Page 38 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream
How dare he? It’smybody.
My fingers find purchase on the metal container and I pull it down to my chest. I immediately feel as though a sense of peace is so close I can touch it. An enormous breath leaves my lungs and I walk calmly to my desk, rest the box on the surface and open it. I hold the keyup, turning it beneath the overhead light in my bedroom, watching its scratched surface still manage to glimmer somehow.
I walk around to the other side of the desk, sit on my chair and feed the key into the top drawer lock. There’s a soft click and my heart pounds faster. I pull on the handle and slide the drawer open. Adrenalin courses through my veins making my limbs tingle with anticipation. Another box sits inside the drawer. I take it out and place it on my desk, then I close my eyes and open it.
I breathe in and feel the familiar scent of antiseptic fill my nostrils. As my lids slowly lift, a warmth fills me up. Despite returning to my family ten weeks ago, only now do I feel like I’ve come home.
My fingers are eerily still as I pick up the first instrument I see. An old, trusted favorite. I tap the edge of the blade with a nail, thetingsound pulling dark memories from the recesses of my mind.
Holding the blade in my right hand, I draw the hem of my dress up my thigh, letting it pool at the hip. A patchwork of scars stares up at me, like the lines and angles of a birth chart. They’re no longer angry and raw. They’ve settled into my skin, forever an intrinsic part of me. My short time in the Hamptons gave them that.
I locate an as-yet untouched area on my inner thigh and press the blade to my skin. My vision becomes acute as I zero in on the piece of flesh bowing beneath the pressure. When the skin finally punctures, a feeling of bliss rushes through me at warp speed. All those emotions that I’ve been bottling up and trying toorganize and put into manageable boxes, that ultimately raged untethered around my gut, come pouring out through that one small incision. Tension unravels across my shoulders and my spine softens. I let my eyes drift closed and pull the blade toward my body.
Blood runs down my thigh and the conditioned air presses a kiss to the wound. I feel no pain. Only immense relief.
Finally, I’m languishing in a state of forbidden relief, but the outer edges are darkened by the reminder that, soon, Andreas will see my scars.
Being forced into a marriage with a man who’s lied to me the entire time I’ve known him is traumatizing enough, but to know that he will have his own exclusive window into my deepest, most private battles while he rips my virginity from me, is beyond comprehension.
What’s even the point in worrying about it? He’s going to see the scars—there’s no way around it. What’s one more for the road?
I might be able to stall on our wedding night by insisting on darkness. Or I could wear something racy that covers me up while still giving him access to my innocence. But I won’t be able to hide my scars from him forever.
One day, he’ll find them.
One day, he’ll see how ugly I really am.
One day, he’ll be sorry he married me.
Andreas
The Di Santo residence is everything I expected it to be. The warmth shown to me by my brother’s girlfriend is not.
Contessa Castellano is the undisputed queen of the glare. She’s been sitting at a table on the terrace since I arrived, shooting me daggers the entire time, with her EarPods attached to her skull.
I know she isn’t listening to music because whenever Serafina’s name is mentioned, her eyes narrow into cat-like slits.
Her face has taken on the kind of beauty that could bring nations to their knees, but that’s as far as my understanding of what Benito sees in the girl goes. Her eyes are a devilish green, where Serafina’s are the brightest blue—deepenough to swim in. Her limbs are long, slim and athletic. Sexy enough, but they don’t make my mouth water like her sister’s. Serafina’s curves are what caught my eye first. Her soft, voluptuous breasts and thighs make my mouth water. I just know that when I finally get my hands on her, she’s going feel like butter in my palms.
Of the four sisters, Contessa and Serafina are the palest, but where Contessa has sharp, dark accents, Serafina has rich auburn hair and the prettiest freckles that I have to force myself to look away from.
Cristiano is also watching me and Arrow carefully. “So you think south of the city first?” He leans back and taps his pen against his lip.
I take a slug of coffee. I’ve been awake since three a.m. to travel here from Boston for brunch—I needallthe coffee. “Yes.”
Arrow nods in my periphery.
“It isn’t controlled by one gang,” I explain. “There are several and they won’t band together to fight for it. They’re too weak and too greedy.”
“And one of those gangs is led by Aldo Ajello, right?” Benito confirms, folding his arms.
When I spoke to my brother at the wedding I explained that our father’s right hand man is, unlike our father, alive and well and running rackets in the city. This is perhaps the most critical and poignant reason I wanted to align with the Di Santo’s—to share the satisfaction of ending that son of a bitch with my brother.
Benito and I are cut from the same cloth, taking after Mama’s more noble side of the family, not our father’s.He survived just fine. Better than me perhaps. I strategized my way through Providence, but Benito gunned his way into the Di Santo’s, the biggest crime family in New York. And he’s theirconsiglierenow. I’m proud of the motherfucker.
Cristiano and Benito discuss between themselves which capo and soldiers are best placed to take on the south Boston gangs while I confer quietly with Arrow.
Finally, Benito turns his body in my direction. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”
