Page 3 of Under the Influence

“He’s a made man Angela, did you expect him to be a saint?”

“I guess I didn’t think of it that way,” she mumbles.

“Sorry, Angela, ignore me. Like I said, it’s probably a rumor, and I’m sure he’ll be a great husband,” I say, trying to placate her again.

“At least you won’t be so far behind me, but you know what you’re getting with Pietro as your husband. He’s a stand-up guy.” She says, smiling warmly at me.

“Yeah,” I say, nodding as the feeling of ice envelops my chest. I extract myself from Angela and head straight to the bar.

“Whiskey neat,” I say to the bartender, who raises his eyebrow at me. I knew he was expecting me to order something girly like champagne or a 7 and 7, but I want something stronger that will melt down my throat.

Three drinks later, I return to my mama’s side, she barely noticed I had left. She’s talking about my upcoming wedding with one of the guests, and by the sounds of the cooing and excitement, anyone would think that she is the one getting married, not the slightly tipsy and uninterested girl beside her.

‘Pietro!” She suddenly cries out like she has been hit by a bullet, her flailing hands hitting me in the ribs.

Everything suddenly feels like slow motion as my head turns around to meet my future groom, the mask obscures most of his face, but he is pretty much as I remember, albeit taller. Pietro, like Angela, has the all-American look, blonde wiry hair and blue eyes, like he’s just stepped out of an Abercrombie catalogue.

He locks eyes with me, and I strain to force a smile despite rather being anywhere but here. He kisses me on both cheeks, and we politely make conversation. I try to pay attention to his words, but they hold no interest to me. I care for nothing he says or the mouth it comes out of. Mama looks on between us and smiles as if there were sparks of passion being exchanged right before her eyes, but I feel nothing.

“Are you having a good time?” he asks.

“Yes, you must be very happy for your sister,” I say meekly.

“Not really,” he says bitterly.

I resist the urge to question why, because you don’t ask questions within Mafia circles. What is understood doesn’t need to be explained, clearly there is some kind of underlying tension between Pietro and his future brother-in-law. However, as I am barely interested in him, I could care less about his familial conflicts.

“He thinks he’s doing us a favor because he’s already made at twenty-eight, like he’s so fucking special,” Pietro snarls while grounding his cigarette into cinders underneath his foot. “Special my ass, everybody knows about him and his fuckingdisgraciafamily. It’s an embarrassment we have to lower ourselves to scum like him just because he’s made.” he says, furiously.

What was it about this made man who seems to have everyone so riled up?

“Maybe some women aren’t meant to be tamed. Maybe they just need to run free until they find someone just as wild to run with them.”

—Candice Bushnell

ISTRUGGLE TO THINK KINDLY OFANYTHINGI LIKE ABOUT PIETRO ROSSI.

Even his aftershave annoys me, it’s a flamboyant zesty citrus scent that makes my nose itch and eyes water.

If I can’t find something small, I like about him, what chance did I have for the our entire marriage? The thought instantly sobers me up.

“Well, I’ll see you later,” I say, excusing myself. Nevertheless, he catches my arm and gives it a soft meaningful squeeze as I move past him. I try to figure out what it is about him that I can’t seem to find attractive, but I draw a blank. He is perfect on paper, but besides that, he has zero charisma.

I smile to myself, pushing all thoughts of Pietro Rossi to the back of my already cluttered mind. It irks me that neither Massimo, Claudio, nor Gennaro don’t have to deal with this, at least not yet anyway. Gennaro has been working with papa and is too busy to entertain marriage. Claudio is a captain and has more women than he knows what to do with, and Massimo is still in college. Although my parents can disapprove of who my brothers are either dating or sleeping with, they will never intervene.

Not like how they did with me.

Anguish fills my chest when I think back to Anton, it seems like so many years ago when it, in fact, is only shy of two years. Every step towards him had been a step away from my family, from my roots, fromeverythingI had ever known, yet I kept going. We were two sides of the same coin, both offspring of organized crime families. The only thing separating us was his non-Sicilian blood which should have been the dealbreaker.

Have you ever known something terrible was going to happen, yet you simply kept doing it? I knew the fates were hovering over us like scissors over a thread, but I kept pushing our luck, a piece of luck that would end up in an ill-fated ending. What I didn’t anticipate was the fiery war that ensued from it all.

What I didn’t expect was how it ended, the horror that still shook me awake in terror most nights.

The restroom on this floor is busy, so I take the elevator up to the rooftop, which seems to be much quieter, and there isn’t a line to the bathroom here. The balmy spring air cools me down and helps to control the flurry of thoughts encapsulating me. Anton’s face flickers through my mind as I try my best to exorcise it. I push open the doors of the restroom, and two women ignore me as they cut lines of cocaine in front of the mirror.

“Interesting night for an engagement party. I’m so disappointed in his choice of bride.”

“I don’t know what he sees in her,” the other woman chirps back spitefully, as I hear the sound of more lines being cut before they exit.

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