Page 42 of Wild Card

She puts the bowl away and sits next to me again, taking my hands.

“We’ll figure something out, Gattina. Me and Gio. I’m afraid you’ll be hurt if you leave.” She looks me over. “And you’re not well as it is. Please, let us make this up to you.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Mrs. DeLuca.” My father started a chain of terrible events that changed her and Gio’s life for the worse, and while I wasn’t directly responsible, I’m connected to the damage anyhow. The money from the sale of the bakery bankrolled some aspect of my life, I’m sure. And while I’ve had to deal with my father’s disapproval and my mother’s coldness, I’ve never had to deal with the violent death of a loved one.

Mrs. DeLuca hits me with one of her powerful gazes.

“No,” she says. “Don’t you believe what your heartless father says about you. You get his voice out of your head. I saw the interview he did for the news. No soul, that man. Don’t let someone without a soul make you feel unworthy. Who cares if he thinks you’re wild? Be wild, Gattina. Be wild and young and free. Leave the pinched, closed off coldness to evil men like your father.”

Her words threaten to destroy my carefully cultivated walls. Walls I built to protect myself long ago. My parents value control, refinement, and my whole life I’ve been treated like I was wrong for wanting something different.

But maybe there’s nothing wrong with me. Maybe I was just born to the wrong family.

I push at the tears collecting in my eyes. I don’t want Mrs. DeLuca to have to comfort me for something my father did. For what her son did. She’s suffered too, and whatever comes next could be bad for her as well.

She comes to my side of the table and wraps her arms around me again, sighing.

“Cara mia, none of this is your fault.”

I’ve never felt more exposed, and I sob in her arms. This woman I just met, who lost so much at the hands of my father, sees more value in me than the people who raised me. I hear my father’s voice telling me that everything that’s happened is my fault for being so easy to grab, but he’s wrong. I fought like hell to save myself. I’ve always fought like hell to do that despite all the roadblocks he’s thrown in front of me.

And I’ll keep fighting, because I’m better than what a lowlife like James Carney believes me to be. I want to tell my own story.

I’m still terrified for my sister. Will my brothers be able to protect Birdie and help me too? I’d rather they concentrate on her at this point. Lorenzo was desperate before, but now he’s like an injured animal, even more dangerous.

Mrs. DeLuca coos at me, stroking my hair. “Why don’t you take a bath and I’ll go get you some clean clothes.” She lets me go and takes a step back. “Gio’s jacket isn’t a good fit. Can I take a look at you?”

I take off the jacket and shiver. I feel strange—almost like Gio’s jacket was my armor. A stand in for him.

She whistles. “What a body! Just need a little meat on those bones. Okay, nothing I have will fit those long legs and big boobs.”

Her comment makes me laugh. Mrs. DeLuca isn’t exactly lacking in the breast department, but I’m not ready to wear grandma clothes even if they do fit. Not yet. I leave the jacket on the chair, and she shows me to the bathroom and turns on the light. She curses as the fluorescent glow illuminates the mottled cuts and bruises on my pale body.

“His father would kill him for doing this to a woman. We didn’t raise him to do such a thing. He’s spent too much time with Freddie.” She sounds on the verge of tears again but pulls herself back.

“Take a nice long bath, Gattina. There’s Epsom salt under the sink to help with your bruises.” She sighs. “I’m sorry, honey.”

She closes the door, and I turn on the taps. I’m exhausted, physically and emotionally, but after eating something I feel a little better.

And at least I’m not in that terrible attic. I’m sure Gio will return at some point, and I’ll ask him about my sister.

If he promises to help my brothers if anything goes wrong with Birdie, I’ll stay for his grandmother.

That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.

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