Page 3 of House of Lies

The air is thick with the secrets of those around me. Enemies disguised as friends and serpents masquerading as family. And then there’s me, not fitting anywhere. There’s a craving inside me that’ll never settle. A desire burning so bright it will be the death of me. I wish to be so far away from all of it that I can’t breathe. I stare at the wall, pretending I’ve woken up this morning in a foreign city and that I’ve had conversations with other people in a language I don’t understand so well. In that illusion, I am free. I can almost taste it on my tongue. It would be sweet if it were real. Here, in this crowded room, it tastes bitter. My mother’s perfume precedes her words, just when I thought this night couldn’t get any worse.

“You should try to make more friends.”

There’s no lost love between us. And the worst thing is that I never understood what I had ever done to her—why she loathes me so much. I tried so desperately to be the daughter she wanted me to be. Until I gave up. I wasn’t getting anywhere with her, so I stopped trying. My father barely acknowledged my existence. I’m not even the family’s black sheep; I’m the invisible one. Sometimes, I think my family forgot I existed since they sold me. They’ve sent me to hell without even saying goodbye. I served my purpose in their eyes. Whatever happened to me after I left their home, it’s irrelevant.

“I’d rather not,” I retort, glancing at her side. The trophy wife, just like all the women around. Something I can’t be tamed into, no matter how violent my husband becomes. No matter how hard my father tried to mold me when I was a child. He did his best to raise me the way he thinks women should be raised: silent, obedient, and subservient to their husbands. He never gave up. He just used to get angry. Merciless. He’s a bastard who’s been cheating on my mother for as long as I can remember, and all she does is look the other way. It makes me sick.

“Look at your sister,” she insists. I’m surprised she doesn’t turn me around herself to force me to do what she asks. I turn my head to see where Cosima is. She’s one of the few people I don’t hate in this world. We couldn’t be more different, but she’s the only person I’ve shared a cage with growing up.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?” My voice drips with disdain.

I already know the answer. I see her standing by her husband’s side, pretending to be the loyal and loving wife society expects her to be. Her green dress curls around her hips, causing every man in the room to turn his head. Her blonde hair is twisted in a perfect bun at the nape of her neck. She is all smiles and small talk. She embodies everything I’m not. We might feel the same way, but I can’t pretend to be like her. I see the appeal in the long run. I had to hide bruises under foundation and wear a long-sleeved dress to hide those I couldn’t, so many times I lost count. My husband showers me with bruises instead of jewelry.

“You should take a page from her book, Caelia. For your own good.”

I’ve heard these exact words come from her mouth too many times.

For my own good. Be silent. Listen. Don’t talk back. Don’t anger your father. Your husband. Don’t think on your own. Don’t have opinions. Be a good fucking wife.

Women in our family have been raised to be sheep, not she-wolves.

“Since when do you care about my own good?” I laugh, but it’s cut short by the appearance of my husband, who waltzes into the room like he owns the place.

Half of the men in this room fear him, while the other half detests him. He’s stealing all the air, making my lungs collapse. I wasn’t expecting him back so soon. Not tonight, at least. I thought I had more time to mentally prepare myself for his return. He triggers all the alarms in my brain, but my feet are frozen. I can’t move or breathe. I keep telling myself I don’t fear him, but sometimes I can’t control my body’s reactions. And my body has suffered enough at his hands.

“There’s no need to remind you that you’ve been married for two years and are still not pregnant. You’re doing all the wrong things, aren’t you, daughter?”

I’ve learned to ignore my mother and not take the bait. It’s a never-ending trap. If I give in, she will never stop. Mattia is wearing a black tailored suit and Italian leather shoes, looking more composed than usual. I don’t bother telling my mother that I’d rather die than bring a baby into this loveless, violent marriage. His eyes lock on me, spreading goosebumps all over my arms. Something seems off about him, but I can’t quite tell what. Domenico and Marco follow him close behind as he heads straight toward me. They are not my husband’s trusted men. It’s unusual to see them so close to him.

I don’t run at the sight of him anymore. I don’t cower when his violent side comes out, starved for fear. He doesn’t appear bored, displeased, or enraged at the sight of me, which is unsettling. That would be a first. I go over everything I’ve done lately that could enrage him and come up with at least a dozen possibilities. He’s been gone over the last month on business, and I wasn’t expecting him to attend the party tonight. I hoped that someone was going to put a bullet in his head and do me a favor, but that dream was shattered, and now I have to face reality.

“Good evening.” He nods toward my mother, taking my hand in his without warning.

Bending his head, he lifts my hand and briefly kisses my skin. His lips are cold. The sparks flying at his touch leave me confused.

The war between my family and his had been raging for months before they came to an agreement. My father and his father had been fighting each other for control, and neither side was willing to back down. The DeLuca family, led by my father, has controlled the city for years. Mattia’s family has grown in power and influence and slowly chipped away at DeLuca’s territory. My father quickly became desperate to maintain his hold on the city. He called in allies from other towns and recruited new members, and the Benedetti family responded in kind until they quickly became locked in a bitter war.

The streets have been littered with the bodies of those who have been caught in the crossfire. Both sides resorted to violence to make their point, and there seemed to be no end in sight. Until they agreed to a meeting on neutral ground on the outskirts of the town. They talked. They agreed. They split the territory and vowed to keep from interfering in each other’s business. The agreement was set in stone. My hand was promised in marriage to the older son of Ermanno Benedetti, a man ten years older than me. I was sold. This marriage has been a death sentence since the beginning.

“Mattia, what a surprise!” My mother says in that voice that gets on my nerves, faking enthusiasm. “We weren’t expecting you until later in the week.”

I wasn’t expecting him back at all. I notice he doesn’t do much to acknowledge my mother’s presence. He hates my family, maybe as much as he hates me.

“I’ve finished my business earlier,” he replies, but his eyes focus entirely on me.

“Alessandro is going to be so pleased to hear you’re back. Well, I’m going to leave you two alone. I’m sure you have much to talk about.”

His gray eyes have always been disturbing, even more so tonight, when I feel a change in the air, but I can’t pinpoint it. We have nothing to talk about. We never had.

“You can cut the crap now.” I tug my arm free from his hold. Instead of being bothered by my words, he leans closer to me.

“The first thought I had when I entered the room was how bad I wanted to spread your legs on that table over there.” He points his chin toward the middle of the room, where there’s a glass table. “Eat your pussy and make you come so hard you won’t be able to remember your name.”

I study his face for a second, trying to guess what’s wrong with him tonight. The rage in his eyes is missing; the need to strangle me is buried somewhere.

“Big words coming from a man who never made me come once since we’ve been married.” I laugh, taken aback by his words. He knits his brows, looking at me like I’ve just told the biggest lie he’s ever heard.

Not even he is so delusional as to think that I’m enjoying the abuse.

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