Page 7 of The Sicilian Brotherhood I

“I must,” he said, “But I promise I won’t look.”

“Okay,” I nodded, “I’ll change.”

I'd been handed a possible ticket out, and I'd do what I could, choosing my battles carefully until I saw an opening to escape.

“Upstairs then.”

We walked upstairs and down a hallway across creaking floorboards to a small bedroom with a bay window. He drew the shutters and then turned on a lamp.

“I’m facing the window,” he said, “The clothes are under the pillow.”

We stood there, facing away from each other for a few seconds. This was the first time he’d taken my eyes off me. I breathed in slowly, sucking in my stomach and reaching my hand back for the zipper. My fingers brushed against the zipper and it rattled against the jewels on my dress.

I grunted and reached again, stretching back more.

“I need help,” I muttered, defeated.

He turned around and for a moment he seemed… awkward.

“Help?”

“Just unzip this, please. I can’t breathe.”

He approached me. I could hear his boots across the floor and feel him getting closer to me but I never turned around to face him. His warm hand pressed against my shoulder. I shuddered.

“Warm…”

“Mhm,” he muttered.

He held the zipper taut at the base of my spine and then moved the zip down the full length of my back.

“There,” he said.

“Thank you.”

I turned around, but by the time I had, he was facing the window again. I stepped out of the wedding dress and reached under the pillow. I slipped into the large white t-shirt and the black sweatpants. Not exactly my best look. My face was rubbery and slick with the makeup still caked on.

“May I wash my face?”

He cleared his throat, “Are you decent?”

“Yes,” I replied.

He turned around and stared at me with a deep scowl.

“Good. No, you may not wash your face. Get downstairs.”

Right. I didn’t get to ask for things around here. That was his job. He followed me out the room and downstairs. Raimondo was there already and he lit a fire with wood he'd been collecting outside.

He grinned when he saw us walking downstairs.

“Did you give her a test drive?” He asked, chuckling at his own joke.

“Shut up,” Giacomo spat.

I sat on the couch and curled up, hugging my knees to my chest. That night, Raimondo ordered pizza and they allowed me one slice and another glass of water before bed. When Giacomo sent me off to sleep, he locked me in my room — my prison. I was just relieved to be alone. When he turned the key, I breathed a sigh of relief and started searching for an escape route.

I couldn’t stay here.

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