Page 72 of Forbidden Property
I can’t tell if she’s defending me or just yelling at him because she has the chance to push back at someone. It doesn’t work out in Angela’s favor. The masked man to her left elbows her hard. Angela groans and falls into the other man’s body.
“Restrain yourself,” he snarls.
“You stupid fucks. My father is going to put you in the ground for this.”
“Don’t be so sure of that,” Franco says to her. He gives me another snide look.
“Quiet little slave girl, aren’t you?” he says, sneering at me. “I’m sorry your masters abandoned you. Maybe if you spread those legs for me, I’ll make you a better offer.”
I don’t respond to him and thankfully, I have nothing to do with the main event planned in this church. They really do want a witness. The masked men drag Angela up to the altar where a priest stands next to an Italian man wearing a black suit and a similar mask to the men who dragged Angela upstairs.
“Father,” Franco greets him. The priest looks at him with a flat, neutral expression.
“We have four more weddings,” he says. “Let’s get started. This one is Angela Taviani?”
“Yes, Father. Thank you, Father.”
“And her husband?”
“Felice Gravina.”
“You want me to marry a fucking kid?” Angela says.
“Silence, Signora,” the priest says. “It is not a woman’s place to speak like this.”
Franco moves his arm around my shoulder and pulls my body close to his. I shiver as he holds onto me, secretly fantasizing about all the ways Renzo would turn this man into ground beef. Angela falls silent, but her hateful gaze sayseverything. Her reddish brown hair sits in a tangled mess around her shoulders as the man standing next to the priest crosses over to her.
She stares up at his mask with hatred.
“Gravina,” she hisses. “What the hell are your people playing at?”
The priest clears his throat. I feel like I stumbled upon something much more complicated than I’m equipped to understand and I just wish that I had a way of telling Renzo where I am. Pittsburgh. In a church. Watching his older sister get forcibly married to… Somebody named Felice.
It sounds like Felix. I don’t know if I’ll be able to remember all the details well enough to tell a police officer, but I try every mental trick in the book to keep everything straight. Hey, I’ll need to remember a lot of details if I ever make it out of this situation and make it to law school…
“Be quiet, Angela. I promise, the less you fight, the better your life will be.”
The priest clears his throat. “Let us pray together.”
“You sell out piece of shit,” Angela hisses.
The priest ignores her. “Heavenly father. Tonight I request as your humble servant that you bless this union and joining of two powerful Italian families steeped in tradition and honor and the strengthening of blood.”
My chest tightens as he continues.
“Heavenly father, forgive me for what I must do in order to keep the Italian bloodline in this city white and pure. I have done everything in my power to honor your belief in the separation of the races. I am a true believer that some races are less than others. I pray for forgiveness for this bloodline of sinners who have dirtied our proud lineage. Tonight, I will right those wrongs with these marriages and request your blessing in keeping these marriages strong…”
“You’re a sick fuck,” Angela hisses.
“Quiet,” Franco snarls. “Or I’ll shove a crucifix up your whorish asshole.”
The priest throws Franco a glare, but there’s no admonishment for his decidedly un-Christian language. I wasn’t entirely wrong about stumbling upon a cult ritual. Because I’ve been to weddings and this is nothing like any wedding I’ve ever witnessed.
The priest’s shoulders relax.
Father Vescovi continues calmly, “Are you both here of your own free will?”
“Yes, Father,” Felice says. He sounds so… young. Angela glares at the priest and even if I don’t know her, I don’t think she’ll agree to this.
