without me asking, clearly I looked worse than I thought. "Do you have any pain meds?" I asked him. My words came out slower than I seemed to say them.

The bartender shook his head and I groaned, leaning against the counter. Well, slumping was a more accurate way to put it.

"Are you okay?" The man who had been flirting asked me. He moved to the stool next to mine and a pleasant musky scent met my nose.

"Fine," I slurred.

"How about I get you a taxi home, bella, you don't look so good?"

I nodded, unable to say anything. I was grateful for the help of this stranger since I didn't feel like I could stand up on my own. He put an arm around my waist and held me to his side as we exited the bar.

"T...taxi?" I tried to say.

We were definitely not walking towards the taxi rank.

"You know, I have a real comfy bed at home that you could sleep on until you feel better."

It was obvious what the man was implying, what he had been angling for all along. Would I go with him, did I want to? Did Arturo even have a second thought?

"Ta..." I tried to speak again but it was getting harder and harder.

"I have a better idea, bella."

Arturo

I watched Florence walk across the dance floor, instantly regretting the fact that I had let her go. My hands were tied, though, and Cece knew she had me over a barrel. She wasn't just going to let this go, no matter how hard I tried to convince her that we were on the same page. Before my relationship with Florence could go any further, I had to tell her everything. But it didn't make sense to do it now, and Cece knew that. She was playing a game, and I couldn't quite work out what her motive was. There was a time when I had known everything about her, when it had felt like her pain, her happiness, was mine.

Now I barely recognised her as she walked over, holding out her hands. "Dance?"

"If you mean it as a demand don't frame it like a question," I replied.

"I was being polite."

"When have you ever been polite?" I countered. We both smiled. Her lips shone with gloss, whole face radiant compared to how bruised it had been when she was first rescued.

We began to dance slowly, following the beat of the music. Every time we turned, I looked for Florence, making sure that she was okay. I hated being separated from her even for a few minutes. That's all it would take for her to walk herself into a stupid situation like she had so many times before.

"Enough of the formalities," Cecelia said after a moment, her tone hard.

"Finally."

"You know what I'm going to say, don't you?"

I sighed. "This is about Florence."

"Yes. You haven't told her yet." It wasn't a question. "I gave you until tonight. Are you going to?"

"Not today."

"Then you also know where this conversation is going to lead." My hand was on her waist as we danced but I wished I could put more space between us. I looked over at Florence whose attention had now been occupied by another guest. She was the most beautiful woman I had seen in my life.

"I'm going to tell her," I turned back to Cecelia and we locked eyes. Hers were a dull brown, I didn't see the warmth in them that I had once envisioned many years ago. "When Madre's birthday is over, I'm going to tell her everything, and then I'm going to marry her."

"Does she get a say in any of this? Or are you going to force her, just like you force everyone in your life to behave how you want?"

"I would never force her," I said, my voice low.

"You've got her a ring?"

There was something in Cece's expression that made me pause, something sharp. "Yes," I replied slowly.

"Is it special? Did Dina give you it?"

Was that hurt I detected, or something else? "What is this about, Cece? Really."

"It's -"

"Don't say this is about Florence, because you and I both know that isn't true." It wasn't about Florence - it probably never had been. I realised, finally, that this was about anger.

"Me." Cece ground her teeth. "You ruined my life, Arturo. When I ran away everything fell apart."

"I didn't make you run away. I didn't ask you to."

"You asked Dina not to bless our marriage."

"We didn't love each other like that. You never loved me. What was I supposed to do?"

"You were supposed to endure." She looked away to hide tears. "That's all people like you and I get in this life. We make sacrifices for our family, and we endure. We would have been happy, in the end."

"No."

"No?"

"You don't have to endure anything anymore, Cece. You're free. Go and start a new life anywhere, be whoever you want to be. There's nothing to keep you here."

"I never wanted you to set me free. This life was all I knew and you took it away from me." Finally she turned to look at me. Our eyes locked and we became stuck in a staring match, neither willing to appear weak and break away.

"You could have stayed," I told her angrily. "You think it didn't hurt when you left? After I spent all those years tracking you, saving you from your own bad decisions."

She shook her head, smiling humourlessly. "You still don't get it, but it doesn't matter, Arturo. Time's up."

"Don't," I warned.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Because there's no reason for you to tell her tonight. There's no reason for you to tell her at all."

"Goodbye, Arturo." Cecelia's eyes flickered to my right before she slipped away into the crowd.

I went to follow her but a strong hand on my shoulder prevented me. "It's time you and I had a conversation."

**

My father sat in his office chair smoking a cigar. I stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching as he poured two glasses of scotch. He pushed one in my direction, gesturing for me to take it.

"A toast."

"If you want to celebrate Madre's birthday you should be out there dancing with her, not in here drinking whisky."

My father watched me, his expression a stoic mask as he held the glass. "Take the drink, Arturo. I won't ask twice."

I could see that there was little point arguing over something so minor when our conversation was clearly about to become serious. Whatever my father wanted to discuss, I wasn't going to like it. I took the glass and held it up.

"Are you going to tell me what this is about?"

"This is about business. My business. Your business."

"Of course," I said between my teeth. I couldn't remember an occasion in the last three years when my father had spoken to me about something other than the family business.

"My men tell me that things are going well in the States?" He swirled the liquid around his glass without looking at me.

"Si."

"Very well, in fact."

"Si."

"The other families are weak. They are beginning to look desperate, no?"

"I try not to underestimate the competition."

My father smiled and somehow his expression still managed to look sinister. "I taught you well." He raised his glass. "To good business."

I followed suit and threw the liquor down my throat. The less I said, the sooner I could leave. "To good business."

Gio finished off his cigar and ground it into the ash tray slowly. Then he leaned back in the leather chair, placing his hands on the armrests. It was a show of power. "I am getting old, son."

I wasn't certain how to respond so I stayed silent. If I didn't handle it correctly, I had a feeling this conversation was about to throw me off the edge of a cliff.

"Your madre, she is tired of this life. We have so much money, yet we cannot spend it how we want."

"It's an impressive empire," I agreed, ignoring the latter half of his sentence. There was a bitter taste in the back of my throat.

"It is time for you to take over in Italy, Arturo."

"No." My answer was instant, I didn't need to think. Gio raised an eyebrow, surprised at my defiance.

"It wasn't a question."

"My reply wasn't up for debate." I folded my arms, straightening my tie. "New York is mine and Florence's home."

"Your home," he said, "is wherever I tell you it is. Marco will take over in America, and you will run things here."

"I don't..." I don't want this. I never wanted it. All the things I could never say flashed through my brain, reminders that in the end I would always be powerless.

You left the mafia, you ratted, you ran away? You ended up dead. There was no question, no hesitation. I could recall hundreds of names of ex-mafiosa who had been killed for betrayal, not just those who had broken the omerta. Any attempt at leaving was a betrayal, soon enough you'd be given the kiss of death.

"I'm not ready," I said. My knuckles were white around the glass I held.

"You don't want to," he corrected, "but I don't care. Do you remember what I got you for your birthday a few years ago, Arturo?"

If I thought about it, I could still feel the smooth box in my hands, the weight of what was inside. The snapping sound as Seb's jaw fell open, all that was left of our friendship.

"I remember."

"Then you'll also remember the note that came with it."

Another threat.

"Yes."

"Do you think I would hesitate to do it?"

"No."

"Then you understand where I am coming from. I will oversee you for a year, then Sicily is yours. Now leave me."

I left the office holding my breath, grinding my teeth, doing whatever I could to stop myself from exploding. The moment I got into the hallway I threw my glass against the far wall, watching it shatter. "Cazzo!"

(fuck)

A string of profanities began pouring from my mouth, every curse word under the sun and even then a few. I couldn't go more than five minutes without something going wrong, some new catastrophe I needed to clear up.

I left the glass shattered on the floor and went in search of something to numb myself with, preferably liquor. A mini bar had been set up in the large kitchen and I took to pouring myself an assortment of drinks, whatever I could get my hands on. I didn't bother with a glass when I found an expensive bottle of bourbon, I threw the lid on the floor and drank it straight, sliding into a chair. I loosened my tie and put my head in my hands, only raising it to swig from the bottle.

"Boss?" Marco entered the kitchen and sat down beside me. "Everything alright?"

"Perfect," I spat. I offered the bourbon to him but he shook his head. "Suit yourself."

"You smell like a brewery. Let me guess, something happened with Gio."

"Bingo."

"Bastardo," Marco cursed.

"Si."

"You want to talk about it?"

"No." I gulped more of the whisky down, enjoying the burn. "I want to drink."

"Drink much more and there will be none left for anybody else, don." Marco reached for the bottle and pried it from my shaking hands. "Why don't I grab Florence so she can take you to bed."

"No," I said hurriedly, causing Marco to raise a questioning brow. I couldn't bare to look her in the eyes and know that my father was about to ruin everything. That I would have to ruin everything just because he told me to.

I wouldn't do it. Somehow, I would find a way out of this.

In my pocket, my phone began to ring. It took me a beat too long to realise, and in that time Marco had grabbed it and held it out to me. "It's Amber," he said.

"Amber?" I couldn't think of any reason she'd have to phone me, especially since we were at the same party. Unless... "Hand it here."

I thrust the phone to my ear and already I could feel myself sobering up, adrenaline coursing through me. Amber's shaky breaths came through the speaker. "A-Arturo?" she stammered.

"Where are you?" I asked, pulling my suit jacket on and heading towards the door. Marco was right behind me pulling out his car keys.

"I-I don't know. Some bar near the sea."

I took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of my nose. "Look around for a sign, the name of a restaurant or road."

"I can't see, we're in an alley–"

"Is Florence with you?" I interrupted. We were out on the driveway now, Marco held the car door open for me and then started the engine.

"Yes, she- she's unconscious."

"Does she have her phone with her?"

"Um..." There was rustling on the other end of the line as Amber searched Florence's body. "Yes, it's in her pocket."

Marco had already pulled up the signal from the phone on the car's GPS, she was half way across Sicily on the coast.

"Porca Miseria," I snapped, banging my fist against the dash. Amber's breathing was rugged, I could tell she was crying. "We'll be there as soon as we can. Do not leave her, do you hear me?"