Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 172(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 172(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
Give me a sign, God.
Please.
I don't know what to do.
Trust must be earned, but hope also springs eternal, and it's these two principles I've struggled to cling to day after day. That someone like me could be the reason for La Strega to show her face in public after so many years seems impossible, but if what she's saying is true...
I look down at the photo of my parents, and I hear myself say, "The hit-and-run that killed my mom...it wasn't really an accident, was it?"
"No." La Strega's voice is quiet and grave.
"And my dad, he's never taken drugs, but they said he died of a drug overdose."
"They lied."
I only realize I'm crying when I see my tears splattering against the glossy surface of my parents' photo.
"Why?"
"Because your mama was famiglia."
I impatiently wipe the tears off my cheeks and force myself to concentrate on her words. 'Famiglia' can only translate to 'family', but what exactly does it mean?
"Are you saying she's mafia?"
The older woman's lip curls. "That term is molto abusato these days. It's very...misused. So I prefer we use the term 'famiglia', va bene?"
I decide to test the words by saying them back. "Va bene."
La Strega gives me another approving nod, and even though I know she's not your usual 'Gran' in any way...I realize that it's still what I want.
I wish she can be my Gran, just so I'd feel like there's a home I belong to once again.
"Your mama was born Angela Sorrento." She looks at me as if she's expecting the name to ring a bell, but it doesn't. "The Sorrentos are also famiglia. Your papa was the family's chauffeur, and their relationship was...frowned upon. An attempt was made on your life just a few months after your birth. Obviously, the attempt failed, but your mama wasn't willing to take any chances after that."
My instincts tell me she's speaking the truth, and I don't know how to feel, now that I realize how little I know of my parents' past.
"Your parents went into hiding when you were three years old—-"
"And they chose New York of all places?"
"Close enough to be right under everyone's noses, but also strategically unreachable, since New York belongs to another famiglia."
"That sounds...smart?"
"Very much so. And the only reason it stopped working was because your maternal grandmother accidentally placed a bounty on your heads, when she let everyone know of the contents of her will."
With everything she's said, only one word immediately stands out, and it has nothing to do with anyone's inheritance.
"I have a grandmother?"
A slight smile cracks over the older woman's lips. "Sì, bambina. And Pilar has never stopped looking for all of you. But when members of her famiglia found out that she intends to leave everything to Angela, Perry, and any offspring they have..." La Strega's lips press together in a straight line. "You understand then, why certain people wanted all of you dead?"
If she's asked me this over a year ago, I'd be too terrified to face reality, and I'd lie to her and say 'no'.
But a lot has changed since I lost the only ones who mattered to me, and when I think about how my parents had to die because of other people's greed...
"I wish I could make them pay."
I know vengeance or justice can't bring them back, but I still want it all the same.
"You can, bambina—-"
I want it at all costs.
"I will help you avenge your parents' death...if you agree to help me in return."
My heart slams against my chest at the other woman's words, and I remember what she told me earlier.
"When you say help...are we talking about the betrothal?"
"Sì."
"Have I really been betrothed to your grandson since birth?"
"Sì."
"And that's legal?"
"In famiglia such as ours, absolutely."
"What if I don't want to marry him? Are you going to kill me?"
La Strega blinks in surprise. "You're no use to me dead, Penelope."
I know I shouldn't be surprised that she knows my name, but hearing her say it for the first time still makes me flinch.
"I need you alive, preferably married to my grandson—-"
"Even if it's against my will?"
A glint that's almost evil flashes in her eyes, and I can only gulp and hope that she really isn't actually a witch in disguise.
"How about this, bambina? Why not meet my grandson first, and if he's not to your liking, then we shall talk about other alternatives. Va bene?"
Chapter Three
Penelope
ANOTHER FANCY-LOOKING car is waiting for us when we land, and we're driven straight to the Marchetti Mansion at the center of Boston. It looks more like a haunted university than a home, to be honest, and it even has stone gargoyles scowling at us from the rooftop.
While the grounds are crawling with bodyguards armed to the teeth, the high-ceilinged living room with its mosaic windows and marble fireplace is completely empty. The walls are of darkly stained wood, and there are sculptures of angels in every corner, also of marble. Every piece of furniture looks like it could fetch thousands of dollars in auctions, and I'm betting it's no coincidence that the leather cushions are the color of blood.