Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ELENA

“ I would just like you to give me a concrete reason I can’t visit the theater,” I tell Rocco, my driver and mafiosi bodyguard.

The lean man frowns at me from across the roof of his car. We’re in the front courtyard of the townhouse, the vehicle gleaming after a recent wash. “There are several issues, ma’am,” he says, clearly uncomfortable with challenging the soon-to-be Mafia princess.

Since Dario left around two hours ago, I’ve felt more restless than I have since I agreed to this deal. I let myself fall into a false sense of intimacy, let the sass hint at something real. However, earlier, and let’s be honest, I played my part, too. He made it clear that was a mistake.

“Are you seriously telling me?—”

“Is something wrong?”

We both turn at the sound of Maria Moretti’s voice. She walks toward us in a long, flowing dress that makes her appear to float elegantly. Rocco stands a little straighter, his hands behind his back.

“I was telling Miss Esposito that we can’t, at this time, take her to the theater.”

“I’ve got keys,” I tell Maria. “The manager let me rehearse there any time I wanted. I know I’m not in the play anymore, but …”

Maria stops a few feet from us, gesturing to me. I approach her, moving out of earshot of Rocco. She lowers her voice. “In this life, my dear, sometimes you have to tell : not beg , not ask , but tell. If you can do that, I’m sure we can accommodate this.”

I get what she’s telling me. I need to be firm in my resolve. Demand that my orders are complied. I wonder if this is some sort of test.

Returning to Rocco, I try to ignore that little voice inside that tells me he’s just doing his job. I forget about the times I was chewed out at work by assholes who thought they could talk to me any way they wanted.

“Rocco, you’re going to arrange security, and you’re going to drive me to the theater. If you insist on creating imaginary obstacles, my fiancé—your employer—will hear about this.” When he opens his mouth, I stampede on, mostly because I feel awkward and want to get this over with. “Perhaps you think Dario will agree with you, but what if you’re wrong? Do you want to be the person who’s ruined the love of his life’s entire day ? Well, do you ?”

After a pause, he looks down at the ground. He undoubtedly wants to say so much, but his position—and probably Maria’s presence—stops him. “Give me some time to make arrangements,” he says after a pause and then walks toward the house.

Maria walks up to me with a big smile on her face. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

It was, actually, but I don’t say that. She nudges me. “I’ll come with you and see what this acting malarkey is all about. You should savor these little adventures while you can.”

“While I can?”

“A Mafia princess has no business traipsing around on stage or the screen, Elena,” she says as if this is the most obvious thing in the world. “When you become my daughter-in-law, you’ll have to forget this dream.”

This should mean nothing. It’s not like Dario and I will be together anyway. Yet panic tears through me as I process her words. I almost say if I become your daughter-in-law , but ever since that first dinner, I’ve developed the habit of thinking before I speak.

“When I marry Dario, I won’t be able to act?”

“Has he not informed you of this?”

Since this is all fake, he has no real reason to. “Uh, not in so many words.”

“Most likely, he’s trying to protect your feelings, dear. Let’s enjoy this afternoon. I’d like to see what your passion was before you found my son.”

I should be happy that this is all make-believe, then. Knowing that if I ever were to be with Dario, I’d have to sacrifice the most significant part of my identity hurts. But it’s not real, so it doesn’t matter. Still …

No, there’s no still . There are no buts . This entire thing is a transaction, and it’s time I remembered that, even if the flirting is so addictive. Every time he smiles, it feels like a minor victory, and the steaminess in the limo lives rent-free in my head even though it should have been evicted immediately.

I have to remember what this truthfully is.

There’s even more security since Maria is coming with me, but it’s easy to forget that when it’s just Maria and me in the theater. She sits in the front row as though she’s the director, and I’m auditioning for a role.

“What would you like me to perform?” I ask with confidence that I’m not sure I feel.

“We could play a game,” she replies, seeming more excited than usual, carefree. Maybe it’s the fact there are no staff members around. “I could give you a role … and you could give it your best shot?”

Despite everything, I smile. With the rest of the world seeming far away, I can have a little fun before the inevitable end. “Sure. What did you have in mind?”

She taps her finger against her chin. For some reason, it makes me laugh.

“What’s funny?” she snaps.

I look at the floor. “Nothing, Mrs. Moretti.”

“Hey, look at me.”

I look up, shocked at the change in her tone. “I didn’t mean to snap, Elena. Sometimes, I can’t let go of this persona, but we’re just two women here.”

Her persona . That’s an interesting word for her to use, but I try not to overthink it.

“It was just when you were tapping your chin,” I shrug, “it made me laugh.”

“What, like this?” She does it again in the most over-the-top way, and I giggle. “We are being silly, aren’t we!” She laughs breathlessly. “Let’s imagine you’re a vampire trying to get into my house. You must be invited in. I know, I’m so morbid.”

I grin. “No, that sounds fun. Knock, knock …”

She pretends to open a door. “Oh, yes, hello. I wasn’t expecting visitors.”

I decide to go the naturalistic route. If I was a vampire, there’s no reason I’d have to be all Count Dracula about it. “I’m so sorry to bother you, ma’am, but my car has broken down, and my cell phone is out of battery. Would I be able to use your telephone?”

“Of course.” She pretends to reach into her pocket. “Take my cell.”

I almost laugh, breaking character. Instead, I take the cell and pretend to type. “What’s your passcode?”

She grins. “I shouldn’t tell you that, should I? I’ll type it for you.”

“Here you go. Oh!” I pretend to drop the phone, then lean down and pick it up. “It’s busted. I’m so sorry; I’ll pay for a new one. In the meantime, do you have a landline?”

Her eyes gleam. “I’ve been waiting for one of your kind to come.”

I’m surprised for a moment, but the exhilaration of acting keeps me going in the scenario. I broaden my stance. I put a grim note to my voice. “So you know what I am, then, day dweller?”

“I know, and I’m ready.” She pretends to take something out of her pocket. “ This is a clove of garlic .”

I smirk. “Those old myths, day dweller? I’ll take your garlic and use it in my pasta sauce. It doesn’t do a thing to us.”

“What about this ?!” She leaps to her feet, looking so different from her usual persona that I wonder if she’s been putting on an act all this time, too. Or maybe it’s natural that she’d be more reserved during the more official aspects of her life. “What say you now ?” She aims a fake gun at me.

“Unless those bullets are filled with holy water, you’re out of luck?—”

“I’m never out of luck. Bang!”

I throw myself to the floor. I realize I’ve gone too enthusiastically for the tumble just before I make contact. “Ow,” I yelp, rolling onto my back as the impact judders through my body.

“My girl.” Maria walks toward the stage steps. “Are you quite all right?”

I sit up, rubbing my arm. “Yeah, I think so. I got carried away.”

She climbs up the steps and then offers me her hand. “So did I.”

As I clasp her hand, a weird feeling grips me. Is this what having a mom is like? It’s a sick question. Rosa has been a mom to me for almost a decade and a half.

“You are very talented,” Maria says once I’m on my feet again.

I shrug. “It won’t matter for very long, though.”

“You’ll be able to perform little plays for the Family, I’m sure. Your children will adore your dramatic tendencies.”

That makes me feel a little bitter, if I’m honest. “You were excellent too, Mrs.—”

“Maria, Elena,” she says. “Call me Maria.”

“You were very convincing and quick-thinking,” I say.

She bites down. “What’s that famous quote about the whole world being a movie?”

“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players; they have their exits and their entrances …”

“Clever, clever girl,” she says, which I should find maybe insulting, infantilizing, but I don’t.

“It’s not so impressive, knowing a little Shakespeare.”

“Please don’t diminish yourself,” she says. “It’s the worst thing a woman can do, especially in your position.”

The crazy urge to tell her the truth strikes me. Of course, I ignore it, but it’s shocking that it’s there all the same. I’m not sure what I’m even thinking. I can’t let this maternal connection, if that’s what this is, turn me into an idiot. She’d never accept me if she knew who I was in reality. She might see her stuffiness as a persona , but she wouldn’t offer me kindness if she knew I was using an actual facade.

“I have to make a call,” she says. “I forgot I promised Salvatore I’d check in with him. But afterward, we’ll continue our game.”

“Excellent.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

I wave her off. “It wasn’t that bad. I was just being dramatic.”

“We are in a theater,” she says, smiling.

She walks down the stage steps, then moves to the back of the theater and out the door into the hallway. I sit on the stage, letting my legs dangle as I look across all the empty seats. In the future, once this deal is done and I’ve got enough money so that I don’t have to work second jobs, at least for a while, I’ll be able to start my career for real. I’ll be able to fill these seats. I’ll be able to bow after a performance and soak in the crowd’s applause. I’ll be able to dedicate myself to my art.

That’s enough motivation to feel okay about ending this fake relationship. It has to be. Yet, annoyingly, it feels like I’m lying to myself. I guess I should just be grateful I’m not well-known enough for any of the Morettis to recognize me and ruin the game.

I narrow my eyes as a small canister smashes through one of the windows and slides across the floor with a scraping noise. It’s so surreal that I wonder if this is some elaborate way for Maria to continue the scenario game.

Bang .

My vision erupts in a blinding haze of white, my eyesight blurring. There’s another bang that makes the inside of my skull feel like it’s tearing apart. I turn, crawling. I can hear voices shouting. Is that a gunshot?

I keep crawling, panic driving me. Tears stream down my cheeks as my vision slowly clears. Smoke fills the room. I can’t see where I’m going, but I keep moving forward. I sob and distantly hate the sound of the sobbing. I hate how weak it is.

What the hell’s going on?

I scramble behind the curtains. I can feel my heart beating in my throat, trying to choke me, closing off my airwaves. My head is light. I’ve experienced nothing even remotely close to this. I want to scream, but my throat is too tight.

Slowly, I climb to my feet. My head feels heavy as if it will tip me over, so I sidestep to keep my balance. Somehow, I’ve doubled back on myself. I thought I was heading toward the changing rooms, but I’m standing on the stage again.

Men run up onto the stage, big and burly, with guns. I can’t distinguish their features through the smoke and my streaming vision, but I see their shapes. It must be the security detail. They’re going to take me home: no, not home but to Dario—my Dario. In the mayhem, my Dario doesn’t seem like an impossible phrase.

“Hey, I’m over here!” I yell, then start choking on the smoke.

The men rush toward me. At the last moment, I realize my mistake.

The man in front raises his pistol and aims it at me. “Time to go, slut.”

Feeling pathetic and useless, I burst into tears.