Page 6 of Sins of the Orchid
“So, Amore Bennetti, tell me something about yourself,” Adriano drawled, a little mischievous gleam in his eyes.
Just like with the others, the woman jumped at my name.
“Che?” Her eyes searched out Santino and Mr. Russo. “Che?” she asked again in a higher pitched voice, and my eyes darted to Santino in worry. He offered a smile, reassurance in his dark eyes and instantly my pulse eased a bit.
Rushed words in Italian slipped through her lips as she glanced my way every so often. I couldn’t catch a single word.
Santino responded in a similar fashion. Whatever he said, it got the woman into another stream of long, fast Italian.
Santino slid next to me, taking the spot his aunt previously took. Thankfully, he let me have my space.
I cleared my throat. “M-maybe we shouldn’t tell anyone else about my last name?” I suggested in a small voice, eyeing their aunt’s vivid conversation with their father. I didn’t understand why my last name sent everyone into panic. Was it maybe because Father was head of a crime family? I should explain I had nothing to do with it, but I didn’t even know how to explain it.
“Too late.” Adriano kicked back. “Now that Zia knows, the entire Cosa Nostra will know.”
My head snapped to him. “Cosa Nostra?” I whispered.
“Please tell me you know about that,” Adriano groaned.
I swallowed hard. “Y-yes. Five families. Criminals.” I nibbled on my lower lip. I didn’t want to be in more trouble. My heart raced at the admission. “I-I don’t know much more than that,” I replied in a quiet voice.
Adriano chuckled. “Man, you’ll be fun to educate. And one day, your dad will probably marry you to one of the other families to strengthen his position.”
“Adriano!” Santino warned his brother. My eyes shot to Santino, then to Adriano and frantically back to his older brother.
“W-why would he do that?” I rasped.
Before either one of them could answer, their aunt came back shaking her head. “Bennetti in my kitchen. My kitchen! How?”
I shrunk even further. “Let her be,” Santino warned.
“It’s not the child’s fault,” Mr. Russo said. She shook her head and went back to speaking Italian with him.
“Don’t worry.” Santino pulled his phone out and read through his messages. “They are just mad they didn’t know you existed.”
“If it helps, neither did Father,” I said, staring out the window. The sun heated the pavement, and I knew how hot it could be against my bare feet; the chaos of people rushing somewhere, nowhere, with a purpose I couldn’t quite grasp myself. It was a jungle out there. Different from the one I escaped, but a jungle all the same.
He will save us.My mother’s voice rang in my ears.
Nobody came to save us. The heat in the jungle felt worse than the burnt soles of my feet against the blacktop pavement.
The scent of blood and dead bodies under the scalding sun. Dead eyes.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Blood soaking into the brown earth, turning it red.
The plate hitting the marble surface shattered through the death images, causing me to jump and bringing me back to life. A wounded whimper escaped me.
“Mangia, mangia.” It was Mrs. Rossi that startled me.
I swallowed hard and shook my head. “No, thank you.”
Panic. Death. Destruction. Payback. The need to make them all pay was so strong, it terrified me. Vengeance and hate was never part of me. But something cracked seeing my mother tortured, seeing her die.
And the entire time, I couldn’t do a damned thing. I was helpless. I closed my eyes, my heart drumming against my chest hard.
Do. Not. Panic. Do. Not. Panic.
