“I remember a loud bang, and my mother ushering me upstairs quickly. I know now that bang was a gunshot.”
“Sì. Your father shot my uncle in the face before the dining room doors had even fully shut. I practically witnessed it.”
She winces and looks away from me. From this angle I can see tears line her lashes—whether they’re genuine or if she’s a talented actress, I’m unsure.
“Until my late teenage years, I wasn’t even aware of what my father did. I’d always grown up believing his coffee business was the reason for his fortune. I had no idea what else he was doing.”
I search her face, looking for any indication that she’s lying, but I sense she’s telling me thetruth.
Still, something gnaws at me. If she was as unaware as she claims,whydoes her brother despise her as much as he does? It feels like there’s a piece of the puzzle that's missing.
So, I ask, “Why does your brother harbor so much animosity toward you, Vincenza?”
This seems to irritate her, and I finally see the fire in her eyes. The same fire she had the night of the masquerade.
“That’s quite a personal question for someone who claims to hate me.”
“Perhaps the hate is dwindling the more time I spend with you.” As soon as the words are spoken, I wish I could take them back.
Yes, it’s true. However, now I’ve shown her my cards. That I am thawing to her is now apparent.
Her head tilts, scrutinizing me through questioning eyes, but with it, I see her soften, too.
“We used to be close,” she begins, a look of sadness washing over her features. “He’s two years older than I am, but that made no difference throughout our childhood. He was my best friend…”
Her voice trails off, and a twinge of guilt hits me square in the chest because my question placed the sorrow on her features.
“Once we got older, Joseph began to notice the favoritism our father awarded me. But our father was my hero—my favorite person. I was daddy’s little girl… At first, Joseph was jealous because of the attention, but when we became young adults, he assumed that because of how close we were, Father would want me to take over his business—well, businesses—someday. And from jealousy, stemmed hatred.”
My head bobs in understanding as she tells me about her relationship with her brother. It makes sense now—that the bastardo would turn against his own sister.Of coursehe would. Joseph Paladino is the most deplorable man I have ever met.
I open my mouth to speak, to offer a sense of comfort and apologize for his bad behavior even though it isn’t my place, but she cuts me off.
“I don’t need your sympathy. You’ve made it very clear how you feel about my family—aboutme. Honestly, I’m not even sure why I’m still here.” She stands abruptly from the barstool she settled on long ago, its legs screeching against the hardwood floors.
Pulling her coat from the counter by the sink, she’s through my kitchen, and I don’t stop to think—I just react—following her through my apartment and to the front door. She’s there faster than I can fathom, grabbing her phone off my entryway table.
As she reaches for the doorknob, I catch her wrist and pull her toward me.
Everything inside of me crumbles the moment she's in my arms. The anger, the hatred—gone.
My arms circle around her lower back as I pull her close—much closer than we were earlier. Pressing her hands against my chest, she doesn’t fight me holding her, and instead surprises me when she leans against me.
Asthough they have a mind of their own, my fingers brush rhythmically against hers.
Touching her—comforting her—feels natural.
Feels right.
I let my mind wander back to the day we met as children and the curiosity I felt toward her then. The same curiosity I feel now. It’s as though years have passed, but the wonder has not faded.
“I wasn’t offering you my sympathy, Vinnie.”
She breathes me in, shifting in my hold. I wonder for a moment if she’s going to step away, but she doesn’t, so I continue.
“Your words from the masquerade have stuck with me. You told me this feud between our families has nothing to do with you, and I think about that often.”
“Because itdoesn’t,” she argues, but my statement was not an argument to begin with.
