“You’ll take five minutes,” Luca corrects, staring at me with a look that confirms he’d rather be out committing crimes than playing chauffeur to little ole me. “Or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and escort you out, per your fiancé’s demand.”
I roll my eyes and direct him to my father’s house.
It’s a Saturday morning, so I know he’ll be home.
Every Saturday, he sits in his office and works on the book he’s been writing for years. Who knows if he’ll ever finish it, especially since I’ve walked in a few times and seen him staring vacantly at the screen, as if the story would hurt to write.
When I was fifteen, I started sticking Post-its of motivational quotes on his computer screen.
You can do it, Dad!
Write away!
You got this!
Anytime I asked what his book was about, he’d say it was a secret and then wink.
My stomach is a ball of nerves as we pull onto the street. I spot my father’s Buick and point Luca toward it. He nods and veers into the driveway of the two-story brick home, needing lawn TLC. My father is a man who’d rather spend his time with his nose shoved in a book than perform any type of manual labor.
I grip the door handle but then stop.
I don’t know when Cristian and I are getting married.
Hell, I don’t know if we’ll even make it that far.
I step out of the Suburban and look back when Luca does the same.
“You can stay out here.”
Luca shakes his head.
“Let me guess. Another boss’s order?”
“Yes, and also another make sure there’s no one in there who’d murder you,” he replies with a smug expression. “Trust me, you’d rather I be in there than not. I don’t pussy out like Dario.”
“Don’t speak ill of the dead.”
“I’m speaking ill of the stupid.”
“Wow, I’m convinced all of you were born without hearts.” I walk toward the front door and collect the key I grabbed from my apartment earlier.
Luca is behind me. “It’s the best way to stay alive, Natalia. Feel nothing, care about only a few.”
I unlock the door. Soft jazz music hums through the house from my father’s office as we walk toward it. His office door is open, but I gently knock before entering the cramped room. Bookshelves line the back wall, and he’s sitting behind his desk with stacks of paper everywhere but on the keyboard.
He lifts his gaze from the computer to me. “Oh, hi, honey.” His voice is nervous as he gives a worried glance to Luca behind me. “I’ve tried calling you, but it keeps going straight to voicemail.”
I inch into the room. “I got a new number.”
His shoulders tense when I circle the desk until I’m behind him, and I hug his shoulders. He peeks up at me, raises his hand, and gently squeezes my arm.
Fredrick Carprio raised me as a single father after my mother was murdered when I was six. He struggled as a teacher, then a principal, and we lived paycheck to paycheck. Then, he landed the principal position at Fenimore Preparatory School and got a raise. I got free tuition at one of the top prestigious schools in the country, and things finally started to look up for us.
“I’m getting married,” I say as soon as I pull away. The words leave my mouth so quickly that you’d think they came out as one.
My father slides back from his chair, the wheels clicking against the wood floor, and looks at me with sorrow. “I know.”
I expected more of a shocked reaction. I haven’t brought many men around my father. He refused to meet Vinny and made every attempt to change my mind about being in a relationship with a dangerous man like him.
I should’ve listened. They say your parents always know best, but I was blinded by what I thought was love.
When I first fell for Vinny, I fell for him hard. I fell in love with someone who wasn’t the real Vinny.
At least with Cristian, I know what I’m getting from the beginning.
He’s not a man who puts on a façade.
No, Cristian shows he’s a monster through and through with no apologies.
“Cristian left twenty minutes ago and broke the news.” My father runs a hand through his thinning black hair.
“He … asked for your permission?”
My father slowly rises to his feet. “Cristian Marchetti isn’t a man who asks for permission from anyone.” He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “How did you get yourself into this mess, Natalia?” He then rambles. “I knew it was a bad idea, allowing you to have a friendship with his daughter. But he said if I didn’t—” His eyes widen, and he snaps his mouth shut.
My heart lurches in my chest. “If you didn’t, what?”
Jesus.
Did the man threaten to kill my father over some playdates?
“Nothing,” my father mutters, flicking his chubby hand through the air. “It’s not important.”
The hell it isn’t.
I scowl at my father as Luca leans against the wall, crossing his arms, now entertained. “What, Dad?”
“He just said …” My dad stops and shrugs, and his gaze pings to Luca. “He said forbidding you from being friends with Gigi wasn’t an option.” His shoulders slump. “Cristian Marchetti gets what he wants, and he wanted you to be friends with his daughter.”
“You didn’t want us to be friends?”
My father’s forehead wrinkles. “No.”
“Then, why’d you allow it?”
“That’s the past, Natalia.” He continues to shake his head, as if on autopilot. “I told you from the beginning to stay away from these men when you first started seeing Vinny.”
“I’m learning that now,” I grumble.
“Vinny is harmless compared to Cristian. Cristian is …” He pays a glance to Luca, as if wondering if it’s safe to badmouth his boss in front of him. “He’s manipulative … calculated.” My father’s tone grows frantic. “Vinny is a Boy Scout compared to him.”
Luca’s attention leaves his phone. “Watch your mouth about my boss. That’s my only warning, old man.”
I reach out and clasp my hand around my father’s. “I will be safe, I promise. He’s my only resort to stay alive.”
“I love you, Natalia,” he says with desperation before clutching me into a tight hug. “Please stay safe for me.”
After getting my undergrad in art history at NYU, I started working at Aurora Galleria.
It’s a small art gallery in Brooklyn. I became interested in art after finding pieces of my mother’s work in my father’s closet. I’d been snooping in there to get a sneak peek at my Christmas presents. She was a lover of all things art, and it helped me feel closer to her. Eventually, I talked him into hanging her art canvases back up throughout the house. He’d taken them all down after her death because the reminders were too hard on him. That action helped us both on our healing journeys.
After that, I started taking all the art classes my father could afford—painting, ceramics, sketching. I love art, but I’m not the best artist. I’m better at recognizing art and appreciating the artistry and skill that goes into it. So, I decided to become a gallerist instead of the artist.