Page 12 of Pretty Little Game

“Nice day for a family dinner, isn’t it?” I say casually, scratching the back of my neck and pretending like he’s not trying to murder me with his eyes.

My father says nothing, letting the awkward silence linger as the kitchen staff brings in our plates, simultaneously setting one down in front of each of us in a perfectly timed dance. Chianti is poured into the glasses set before each family member–except for Clara, of course, who is still too young to drink.

“Thank you.” Anya’s murmured gratitude as her wine is poured stands out among the family. From a more common background, she still practices the niceties of acknowledging our staff’s service. However, their incredulous looks remind me of why the rest of us gave it up long ago.

“Yes, thank you,” Silvi pipes up, flashing Anya a warm smile even when the kitchen staff remains silent.

“How was your first day at Rosehill?” Anya asks my sister.

“It was really nice,” Silvia gushes. “I just love the campus, and my classes are great.” Her eyes flick toward my father, indicating hesitancy. “I’m still not sure what major I’ll pick, but I have some time to decide.”

“Whatever path you choose, they’ll be lucky to have you,” Nico encourages.

My mother could care less about my sister’s future as she loses herself in the crimson liquid as soon as her glass is full. Her strict regime of beauty appointments and sedation through anti-anxiety meds and alcohol keeps her at a distance from all her children, along with my father, who she can barely tolerate and yet can’t divorce.

My father would never allow such a shameful act to hurt his reputation. As a don, he is supposed to rule everything with an iron fist, even his family. And what would it say about him if he couldn’t keep his wife under his thumb? No, even if he were tired of her, my father would never let my mother go. Despite my mother’s shortcomings as a loving parent or wife, she is strikingly beautiful–a stunning trophy for Don Lorenzo Marchetti to prove he is a man in full.

When he’s not showing her off in high society, my father all but ignores her, which is precisely what he’s doing now as he raises his glass of wine and takes a sip, his eyes remaining on me, sharp and accusatory.

As the staff silently leaves, my family members grow quiet, the clink of silverware filling the room in place of conversation as they start to eat. I take the opportunity to cut into my Chicken Francese, unwilling to trigger my father’s tirade before he is fully ready to unleash it.

But as my first bite reaches my mouth, Lorenzo Marchetti’s cold flat tone cuts across the long dining table, making everyone still.

“You switched majors without consulting me, Cassio,” he states icily.

I give a one-shoulder shrug, intentionally taking my bite and chewing it rather than answering him.

“Your senior year, and you decide to change your major. But what’s worse is you picked anartsdegree. What are you, a woman? Only weak-brained women study theater.”

Shock flickers across Anya’s face as her eyes snap up to look at my father. She’s still unaccustomed to his prejudices and bold verbal abuse. While Nicolo tries to limit Anya’s and Clara’s exposure to our father’s tongue,everyoneis required to attend family dinners.

“You can kiss your inheritance goodbye if you keep pulling stunts like that,” my father hisses, his eyes narrowing. “You and Lucca already put a black mark on our family by constantly screwing around. The world sees you two as a joke because you don’t take anything seriously, and I have half a mind to disown you for that alone. But this is clearly intentional. You changed majors just to piss me off, didn’t you? And you knew I wouldn’t permit you to take theater, so you did it without consulting me.”

Lucca gives me a sidelong look, but I refuse to meet his eyes. He and I always get lumped together when it comes to my father’s abuse. Of course, Lucca would be dragged into the string of insults, even though he hasn’t done anything wrong. He didn’t change his major.

But that would matter little to Lorenzo Marchetti when he’s trying to cut me down. The best I can do to leave Lucca out of it is to keep my eyes on my father and take the brunt of the heat.

“Admit it!” my father barks, his fists slamming into the table and making Anya and Silvia jump.

Next to him, my numb mother continues to cut her chicken into small bites and eat them delicately, seeming utterly oblivious to my father’s temper as she goes about her meal. Once upon a time, I might have felt betrayed by her lack of support, but now I’m used to it.

My mother never wanted children. She gave birth to us because my father wanted heirs to carry on the family name, so she popped out three boys.

I’m pretty sure my sister was intended as a punishment, my father lording his control over my mother after she did something he didn’t like, so he knocked her up again–something like that. He’s all but said as much.

But I try not to think about how dysfunctional their relationship is.

All I know is I want to be different than my old man. “Being the family clown is better than participating in the corrupt, bloody family business,” I say nonchalantly, avoiding his demand as I toss out my usual MO I use when I want to get a rise out of him.

In truth, I didn’t pick theater to piss my father off–though I knew he wouldn’t be happy. No, I changed majors for one reason. Bianka. I had to be closer to her. The last two years of keeping my distance have been excruciating, and I couldn’t take it any longer.

But my whole motivation for keeping her at arm’s length is because my father threatened to ban Bianka from Rosehill after he found out I planned to take her on a date. Lorenzo Marchetti doesn’t believe in following your heart. He believes in choosing a woman who will better the family name. Finding a woman with the right connections and a nice enough face to prove you’re a man.

And unfortunately, Bianka has exactly the wrong connections. She’s a Popov, the sister of Ilya Popov, to be exact, and his Bratva borders our territory. My father doesn’t want us to get involved in Russian affairs. Especially not when it comes to a Bratva as powerful as the Shulaya clan. They have the strength to severely impact our family business if they so choose.

And since Ilya is known for being protective of his sister, if I were to screw things up with her–which my father believes would be all but a guarantee–our family could end up in a war we don’t want. Therefore, when he found out I made a move on Ilya’s sister, my father put a decisive end to my courtship by threatening to ban Bianka from our territory.

I couldn’t let that happen. I know how much Bianka wants to be an actress, and I couldn’t hurt her future like that. So, as much as it has pained me, I thought it best to keep my distance. But watching Lucca be so happy with Ellie has been torture. Even Nicolo seems head over heels for Anya and their little girl. Everyone is sickeningly happy–except me.

---