Page 19 of A Beautiful Crime

Papa is not a man who shares and neither is Constantine. It’s why the East Coast is his for the taking.

“I could talk to him,” Luca offers and papa dismisses him.

“No. That would be desperate, Luca. One thing The Fiore Famiglia is not is desperate.”

“Then what shall we do?”

“Unfortunately we must wait.”

“What about Carina?”

A pause. “What about her?” Papa asks in a bored tone.

“Shouldn’t she receive punishment?” Luca can’t hide the slight excitement in his voice. He’s the very definition of a sadist.

“Whatever you think is necessary, Luca. Perhaps she’ll realize the severity of this marriage once she faces the consequences.”

Of all the things I have just heard papa say, that has my stomach churning like thick butter.

A heavy feeling sits in my throat and I have to swallow to force it down.

After I received the five lashings Luca had given me I had vomited until I was dry heaving.

I still remember lying on the cold tiled floor of the cellar of the basement. It was such a contrast to the warmth that coated my back.

And I didn’t even have the strength to pick myself up off of the dirty floor.

I had stayed down there, unmoving, for hours, until our butler, Giuseppe, had found me.

He tended to me with a care I thought I would never feel again.

I never told a living soul how he nursed me back to health. How he would put the ointment on my wounds and dress them. Nor how he would make sure I ate even when I felt sick.

Giuseppe is the only person who cares about me but since he works for papa he can’t show his allegiance to me.

You are supposed to live, eat and breathe for The Don and if you don’t then you’re dead before the blink of an eye.

Hearing enough I softly leave before Luca comes out and spots me.

The bare of my feet hit the pristine cherry hardwood floors with a soft thud.

I’ve learned to never wear heels while parading around the house.

As I walk down the long corridor the churning in my stomach only intensifies.

I don’t want to return to the cellar.

I don’t want to count how many lashings my brother deems fit.

I could barely withstand five. I know without a doubt, thanks to my behavior last night, and the approval from papa, I’ll be lashed twice as much.

Consumed by the dread I hardly notice Giuseppe at the end of the corridor.

“Ms. Fiore,” he addresses me formally. And it doesn’t matter how many times I tell him otherwise, I’ll always be addressed properly.

Composing myself I curtly nod my head at Giuseppe with a dash of a smile. “Giuseppe, always a pleasure to see you.”

For an older gentleman he doesn’t look a day over fifty. His genes have blessed him with a fresh face and his rigorous regimen and diet keep him strong. His dark brown hair with slithers of grey peaking at the sides is slicked back with a gel but not as thick as Luca.

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