Of volume lineage

XIX

Isabella

The midday sun beat down on the pavement, the summer heat growing hotter and hotter by the minute.

“At least try and pretend to be sick,” I told Marzia as we headed up the bank’s front steps. She had thrown a small meltdown this morning when it had been time to go to school, so for the second time, I let her have the day off. Out of Giova

To try and discourage any more days off, I forced her to join me on my errands. It had backfired; I loved hanging out with Marzia and so far, I had already bought her a baby cappuccino and new pair of shoes for school. Giova

Still, I couldn’t find it in myself to be upset with her. School had never been my favorite place on Earth, and I used to daydream about my mother breaking me out of my classroom and saving me from the droning lessons and florescent lights.

For my benefit, Marzia faked a cough, then gri

I huffed. “Good work.”

Cold air blowed onto us as soon as we stepped into the luxurious bank. Patrons dressed in fabrics costing thousands of dollars swarmed around us, their shoes clacking on the marble floors. A huge chandelier swung from the ceiling, the glittering light shining over the tellers and managers.

It was a bank for the wealthy and from all the looks they sent Marzia, children weren’t welcome. I glared at everyone who looked at her, ushering her over to the waiting chairs. Gustavo and Daniele followed us, Daniele staying close while Gustavo watched the entire space from the pot plants against the wall.

I joined Marzia on the couch. She had caught sight of the Hershey kisses in the glass bowl on the table.

“You can have one,” I told her.

She leaped to her feet, grabbed two, and then scrambled back to me. “Here you go, Izzy.”

I paused, hand outstretched.

Izzy.

Only my brother had ever given me the nickname. The only other person who had a nickname for me was my Uncle Angelo and he had always called me fragolina.

Marzia dropped the kiss into my palm before taking a seat beside me. She picked at the wrapper until it came away, then chewed happily on the sweet. I slowly copied her example, still trying to absorb the name. Should I say something? I didn’t mind what Marzia referred to me as, though lots of Lombardis and Viglianos alike had mentioned her calling me mom.

I hadn’t insisted on anything of the sort. We were getting along, and I cared deeply for my stepdaughter, but I wasn’t her mother.

A sharp pain pierced my heart, but I ignored it.

Deep in my soul, I knew I wasn’t allowed to be Marzia’s mother. The only reason I was in her life was a by-product of trying to destroy her father and his organization. In a few months, I wouldn’t be her friend, I would be the bitch who ruined her life.

“Mrs. Vigliano?”

I snapped my head to the side. Our accountant, Joe Croce, forced a friendly smile to his cherub-face. He was a sweet looking man, but Giova

“It’s lovely to finally meet you,” he greeted. He didn’t offer to shake my hand, just sent a nervous glance to Gustavo, before tipping his head down to Marzia. “Miss Vigliano, how do you do.” He looked up at me again. “I don’t think this is the place for a…” child, went unsaid.

“Marzia is fine,” I said curtly. “I’m here to sign something?”

His cheeks pinkened. “Right this way.”

We followed him through the bank to a mahogany table. There were a few forms that needed my signature, updates to bank policy and other documents that stopped them from getting sued. Obviously, Giova

“We can go home after this,” I told Marzia as I signed the papers. I kept almost writing Isabella Lombardi but stopped after the L. Now, my signature was a loopy Isabella L Vigliano on all the documents. I ignored Joe’s questioning look; let him think I did it on purpose. “We might have to put a thermometer in some hot water to convince your father you’re sick.”

Marzia’s head was turned. She tugged on my sleeve suddenly, and the pen slipped from my hand, ink staining the page.

“Marzia! Why would you–”

She pointed. “Who are those men?”

“Don’t point.” I cringed; I sounded like my mother. With a softer voice, I implored, “Please don’t point, Marzia, it’s rude. Now, I have to clean up this ink–”

“He has a gun.”

I snapped my head to her then spun to where she was pointing. An unassuming looking man was loitering by the front doors. I opened my mouth to demand what on Earth she was going on about when I saw the black Glock peeking out from his belt.

My stomach dropped.

“Marzia, get under the chair now–”

The man pulled a mask over his face then pointed the gun to the roof, sending bullets up to the ceiling. The chandelier rocked furiously as plaster came floating down. Suddenly, three more masked men were also letting their guns go off, before fa

“ON THE GROUND NOW!” One shouted.

Screams and cries echoed as people hit the floor. I grabbed Marzia and dragged her behind the chairs, pressing her against the desk, hiding her from sight. Daniele grabbed his weapon, palming the gun, and rose to his feet threateningly. No, no, I went to shout, they’ll notice us–

He lifted the gun and fired.

A bullet came from behind, sending Daniele face-first onto the ground. Loud shoes banged above me then a robber was jumping down to the ground, pointing their weapon at the fallen soldati.

Marzia was shaking in my arms. “Be quiet,” I breathed into her hair. “Everything’s going to be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.” She let out a whimper but remained silent.

A patron tried to rise to his feet. “You can’t do this–!”

Another gun went off and a second body thumped to the ground. More cries swarmed around the room, blended with tears and yells for help.

“NOBODY MOVE!” Boomed one of the robbers. “EVERYBODY STAY DOWN OR WE’LL FUCKING SHOOT YOU.”

I spotted Gustavo across the bank. He was crouched beside the plants.

I shook my head slightly. If he came over here, the robbers would notice Marzia and I. I wasn’t risking her safety, not even for my own.

He nodded firmly but remained tense and vigilant.

Gustavo has his phone, I realized. He can call Giova