“Forgive my lack of knowledge, but how does that make your brother the heir?”
“He’s not.” She paused. “Well, at least now he’s not. Uncle Dominic was the Don, leaving my father next in line should anything happen to him. Since Enzo and I were born first, there was a short time when Enzo might’ve become the future head of the Bellini family.”
“You mentioned a cousin,” I prompted.
“Right. I might not remember my own mother, but I remember Aunt Viviana, Uncle Dom’s wife. She was young and pretty, and I can picture how her eyes crinkled in the corners when she smiled. I remember begging to feel the baby move in her belly and her always obliging, moving my hand around to find the perfect spot.” A sad smile formed on Gemma’s lips. “She used to whisper in my ear that she secretly hoped for a baby girl just like me. At the time, I didn’t truly understand why. I was five, and in my mind, I thought all moms wanted little girls to dress up in pretty clothes and hair bows. I know so much better now. She prayed for a girl because it meant they would have to try again for a boy.”
“Was it a girl?” Hope leaked into my voice.
“No, that baby was my cousin, Gio. But they did try for a second. Maybe Uncle Dominic knew what a disaster his brother would be if ever handed full control of the family and wanted to ensure there was a backup plan. Dying of old age is a pipe dream for Bellini men, especially those sitting at the head of the entire organization—there’s always a target on the back of the one with the power. So, they needed a spare.
“The second pregnancy was much different. Aunt Vivi didn’t want visitors, and she looked devastated any time our paths crossed, clinging to little Gio for dear life. She knew what was coming the minute she gave birth. She would have to say goodbye to her babies, and she wasn’t ready—I’m not sure she ever would be.
“Matteo came along, and I never saw my aunt again after he was born. When I asked my father where she’d gone, desperate for another hit of her warmth and kindness to fill the void in my motherless existence, he told me she’d done her job—muttering ‘too well’ under his breath—and that she was no longer needed.”
I tried to wrap my mind around what she was telling me. “How could they send away the women they loved?”
Gemma barked out a humorless laugh. “Oh, Sasha. There’s no such thing as love where I come from. Marriages are about building alliances and securing more power. You don’t get to choose your partner; they are chosen for you. And in the case of women, they can be bought.”
My eyebrows shot sky-high. “Bought?”
“They think calling it a dowry makes it seem classy, but when you break it down, powerful men often sell their daughters to the highest bidder, seeking the match with the most potential benefits for themselves.”
I’d heard more than enough already, but I knew Gemma had barely scratched the surface of the horrors she’d been forced to endure as the daughter of someone in the highest ranks of organized crime.
Her whiskey glass was empty, so I eased it from her hand, placing it on the nightstand beside me. The pillow went next, falling to the floor, where I tossed it aside.
Opening my arms, I left the choice up to her if she wanted my offer of comfort.
There was no hesitation. Gemma leapt into my lap, circling both arms around my neck, her heart pressed to mine.
“It’s a curse to be born a girl where I come from.”
There were a million questions swimming in my brain, but one pushed to the forefront. “How did you manage to stay unmarried for this long?” She was thirty-seven. Certainly, if men were selling their daughters like chattel, they did so when they were much younger.
Her heavy sigh fanned across my throat before she pulled back, shifting her position until she was straddling me. I followed her gaze when it dipped and watched as she dusted fingers over her upper thighs, where I knew her cut marks were hidden.
“As a teenager, I realized how truly powerless I was in my own life. My every move was controlled and monitored, choices made for me without my permission. Desperate, I found a way to take some of it back, even if it was an illusion. The world was practically burning around me, but the silly girl I was thought that if I could make one decision for myself, it would take away the feeling of helplessness.
“The first time I took a blade to my skin, I was scared but determined. Gritting my teeth, I reminded myself I was taking back my power and watched as it pierced the flesh, drawing a satisfying line of crimson.”
I ran my hands up and down her thighs, offering silent support as she bared her soul.
She gave me a sad smile. “Of course, I wasn’t thinking, and that first mark had been on my arm. My father caught one glimpse and knocked one of my teeth loose with how hard he hit me.”
I stiffened, my fingers digging into her flesh as my shock was unable to be contained. “Hehityou?”
“It was a reminder,” Gemma explained, her tone flippant as if it were no big deal. “That I belonged to him, and he wasn’t in the business of passing off ‘damaged goods.’ Told me that if I were so desperate for marks, he would be happy to make sure I got a husband who loved to hand them out.”
“Jesus,” I breathed. No wonder she’d needed a drink.
“So I got smarter. Moved my weak act of defiance to a place where he wouldn’t see. Only I knew they were there, and it gave me a thrill to directly disobey his orders.”
Dropping my head to her chest, I whispered, “I’m so sorry, baby.”
Her hands gripped my face, forcing me to look at her. “I’m not. That’s what lit the fire inside me, pushed me to realize there were more things I could control.” A corner of her lips turned upat some memory replaying in her mind. “I was able to hold on just long enough.”
“Long enough to leave?” My gut twisted thinking she’d lived under a tyrant for nearly four decades.
