Page 27 of Made to Sin

She didn’t bother to elaborate and dropped a plate of strawberries on the round table next to my chaise.

I narrowed my eyes at her pathetic attempt to cover his tracks. Her efforts were appreciated at the beginning of my marriage, but after living in false oblivion for years, I was more disgusted than sad.

“Helping him get off? You don’t have to censor it, Maria. I stopped caring about four years ago.”

I watched her eyes fill with sympathy. Without saying it outloud, I knew her thoughts were somewhere along the lines of, “Poor girl. She was forced to love at such a young age, she never learned about what it meant to bein love.”

Maria didn’t have to say it because I thought about it enough myself. Instead, she saved us both the awkwardness and said, “Eat your strawberries before it gets cold.”

I gave her a pointed look. “The strawberriesarecold.”

“Eat it before it gets hot, then.”

Another piece of my shattered heart fell into the deepest void created by a torturous love, but I did as I was told. Taking a plump strawberry from the top, I bit into the dimly-colored fruit and tricked myself into thinking I was as happy as I looked.

This was totally the life I dreamt of when I said I wanted to be a rich stay-at-home wife. My days were spent lazying around with no work or obligation to stress me out as Marco diminished me to solely making public appearances. I thought it was smart to play the role I manifested, and while it was in the beginning, I started seeing myself fall apart.

One of the many examples was two nights ago when he sprained my wrist by stepping on it during another hissy fit. A few hours after that, he made me go greet his guests. I didn’t know which was worse, my fragile wrist or the wet kisses he planted on my cheek to make the loving couple story seem believable.

It was exhausting to make the switch every time there was company. If anyone cared enough to look closer, they would see it was a big charade. I wasn’t the perfect wife theCosa Nostradesperately wanted me to be. I was messy, jaded, anxious, and most definitely didn’t have the carefree life I pretended to have.

The Katarina they saw was an illusion of a character I tried to live by. And, like a work of fiction, it proved to be impossible no matter how eerie the resemblance was.

I might have been “blessed” with my looks, as everyone called it, but it had come at the cost of my soul. I would trade it in aheartbeat, but life wasn’t that forgiving. It forced me to deal with what I was dished.

“Is the Underworld always this cold and lonely, Maria?” I asked as the fruit’s red juice dripped down my fingers.

She sat down on the adjacent chaise, also savoring the embrace of the sun, and helped herself to some of the strawberries. Without so much as a cautionary warning, she confessed, “I didn’t like my husband either. It was a relief for both of us when he died. I got money, and he got to escape me.”

Although she made me lose the frown, I knew she wasn’t joking. The lady said some outrageous things that people would take as a joke, but she was always deadly serious.

My smile faded as a sadistic inclination to murder Marco passed through my mind. Maria never mentioned anything about why her husband died, but from her past stories, she hinted that she was partially involved.

The seed was planted in my head as I thought of various ways to do it too until I realized it would most likely end up with me being killed shortly after. He was a don, so alongside power, he had loyalty from the Camellos. Let’s say I miraculously killed him, I would only become the target for betraying my family. There was no winning since the moment my father made a deal with the mob.

Maria and I enjoyed a few more strawberries and crass conversations before I grew restless. I’d kept her out in the sweltering heat long enough, and I needed something to do other than switch the crossing of my legs every two minutes.

Standing up, I announced, “I’m going to swim for a bit. If I drown, don’t save me.”

She nodded, not fazed by my pessimism, and took the rest of the fruit plate inside.

I reapplied my sunscreen and dove straight into the inviting waters. My blue, skimpy bikini covered just enough for the restof my body to cool off instantaneously.

If there was something I could love in this life, it was swimming. There was nothing more relaxing than being underwater. I could do whatever I wanted. I could choose to go up for air, or I could let my lungs contract in the salty wrath. I could choose to scream, or I could quietly suffocate in my sorrows.

It was the one place where I got to choose.

Today, I chose to fight my demons by exhausting them clean. I continued doing laps, not stopping until I physically couldn’t move anymore. My muscles ached in the best possible pain as I lay afloat on the water, out of breath, for God knows how long.

The sun had lowered from its peak spot at the top of the sky by the time I waded out. Dread filled my stomach as another day wasted away.

I used to make fun of Princess Ariel, wondering how she felt trapped when she had everything a kid dreamt of from an underwater castle to talking animal friends.

I understood now.

Freedom was not as easy as it deluded. My freedom as a wife, a woman, a person didn’t exist. As long as I was stuck in theCosa Nostra, I was a pawn in its sick games.

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