42. Gigi

42

GIGI

It's been five days since the night at the gallery, and I've been living my fake marriage to the full. Nights with Stephano are something else, but he leaves early in the mornings to deal with Vincenzo's arrival and its consequences.

It's frustrating to be out of the loop with their plans, and I want to tear my hair out not knowing if Vincenzo is finally dead or if he's still being useful .

Life ticks by. I miss painting. I miss working. Tony has brought my things over from Stephano's apartment, but it isn't the same. There are too many humans around, and I want to retreat back into the world of Stephano and me alone. I'm wrung out with anxiety that abates only when my husband is home.

Worst of all is how I'm hiding what happened at the gallery from Carla, and somehow, things between us have become more strained. She still doesn't know about Vincenzo and that Il Consiglio is holding him. The men spun a story about what happened at the gallery, which I endorsed. Carla senses something is off, but I can't tell her the truth. I hate having this secret about her blood brother, knowing they'll kill him at some point.

It's lunchtime. I'll have to nag my sister to come eat with me, for what it's worth. She's retreated so deep into her shell, doomscrolling social media as if this is the only life she'll ever have again, that even Tasha's started rolling her eyes. There're only so many movies, TV shows, and other crap you can watch while you wait for things to come to a head.

"Sweetheart," I say as I knock on her door. "Lunch time."

"I'm not hungry."

"Please, cara , it's just us. Tasha left for the university, and none of the men are here." This should make it easier, for sure. When we're in Matteo's apartment, there aren't even bodyguards with us, which gives us a breather.

"I told you I'm not hungry."

For heaven's sake. I thought we'd worked through this sulky teenager stage. "Come eat, Carla. Now ."

I glance down to where Rosalia, Matteo's housekeeper, puts a salad on the table. She's all ears for this conversation, and I blush. The bedroom door whips open, and Carla scowls at me.

"I tell you I'm not hungry. I'm not burning any freaking calories. I'm sitting in this godforsaken apartment the whole bloody day, with nothing to do." She shoves past me and heads for the stairs. "We can't go out. We can't connect with our friends. I can't get on with the life I planned for years, finally done with school, all because of you ."

For a full ten seconds, I'm too shocked to say anything, but then, I snap. "How dare you?"

Ungrateful, spoilt brat. I make eye contact with Rosalia, and she reads the room and books it out of the living area as fast as she can.

"How dare I?" Carla snarls as she glances back at me. "If I were still in Italy, I would have had the protection of Vincenzo and Franco Fiore, and my life would've gone back to normal. Now I'm here for who knows how long because you chose this for us. I had zero say."

Life will never be normal again. I catch up with her, grab her arm, and yank her around to face me. She loses her grip on her phone, and it falls to the ground.

"You have no idea who Vincenzo got in bed with. Franco Fiore is a….is a—" I break off, the visual of what he's done to me and his promises of more to come too much.

"Vincenzo would have protected me." Carla shrugs me off and picks up her phone. "Papa would have protected me!"

I quiver with anger and helplessness as I follow her down the stairs. I've protected her for so long, and Don Trapani has kept his little girl safe, but now, Carla is headstrong and spoilt, unaware of this world's darkness that overlaps with ours. Yes, the Trapanis are rich beyond measure, and yes, most of our riches have a foundation in crime, but there's been more over the last forty years to elevate us above the usual Mafia. Vincenzo is jerking us down again, and it's as if I'm being stretched in both directions, slowly tearing in two. Even I can't take this much longer. If it weren't for Stephano, I would have lost my mind weeks ago.

Carla is already at the table and shoves at a chair. She sits down and stares at the salmon Rosalia prepared for us. She pushes the plate away and picks up her phone again, scrolling.

"What now?" I say through thin lips. "Put your phone away. You know the rules."

She slams her phone face down on the table and rolls her eyes.

"Is the food not good enough for you?" I ask as I pick up my knife and fork.

She glares at me. "I hate fucking salmon."

This is new, and it pushes me to boiling point. "Could you stop insulting our hosts? Not only have the Scaleras kept us safe with a roof over our heads, clothes on our bodies, and food on our plates, they are also dealing with the maniac who cut me to plant a tracker in my arm!"

I have to keep reminding myself that Carla wasn't there in the library that night, so she doesn't know the full extent of Franco's cruelty.

"Vincenzo probably told Franco you were going to run. Because you always fucking run."

This hits home so hard, angry tears burst to the surface. "What the hell do you know about it? You with your charmed life as Don Trapani's only daughter?"

" Pfft . You've always been jealous. Always trying so freaking hard to be the perfect daughter. God, Gigi, you make me sick. I wish you'd left me behind!" She stands, and her chair topples. "I need to get the hell out of here before this goes too far."

We might have crossed that bridge already. We've never had a fight like this before. Things have been too tense, so I'm not sure why I'm surprised. We're close. We were close. Always. She's my last connection to Mom. She's my last real family, and she's walking out on me.

"Carla!" I call out, too rattled to stop her as she heads for the front door. "You can't?—"

"I can, and I will. I'm tired of being locked up in this dumb tower. I need fresh air, and I'm going to get it."

I stand, leaning heavily on the table. "Take Tony with you." Please .

"As if I have a choice."

The front door slams, and the sound vibrates through me as I sink down on my seat. I cup my hands to my mouth and breathe in and out, trying to calm down. Tears are streaming down my cheeks, born out of so many things.

It's only when my phone rings for the fifth time where I left it in our bedroom that I drag my ass up the stairs to see which Scalera is trying to get hold of me. I doubt Carla is ready to talk to me, and I sure as shit don't want to hear her voice right now.

Nobody else has my new number.