Page 2 of The Silence Lies

“This is the new generation,” I quip. I feel Enzo squeeze my hand, a show of support and strength I didn’t know I needed, but I refuse to tear my gaze away from the man ahead of me. “It’s about time we set a precedent for future families, don’t you think?”

“This is not how La Cosa Nostra is ruled.”

“No, this is how La Cosa Nuova is ruled,” I retort.

Don Verdi sits back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. He keeps his lips firmly shut at my words. Clearly, whatever he has to say, he has realized he won’t be heard here. His son, however, sits to the right of him, rolling his eyes.

Luciano and I have history— a really shitty history involving a romance that should never have happened. That was back when I was sixteen and immature. I didn’t know any better, and when it came to Luciano, I truly thought I was in love.

Oh, how naive I was ten years ago.

I still don’t know what I ever saw in the man. He has good looks, great charm, but that’s as far as my compliments stretch. When it comes to Luciano Verdi, he is every father’s worst nightmare. He’s the boy they tell their little girls to avoid. He’s the asshole all girls crave until they’re ruined. And he has made himself my competition.

I watch carefully as his lip curls, eyes setting on me before darting to my right. I know exactly what he’s looking at. My best friend is less than tolerable of Luciano and his ways. He was there to pick up the pieces when things between Luciano and I exploded catastrophically. Now, when it comes to me, he takes no prisoners. He’s not afraid to protect me, to stand up for me, or use his fists to set an example.

With the way they curl up tightly beside me, I know he’s sending a warning, one that seems to be received rapidly by the Verdis.

“Does anyone else have any reservations?” my grandfather asks the table. “We talk freely now.”

A few grumbles resound around the room, but other than the inaudible comments, nobody actually speaks up.

“Okay,” my grandfather nods before turning his attention to me. “Your vouching family?”

I turn my head to Enzo, who promptly stands. “I am here to represent the LaRosa family. We align ourselves with the Bianchis, we pledge our loyalty and obedience to Serafina Bianchi as our leader and I personally vouch for her.”

“Of course, you do,” Luciano remarks.

My grandfather raises a hand in the air, abruptly halting any more comments. I knew this was going to be difficult, and it’s no surprise the Verdis are the ones with the grievance. They truly believe they should be the ones leading this ceremony, with Luciano taking the mantle. The problem is, that asshole couldn’t lead an alcoholic into a bar, and that’s putting it kindly.

“You’re treading on thin ice already, Verdi.” My grandfather flashes a warning to his right. “Disrespect will not be permitted here, old ways or not.”

“Of course,” Don Verdi mutters, dropping his head in submission. His son doesn’t mirror the action, instead, he glares at me like I stole his favorite toy.

To the right of the table, my grandfather’s assistant approaches. He grips a rolled up piece of parchment in one hand, and a blade in the other—the only weapon allowed in the ceremony. The assistant unravels the paper, and weighs it down with two inkwells—one for me, one for Enzo.

Enzo is the first to head to my grandfather, and with a nod from my own father, I approach.

I watch as Enzo takes the knife and presses it to his palm. He doesn’t even wince when the blade breaks the skin, or when he squeezes his fist tightly to expel a few drops of blood into a shallow inkwell. He takes the pen in his right hand, dipping it into the inkwell before signing his name on the parchment.

Old way, new Mafia; we still follow certain traditions. Signing your name in blood is a lifelong commitment. It’s a vow to honor, protect and remain loyal to the family name. Every time a new leader takes their place, these contracts are signed. Bound in blood is the oldest tradition, and sadistically, one I’m looking forward to.

Enzo turns and holds his tattooed hand out to me. Resting my hand in his palm, he turns it over, and drags the sharp edge over the flesh. I wince as a delicate scarlet flow of liquid appears, and with his help, Enzo guides the blood droplets into the second inkwell.

Dipping the pen into the deep red liquid, he hands it to me. Admiration flashes across his face, quickly and almost unnoticeably. This is it.

I lean forward and sign my name in its rightful place, beside Enzo’s. And then I release a long breath, one filled with anxious hopes and uncertain possibilities.

“Donna Bianchi,” Enzo announces to the table, lifting my arm into the air.

The table follows in unison, despite the reluctance. “Donna Bianchi!”

“First thing on the agenda…?” Enzo asks as he bandages my hand.

We’re all out on the terrace, continuing the celebrations. Many of the men have stuck around, but it doesn’t go unnoticed that Don Verdi and his son have disappeared. I’m not surprised, really. They tried to talk to my father after we left the library, but I don’t think it went down well.

“Tell me,” I reply, never letting my attention leave the people in front of me.

I know Enzo would never let anything happen to me. Not just because of our relationship, but since Enzo pledged his irrefutable allegiance to me and my family, he has in turn become my second in command. It’s funny how things work out in this way of life, but I don’t think he minds one bit.

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