Page 109 of Bitter Poetry
People keep taunting me with hope. It’s time for them to start delivering on their promises.
“And where does that leave us, Christian? What am I to you? Just a fuck-buddy with a side serve of danger because I’m the don’s wife?”
Change is coming. It’s inevitable. Being free of Ettore? I want that. Desperately.
Being free of Christian? Not so much.
“I don’t know what we are,”Christian said.“I only know I don’t want it to stop.”
This peace won’t last with Ettore. It never does. He is a volatile man. We have gone through this cycle before. Something will trigger him, maybe next week, maybe tomorrow, maybe today, a perceived slight or imaginary happening I have no control over.
Control. That’s at the crux of it. The sense of helplessness is overwhelming some days, while the underlying stress is constant.
I have no control.
It never mattered when I was younger. I had my father; his brand of control was loving and protective. It never hurt until it did, when he asked me to trust, and I did.
I’m going to watch Dante get married today. It’s going to hurt, too.
“I’m taking the fact that you’re still wearing my necklace as an indication that you might still want me when this is all done.”
I want to trust him, to give over my control to him, because I live in a world where men hold such power, not the women or the wives.
Can I do that if and when the time comes?
Can I submit?
A knock sounds on my door. “Mr. Barone is here,” Brigida calls through.
My heart skips a beat at the mention of that name, even though I know it’s Leon she’s talking about.
“Just coming,” I call back. I snatch the flower posy from the bed and head out the door.
I’m halfway down the stairs when Leon walks into view, grinning up at me. “Looking beautiful, Carmela.”
“Thank you,” I say, stopping on the last step, where he leans in to kiss my cheek.
“How are you doing?” He offers me his arm.
I take the final step, slipping my hand through his arm. “I’m fine.”
His eyes search mine.
“Don’t,” I say.
“Don’t what?”
“Give me empty promises.”
“I’ve already had words with my cousin.” He sighs like those words were a challenge.
“You didn’t agree with him seeing me,” I say slowly. Only after, and as we share a look, do I accept that I trust Leon, the way I trust Christian, and Dante.
“More that he did so without telling me.”
From what I heard, he’s working for Dante, but that statement tells a different story. His father was the underboss before he died. Leon’s eyes are not the typical dark brown of the Barone men but rather a clear, aqua blue. In them, I see hidden currents and danger. He has always been like a protective older brother to me, and maybe that gave me a false impression about his nature.
“You don’t work for Dante,” I say slowly.
