Page 56 of Unholy Union
Papi grabs me by the hand and beckons his head. “Come to the garden. We’ll sit and talk.”
A few minutes later, we’re seated among the blooming flowers and green vines of our garden, the pergola shielding us from the warm sunshine.
Nella’s served us limonata with fresh mint.
I sigh happily, unable to stop smiling. “I needed this, Papi! I’m so glad I could come over.”
“I take it things have been tough for you there,” he says, sitting back in his chair. His glasses sit low on his round nose as he peers at me across the outdoor table. “You have been unhappy?”
“Papi, I’m not one of them?—”
“Of course you are,” he interrupts. “You have married into their family. The moment you did—the moment you took their name—you became one of them.”
A chill runs through me, from more than the cool limonata I’m sipping on. I pause, trying to choose my words carefully so as not to be scolded for disrespect.
But, really, how can I even tell him what I’m thinking respectfully?
“Papi…” I say slowly. “I’myourdaughter.”
“Sabrina, my princess, have I not always done what’s best for you? Have I not always treated you well and raised you right?”
“That’s not what I’m?—”
“I have lived a long life,” he goes on in a sage tone. “If there is one thing I have learned in sixty-seven years, it’s that things do not always turn out how you expect. I spent a long time working toward the perfect legacy, Sabrina. You have to understand. It was very important.
“But that was taken away with your brother. It has made me see things differently. I have had to accept that what I wanted for the Corsini name may not be what the future holds. So I have made the decisions that will be best for us all. You will come to see someday.”
I have no clue what the hell he’s talking about as he muses on, speaking as if he won’t be around long, or as if marrying me to Cato is some secret gift I don’t understand.
A sigh leaves me, except instead of a relieved, contented one, it’s the opposite. Misery and dread return, pressing down on me like heavy anchors.
What started out as a jubilant visit has quickly turned into an awkward, confusing one.
It lasts for only another forty minutes before I make up an excuse and decide to go. Lazaro asks no questions, though he seems to sense I’m upset.
I slide into the back seat of our unmarked car and pretend I’m interested in my phone. Really, I’m just scrolling through stupid videos on social media.
We pull away from the Corsini estate. I don’t bother looking up, keeping my gaze on my phone screen. Part of me feels so dumb, so damn foolish for thinking Papi would care that I was miserable with the Valentes.
Obviously, he made the decision to marry me off for a reason. He may be my father and he may have treated me like a princess growing up, but at the end of the day, he’s a mafia don.
His decisions are final and no one is to question him. Not even his daughter.
He gave me away, and he doesn’t give a damn what happens to me now.
I reallyamall alone…
My eyes close as I let myself zone out to the motions of the car. We’ve hit a particularly winding road on our drive back to Old Westbury, trees lining either side.
I’m willing myself to calm down, focusing on what’s within my control. I couldn’t stop the arranged marriage from happening and I can’t keep Cato and his father from ruling over my life, but Icanseek revenge in my own way.
My mind’s on the rosary when tires screech and a black SUV races up on our side out of nowhere. Lazaro spins the wheel, the car swerving as he narrowly avoids the collision.
But the SUV doesn’t seem to care—that’s their intention as they veer further into our lane and sideswipe us.
“What the hell are they doing?!” I scream.
“Look out!” Lazaro barks.
