Page 20 of Scar

“Your father has been waiting for you,” she announces before turning into the room. Scar follows behind me as I step inside, unable to shake him off even for a moment.

“He hasn't been well enough to go up and down the stairs,” my mother explains as we enter the room that has been converted into a makeshift bedroom for my father. I glance atScar, pleading with him silently for some privacy. But he shakes his head, indicating he's staying right by my side.

My heart breaks at the sight of my once strong and powerful father now reduced to a frail figure on his deathbed.

My heart starts to break as I take in the sight of my father, once a lion amongst men, who now lies frail and weak, knocking on death’s door.

CHAPTER 18 – SCAR

Don Marone looks like shit. For lack of a better word. He’s pale and he looks so small, I almost feel sorry for him. What I don’t count on is the stirring within me as Allegra sits by her father’s side, clasping his hand, her tears flowing freely down her sun glazed cheeks.

She lowers her head and presses it into his side, her hands clasped as though in prayer. It’s funny, I don’t even know if my wife is religious, but I find myself wanting to know this about her.

If I have to admit it, it’s not just a safety and security issue which keeps me in the room with them. I also want to gloat. Allegra’s torment brings me happiness. Her misery satiates my thirst for revenge, no matter how fleeting. It was never my intention to leave her alone with her father. No, not for a minute. I wouldn’t allow her that luxury. If only because I couldn’t trust them. But then, they had willingly handed her over, hadn’t they? Why would they have done that to merely turn back around again and plot against me? They aren’t strong enough, nor do they have the resources, to see through an attack against me. This much I am certain of.

Don Marone is at the end of his heyday, and he doesn’t have the physical nor financial backing needed to go up against us. It's ironic, in a way. He had to forfeit his daughter to our family. His one and only daughter. His one and only child. He was never blessed with a son to steer the family into a new era.He had a daughter. While his once-friend-then-turned-enemy had the luxury of four boys to oversee his dynasty and bring it into the future. If he had spawned even one son, I’m sure the fate of his family may have turned out differently.

He doesn’t move as Allegra stirs and starts to whisper softly to him, her voice a soothing lullaby that she no doubt wishes will wake him from his deep sleep. I clench my fists at my sides; it grates on my nerves that I can’t hear what she says to him. But it’s not long before she rises and joins her mother in a corner of the room, barely sparing me a glance. My eyes follow her as she crosses the room, their hawkish glare daring her to step out of line. The women talk in low murmurs, and I can tell by the glances they shoot toward Don Marone that their discussion is about him and his care. It’s not hard to understand that Donna Marone is not my greatest fan.

It's a few minutes before Allegra finally leans into her mother, kisses her cheeks, then turns towards the door without a single regard for me. I lift my eyebrows in surprise then follow her out of the room as we head out to the waiting cars.

“Don Gatti.”

Donna Marone’s voice carries softly in the space between us as she follows close on my heels. I stop walking and turn back; Allegra is already halfway down the stairs and has no intention of slowing down.

I fix her mother with a stony look and wait patiently for her to talk. She stands with her hands clasped in front of her, her lips pursed in a severe line. She wants to say something, but she’s reluctant. Though groveling is not beneath her when the occasion calls for it.

“Do come again,” she says, choking on her pride. “I do hope you won’t keep Allegra from her father in what may be his final days.”

“Thank you.”

It’s the softest whisper, barely discernible, but I hear it nonetheless. I glance across the expanse of the backseat at my wife as she sits staring out the window as the city flies past us. She won’t look at me and she won’t elaborate, but instinctively, I know her gratitude is because I took her to see her parents. Although I’m surprised at her softness, her thankfulness, I don’t know whether to be happy or mad because I didn’t achieve the desired outcome. I was aiming for aggravation, but instead I got thankful. I thought she’d be raving mad that this has happened to her father so shortly after she left her family home that she’d be blaming me for her father’s downward spiral. But instead, I got appreciation that she got to see him in his time of need. At the same time, I’m thinking that I need to harden my heart and refine my punishments, I find myself quietly pleased that she now somehow feels indebted to me. It’s a good feeling to have.

“We can go again in a few days.”

My mouth opens without consent, and I find the words spewing forth like a bad case of vomit. I don’t know what I’m doing or saying, but suddenly I’ve committed to allowing her more visits with her father. And I find that I don’t mind one bit.

Allegra spins her attention in my direction and regards me with some trepidation. Of course, she’s wondering what the catch is; she wears her emotions in her eyes and in the way she expresses herself in every little movement she makes. But she doesn’t say anything. No. She’s too afraid that she’ll spit out some obscenity and I’ll reconsider my offer for her to visit her parents more often. So, she remains quiet, looking at me tentatively, before she swallows and turns away again, a faraway look on her face. I think I like it better when she’s on my side.

We’re taking the first silent steps towards a truce. And even if not, just being civil to one another takes a heavy weight off my chest. I can’t do heavy, and I don’t do toxic. I have enough adventure in my life without the added drama of a scorned wife. I’ve fulfilled the oath, I’m working toward my grand plan, and I can see the end in sight. If I can keep her placid enough, this endeavor will be like taking cake from a baby. She can remain my prisoner, but there’s no reason we can’t be civil about it.

CHAPTER 19 – SCAR

I scrub a hand down my face and let out an exasperated sigh. She’s back to challenging me at every turn. Defiance and fire are her middle names, and I can’t seem to bring her to heed.

Just when I thought she’d finally come around, she goes and does something crazy like this again. I’m starting to think the girl is just damn crazy.

I look down at the latest dress and the damage she’s done to it. It’s a black sequined gown with a high neck that is meant to hug her body in ways that should be criminal. I saw it and thought of her. I wanted her to wear it. I wanted her in it. I wanted her to wear it to the auction tonight. But she’s refusing to go. And in doing so, she’s defying me. This is the third dress she’s ruined, and the third event she’s resisted going to.

I can’t keep holding off colleagues and investors and associates who are curious and want to see the proof of our union. After all, the proof is in the pudding. We need to make an appearance together. And it needs to be tonight. The whole criminal underworld is waiting.

I hiss and lift the dress from the bathtub. It weighs a ton when it’s soaking in water. I lay it on the rim of the tub and wait for it to start draining of water. We have a few hours to go, but she’s definitely putting in an appearance tonight. There’s no two ways about it. I leave the dress draining off the excess liquid and go in search of my wife. Right now, she’s anything but. She’s areckless rebel. She’s a defiant child. And she’s making me crazy with her attitude.

I find her in the library and snatch the book she’s got her nose buried in out of her hands roughly.

“Hey!” she screeches.

I look at the cover and scoff, then throw the book haphazardly across the room. She scrambles to her feet, staring me down as her fists clench angrily at her sides.

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