Of volume lineage

XIII

 

Isabella

 

The blade gleamed silver beneath the torchlight, beautiful but vulgar. I stared at it as Giova

Lombardi or Vigliano?

I turned my head to my brother. Junior, who had scared the monsters under my bed so I could sleep and who had taught me to dance in our living room. Junior, who had always tried to keep me out of trouble at family di

Tonight, you are free to make any decision you want. But know that this decision will alter the rest of our lives together…for better or for worse.

Giova

Consider this your induction. Prove your loyalty and give me your Omertà.

If I killed him, I would be a part of the Vigliano famiglia. Giova

My mother’s words played on repeat in my mind. All you need to do is gain his trust and be privy to his secrets.

Killing Junior would give me everything I wanted and everything I needed to bring Giova

How would my parents react when we had won, and they were down another child? Would they create another son like they had done with their first daughter? Would their second son live up to the memory of the first?

My wants were also linked to Junior’s death. I could spend the rest of my life free from expectations and comparisons if I achieved what my mother wanted.

Yet…to kill my brother? To kill my own flesh and blood?

Junior peeled his eyes open, his dark Lombardi irises peering at me. He spotted the knife and then looked back to me. His lips quivered. “Please…Izzy, don’t.”

I swallowed, feeling tears well up behind my eyes. I had decided what I was going to do the moment Giova

Now, I would live with the guilt.

Giova

“How do I do it?”

“Izzy, Izzy, Izzy,” begged Junior. “Please…I’m your brother.”

Giova

I nodded. I didn’t want any screaming.

“It will require a lot of strength, Isabella. You have to cut through a significant amount of tough muscle.”

“Is it easier to slice or…or puncher?”

He was quiet for a moment. “Puncher. You will be able to use more strength.”

My cheeks were hot with tears.

Junior’s cries grew louder, my name in his mouth becoming a repetitive sound with no end.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Giova

Do it fast, I told myself. Don’t make this any more painful than it must be.

I reared my arm back, gathering my strength.

For your family. For revenge.

With everything I had in me, I arched my arm forward, blade out. I knew the moment it pierced skin and muscle, feeling the cartilage tear through the knife with resistance. It was like trying to push through wads of leather. Then something hot and sticky was on my hand, causing me to rip my hand back.

My brother slumped, gasping and twisting. His chains rattled with his jerky movements.

It took no longer than thirty seconds for his body to slump, eyes going dull. Blood continued to spill.

I stared.

A voice in my mind was chanting. For the Lombardis, for the Lombardis, for the Lombardis. It sounded like my mother.

Giova

Something like pride shone in his blue eyes.

“You are a Vigliano. Your heart is mine, your blood is mine. Forget how to write Lombardi, forget how to pronounce the syllables. There is only one name you need to know and that is Isabella Vigliano.”

Isabella Vigliano.

I had played with the name a few times since we had gotten married, feeling awkward when people called me Mrs. Vigliano. In those moments, I had still been a Lombardi. But when Giova

It sounded like my name. Not hers, mine.

I tore myself from his grip and fled out the crate. I didn’t make it two feet before I bent over and released my guts. Sobs and vomit left me, much to the disgusted groans of the soldati. There was blood everywhere, it was all over me, I could feel it sticking to every inch of my skin–

I braced my hands on the ground, ignoring the stacks of pain from the gravel pressing into my palms. God, in this moment, I could really use a cigarette.

When my stomach had relaxed, I looked up. Giova

“You’re a monster,” I breathed.

A strange look passed over his face. “Indeed, I am. But for you, I could be a man.” He leaned closer. “For you, I could be a husband.”

It was the most terrifying thing I had ever heard in my life.

[washing blood off in shower scene]

 

The next morning, I was waiting for Giova

“Good morning,” I greeted.

Giova

“I didn’t want to miss breakfast today.”

He inclined his head and went to shower. When he returned, he was dressed in nothing but low-cut sweats. I tried not to look at the exposed skin, the hardened muscle and the pink scars that decorated his torso, but when he turned his back to me, I couldn’t stop my eyes from scorching his back.

Something inside of me seemed to warm up as I took him in. Images of him pressing me up against the counter, hands branding my thighs, formed in my mind.

He made you kill your brother, a voice hissed in my mind. He destroyed your family, your life.

I placed down the coffee cup with too much force, causing some to spill.

“Do you need a paper towel?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He passed me one and I quickly mopped up my mess.

“I need to inspect a club tonight,” he said. “Be ready by eight.”

I was too enamoured with the idea of going to the club to be upset by his command. “A club–like a nightclub? Where?”

“Onirico.”

I had never heard of it but that wasn’t surprising. I had never been allowed to go nightclubbing, which had driven me to sneaking out with Lisa Gruenfield, Harry’s big sister. She had taken me to some clubs that were so loud my ear drums had taken days to recover and only let me have a sip of her martini before taking me home.

I recalled the flush of bodies, the heat and sweat and noise. It was like being in a sauna, if that sauna was filled with hairspray, booze, and sticky floors.