Page 4 of Useless Love

Hypocrites. Half the room doesn’t believe in God, but death has a way of making everyone a believer. Suddenly, they think God will take pity on them, forgiving and protecting their dead loved ones, offering solace during the grieving process.

Maybe I’d be a believer too if this was my first rodeo. But I’ve buried three brothers now, not to mention all those who worked for my father. They were like family in many ways. I won’t be waiting on God’s help.

After the service, we gather for a solemn reception at our penthouse. When we return, the main room is adorned with floral arrangements, their fragrance mingling with incense and burning candles scattered around. Our organization’s men, clad in dark suits, huddle together, discussing the future with a sense of urgency. Meanwhile, we, the women, are expected to remain in the kitchen to serve food and refreshments.

Not me; I’m trying to figure out what these fuckers are saying. I wish they wouldn’t talk so low.

“Arianna, make yourself useful!” Mother snaps at me as she sets a tray of hors d'oeuvres on a side table. Her hair, wrapped in a bun like always, looks grayer today; her gray smoky eyes emptier than usual.

Since arguing with Mother is futile, I comply with her wishes for now. No use telling her that we should know what’s being said amongst the men, since everything they do affects us. She lost three sons but still thinks Father can properly protect our family. Yeah, right.

I stand up from the couch with a sigh, following her back to the kitchen. I join Victoria in removing catering food from their protective bags and boxes. The kitchen is a complete contrast to what’s happening in the living room—bursting with life and colors. In here, it doesn’t even feel like we’re in the middle of mourning.

After I move some of the food to serving trays so I can say that I helped, I’m feeling too restless. I need to get back to the living room and find out what the men are discussing. Father says I’m trouble, too much like a son when I should behave like a proper daughter.

Behaving “proper” has never been my style.

“Mother,” I say. “I’ll go in and see if the men need more coffee.”

She studies me from the corner of her eye. “Finally, you’re doing something helpful. Just don’t take too long. I need your help here.”

I grab a tray of small espressos and leave the kitchen. As I walk from one side of our penthouse to the other, weaving through rich mahogany furniture with plush velvet upholstery, I slowly ease my way around the men belonging to our Bencivenga organization. I try to catch whatever snippets of conversation I can. They’re doing more talking than eating, their murmurs creating an undercurrent of tension in the air.

“The ceasefire is only temporary,” Uncle Agostini states, crossing his arms.

My ears perk up at that, so I try to casually move closer, pretending to arrange the small espresso cups on my tray. Unfortunately, one of the men near my uncle notices me. All conversation stops as they glance my way. I give a polite smile even though I’m pissed. Yes, it would be a fate, worse than death for a woman to hear things, wouldn’t it? You misogynistic jerks.

Father is nearby in a chair, talking to one of our guards. When my uncle's group stops talking, he looks my way. “Arianna, just leave that on the table. Tell your mother we have enough food and drinks for now. Go check on your brother.”

I set the tray down, resisting the urge to glare at him. “Only my brother, not anyone else?”

My body tenses as he rises from the chair, giving me a look that if I give him any more sass he’ll reunite me with Luca today. His eye twitches, his stare threatening. “Did you say something? Speak up!”

I bite back my words, force my head downward in defeat, and answer the way a good girl is supposed to. “No, Father.”

He returns to his chair and I leave the living room, lingering near the archway. The men all resume talking once they think I’ve gone. Then I hear it.

“There’s a meeting in two days with Sal Gaudino,” my father says. “He’s also burying his dead today. Wednesday, we talk.”

Another man says, “That’s surprising. What will you offer to ensure a permanent peace solution?”

My heart rate spikes. Sal Gaudino is meeting my father? Where? When? I don’t get a chance to listen for more details because Ralph, my father’s security, sees me and I have to feign innocence and walk away.

I walk right into a mirror. Well, right into my identical twin sister. Gaia is standing before me with the second youngest Bencivenga and now the only brother we have left, Nico.

Though she looks like me and I love her, we’re very different women. Gaia has always been the favorite daughter. While everyone wants to protect and care for her, I get hit, dismissed, or snarled at. And she buys into everything Father and Mother tell her. It’s useless to argue with Gaia because she’s never gonna change. Everything our parents do is gospel to my sister—no questions, no pushback about anything our Father does.. Sometimes I wonder how we came from the same egg.

She looks at me expectantly, so I ask, “What do you want?”

“I’m going to check on father,” she responds, wringing her hands meekly in front of her stomach.

Of course you are.

I tip my chin at our brother. “Seems Nico had the same idea.”

Nico frowns at me. "I'm going to talk business, not check on him." Then he walks away.

I step aside and watch Gaia enter the living room.

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