Page 2 of Pretty Poison

“I don’t relive it through words, Rio, it happens through actions. How you’re acting—your ruthless ways, hardheartedness and refusal to try anything new—that’s what makes me relive it every single day. While you do it at no fault of your own, you remind me of your father.”

I fight the urge to bite back, countering her harsh words with ones filled with hatred of her comparison. “I am not him. Antonio Bianchi is his own man, one that made his own decisions that lost him his family and stature. If he hadn’t been a fool, you wouldn’t have met Vincent, the only man worthy to be my father. I assure you, I can do this alone, Mama.”

“I’ve been more than patient over the years, Dario,” she says with a heavy sigh, “but I’m not getting any younger. Call me selfish for wanting grandchildren before I die, but if you don’t be the man I know you’re hiding under that tough exterior, you’re putting your brother in a very difficult spot.”

“Mama, don’t be so dramatic. For starters, Katerina is already pregnant. You’ll get your first grandbaby in a few months. Secondly, you know as well as I do that Maze would rather die than take on this role again. He’s not cut out to be Don.”

“He showed great discomfort being in that chair, yes, but he would have to stand in for you until we find your replacement.”

“You wouldn’t let Vincent’s legacy go to waste,” I scoff. “If this was Antonio, you wouldn’t think twice, I know that. But Dad? You know how many generations worth of blood, sweat and tears have been put into this—”

“You’re right, I do know, which means you do too. If you want to let it fall apart by going to one of your cousins, then so be it. Because I assure you, they’re ready to step up if you won’t grow up.” With that, she storms out of my office, slamming the door behind her.

With both she and Maze gone, the silence around me feels nauseating. It feels like all I’ve been doing recently is trying to right my wrongs, Natalia’s death being one of them. She was my fiancée, and her association with me made her a target, and someone took a hit out on her. She really didn’t stand a chance the moment our contract was signed. To put another woman in that position is unfair, to say the least.

Call me pathetic, call me selfish, call me whatever you want, but growing up is something I learned to do long before I ever needed to. I was trained, as soon as I could walk, to protect my family before myself. The two years that Maze led, he helped me prepare behind closed doors to take over his role, because he couldn’t face our father with the truth. He just wanted to prove himself.

Now, it’s all down to me. To save this family and our legacy, I have to suck it up and follow our wicked traditions. The same traditions that dictate our every move and how we forge alliances, business deals and the oh-so-important contracts that help us in ways that inevitably destroy us.

I’ve spent too long making a name for myself. I don’t need the people around me, the ones that fear me, whispering about me having turned soft. So yes, I’ll do this one thing for you, Mother, but don’t expect much else.

Two

LIANA

A week later

Being an only child is hard, but being the only daughter of a well-known businessman is a difficult task in itself. With my mother completely out of the picture, my father raised me to the best of his ability. I assume that wasn’t easy for him, but I’ve never heard a complaint.

I can still remember the day I realised our lives had changed. It was my tenth birthday party and he went all out. He had rented a rather large bouncy castle in my favourite shade of purple, accompanied by matching metallic balloons and wrapping paper on what felt like hundreds of presents. He even let my friends stay the night.

Everything started off slowly with his dream business. Then, there was enough money to completely change our lives. He became a better father, was happier with his profession and his face was on the covers of newspapers and magazines for years. It also led to some drastic changes, including our home. To name just one thing, the main hall I currently stand in as I wait for my father’s arrival is bigger than the entirety of the ground floor of our old house.

The black and white tiles usually glisten in the sunlight that peers through the skylights above, but right now, the sun isslowly setting, allowing the darkness to become one with my surroundings. On either side of me sits identical white tables with an assortment of pink blossoms, peonies and small, white rose buds, and two small decorative ornaments on either side of the vase that I’ve never been able to make out. In front of me is the door, an array of black hooks lining the left side and a beautiful faux sheath that intertwines effortlessly, a deep red ribbon in the centre to bring it all together.

My father is the kind of man that relies only on himself to right wrongs in the workplace, which has granted us the luxuries of this beautiful home. But god forbid he ever lets me contribute. In his eyes, I’m nothing more than his baby girl, and with that, comes the bubble he’s placed me in for protection.

The minute my father walks through the front door, his whole aura is off. I can sense there’s more to him than meets the eye tonight—the unease in his demeanour is strong and I can feel the tension hovering just below the surface of his outer shell, but I know he won’t talk about it. Not to me, anyway. Sometimes, I feel as if I know my father better than myself, so it’s hard to watch him be completely different from his usual upbeat self.

I’ve recently found him to be preoccupied, like something has robbed him of his spark, but he refuses to talk about it.

“How was your day, Principessa?” he asks, feigning a soft smile as he inches closer before meeting me in the middle of the main hall. His eyes are slightly bloodshot, his tie extremely loosened and his shirt missing the top three buttons.

No matter how stressful or exhausting his day is, he always makes sure mine never differs, but I can sense the effort is draining him.

“It was fine, Papa,” I lie. It makes no difference how bad my day was, I simply don’t have the heart to mention it.

“We have a few guests coming tonight…” He pauses for a moment. “It gives you an excuse to dress up.”

“You know me so well,” I say with an excited smile. “Is there a particular reason, though?” Having guests is one thing, but it’s never out of the blue like this. He can be a suck up sometimes, so to make a good impression is important to him. Where possible, he usually goes out of his way to ensure his guests have whatever they desire.

I remember one time, he had a small dinner party with no more than a dozen guests. It was the first one I was permitted to attend and it was something I’ll never forget. My father had gone all out—the usual decorations in the dining room were replaced with fresh floral arrangements, a tablecloth to match and a large gold candelabra. The private chef my father hired went through extensive scrutiny to ensure everything was just right. He pre-ordered a large selection of wines, my father’s favourite scotch and meticulously chose each meal to cater to each individual guest. On some level, I should have known my father was trying to impress Chiara’s family. It will forever be the worst week of my life. My father was closed off and never had time for me. I felt like I was being punished.

“I was thinking you, Anabel and Chiara could make use of your mother’s dresses.” His body shifts slightly as that word leaves his lips.

Our entire conversation is entering the strange category. It’s not unusual for my father to have business associates around for dinner, but he’s always preferred it to stay within the family, so that none of the topics discussed would be exposed to the public and tarnish our name. While I know I can trust Anabel, that doesn’t change the fact that she’s not our family. Not by blood. And my mother’s closet? He prefers to keep those doors closed,saving himself the heartache of the painful memories of her leaving us.

“Annie’s coming to dinner?” I ask.

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