Page 67 of Inescapable Ties
“Are you…ok?” he asked, seeming to struggle with asking a question that involved empathy.
Jesus. I must look terrible if Short Dino was asking me if I was alright. The only thing he cared about was making sure I stayed alive.
“I’m fine.”
And we left it at that. Thank god it was Short Dino in the car with me - if it was Tall Dino, he would have continued to probe.
It wasn’t much longer before we arrived at our destination. The dilapidated warehouse towered in front of us, its brickwork facade crumbling with age. Weathered graffiti decorated the exterior, while the vacant windows seemed to gaze back at us with a haunted stare. It was ominous and desolate, but to me, it was a sanctuary—a place where I could escape from my complicated life.
Short Dino parked our car a safe distance away from the building. Without a word, we stepped out into the cold morning sun. The gravel crunched under our feet as we approached the entrance.
I explored each corner of the warehouse while Short Dino looked on alertly, his eyes sweeping over every detail in case of potential threats. I enjoyed these moments of solitude in these forgotten places—the silence was therapeutic, giving me space to think and breathe without feeling suffocated by emotion.
I caught a glimpse of Short Dino reaching for his gun from the corner of my eye. “We need to le-” he started, before I heard a bang and his body fell to the ground.
My ears were ringing so loudly that I didn’t register how loud my scream was. I had seen the carnage from the disastrous event at the gala, but seeing someone dear to you get shot was completely different. The bullet had pierced through Dino’s chest. He was now lying facedown on the ground, blood pooling from under his body.
I knew I should run out of the warehouse, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave Short Dino.
“SD,” I said, shaking him. “C’mon, we need to get out of here.”
He groaned in response. It was good to know he was still alive - but for how much longer? I tried tugging him by the arm and towards the door, but it was useless. He had too much muscle and weight on him for me to pull.
“Nice of you to try though, Luciana.”
The voice that came from behind me made my blood run cold. When I heard it, I was ready to wake up, hoping I was in some disgusting dream. When I heard him laugh, there was no denying it - that was my father’s voice.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, not able to turn around and face him.
“Why, we’re here to see you, of course.”
Who was “we?” I slowly turned around and my stomach sank even more. Rolando stood right next to my father. I searched his face for any sign of guilt; that he was being forced to do this. Unfortunately, his look was just as steel cold as our fathers.
The sight of Rolando by my father’s side was like a stab to my heart. How could he stand there, with no remorse, ready to hurt his own sister? His eyes narrowed at me, his jawline set with determination. He didn’t look like the older brother who once held me in his arms, promising to keep me safe from our tyrant father.
“Rolando,” I whispered, trying to keep the tremble out of my voice. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t respond; my father instead choosing to speak for him. “Your husband has been a nuisance to us, you know that?” When I didn’t respond, he continued. “Him and his buddies killed all our associates in this warehouse. Do you know how pissed their boss is at us?”
“How is that my problem?” I hissed, refusing to show my father the fear I was feeling. “I’m in no way involved in your business dealings.”
“Perhaps, but you are married to him. If you weren’t family, I’d kill you on the spot.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. How could he possibly think of us as family after the way he treated me throughout my childhood? His words felt hollow and insincere, more for show than anything else.
“Do you truly think of me as family, father?”
“We share the same blood, thus making you my family.”
I forced down the bitter bile that rose in my throat, a physical manifestation of the disgust and resentment I felt towards my father. Blood did not make us family. I felt a stronger bond being married to Emilio than any familial ties that once existed with him.
“So I’m giving you a chance,” he continued. “Leave your husband and reclaim the Catucci name. Or,” he paused, but I knew what he was implying. My last moments alive would be inside this warehouse.
My stomach twisted in knots as I grappled with the decision. The words Emilio had spoken still echoed in my mind, a bitter reminder that our marriage was nothing more than a cold, calculated business transaction. How naïve I had been to believe that there were any true feelings between us, that our marriage was meant to be. The weight of disappointment and betrayal settled heavy on my chest, suffocating any lingering hopes I had for our relationship.
But, even if he felt that way about our marriage, it had been real to me.
“No,” I said, calmly and sure of my decision.
