Elena
Marco shuts his office door and gestures for me to sit.
I linger near the bookcases. It's funny how this place is the total opposite of Clara's little closet. The director of Livia House does extremely important and good work for the women of Florence, but she operates on a shoestring budget and gets by on scraps.
While my brother, a vicious and brutal mafia Don, lives in absolute luxury.
Everything is polished, expensive wood, rich leather, and plush rugs. Family photos line the shelves mixed in with old books that never get read. Paintings hang on the walls, simple landscapes that would cover Livia House's operating budget for a decade. There's a fireplace, dead and cold now, and a drink cart near Marco's enormous executive desk.
He lowers himself into his big armchair and watches me. The perfect image of the powerful Don. Tattoos peek out at the edges of his collar and sleeves, and there's not a single hair out of place.
"I'm gonna be honest," I say, trying to smile but finding it hard. "The way you're looking at me is freaking me out."
Marco's stare doesn't soften. He steeples his fingers in front of him. "You know I love you, right?"
My eyebrows raise. "I mean, I assumed, but I don't think you've said that to me since—"
"Nobody died."
"Are you dying or something? Or, god, don't tell me something's going on with Lucy and Alessia?"
"My wife and my child are fine." His lips twitch. "Would you just sit your ass down, Elena?"
I take a chair and perch on the edge. "Better?"
"Not really."
"How about you tell me what's going on, and maybe I'll relax afterward."
"You won't." He glares at me. "Fuck, I hate this."
"Marco." I stare right back at him, starting to get annoyed. My heart's pattering quickly in my chest. Knowing my family, this could be anywhere from a minor inconvenience to a massive global meltdown. "Either start talking or I'm going to kick your ass like I used to when we were younger."
"If I remember right, you were a pathetic string bean, while I've always been a big, strapping lad."
"You've always been something. But it's stupid, not strapping. Now talk, please, before I have a heart attack."
He leans back with a groan. "I don't want to do this, okay? I've been resisting it for years, Elena, and trust me, there has been serious fucking pressure on me. You're my sister. You're valuable. And I let you do whatever you want."
My jaw tightens. "I don't like that whole let me bullshit."
"You know what I mean." He spreads his hands, placating. "We all have to do things for the Famiglia. I've asked very, very little of you over the years. Papa indulged you, and I've tried to let you find your own way."
"But that's changing."
His hands fall heavily onto the arms of his chair. "That's changing," he agrees. "I've been in talks with the Byrne Syndicate. They're an important organization out of New York."
"I've heard of them. Irish syndicate, right? Pretty serious people?" I tilt my head, trying to remember the names of their core family. "There's a father, he runs them, and he's got like four kids, right?"
"Four brothers. Liam, Rowan, Declan, and Aidan. From what I hear, they're all good men." He hesitates and looks away. "Well, except for Rowan. But he doesn't matter."
"Why are you telling me about these people?"
"We're expanding. You know that. I haven't been subtle about it. Our influence over Florence has grown over the last couple of years, and we've actually been importing even more product than we've been able to move. It's starting to be a problem."
"Wow, I'm crying for you over here. Poor man can't sell his drugs."
"I know how you feel about what we do, but it's the family business. I don't want to get into this argument again."
"Great, so don't flood the streets with more fentanyl. You know how many people die every year from that stuff?"
"Elena," he says, rubbing his forehead. "Fuck, you're such a pain in my ass."
"And you're a poisoner."
"We are poisoners. Don't fucking forget that."
I grind my jaw. I never, ever do. Not a single day goes by where I don't look at the women at Livia House and wonder how my family's business made their lives infinitely worse.
"What do you need? Why are you telling me about this New York expansion?"
"Because you know how these things work. It's not enough to sign contracts and make promises. The Byrnes do business the old way."
His expression is bleak. He looks at me like he's about to shove me into an oven. Which is basically how I feel. I know what the old way means. It's why Marco married his current wife.
The old way is why Luca married Fiorella Serrano.
Now I'm staring down the barrel of the old way, and it's about to blow my fucking head off.
"You can't be serious," I say, feeling very small and very powerless.
"Aidan Byrne's their youngest son. He's twenty-nine, so only three years older than you. From what I hear, he's a good man, cares about his family, works very hard, hasn't done anything fucking stupid. You'll be safe with him. I have assurances from his father, Patrick."
I leap up from my chair like something just stabbed me in the ass. "Fuck your assurances. Are you insane, Marco? You want me to marry that guy?"
"Would you sit back down?" He bangs a fist on his desk. "I know this is hard, okay? I went through it and hated it too. But this is what it means to be a Venturi. We don't get to fall in love—"
"You did," I snap at him, still standing. "Or did you forget about that?"
"Yes, after the fact, I did fall for Lucy. I got lucky, and you might too, if you give Aidan a chance."
"There's no way. There's absolutely no way I'm doing that." I think of Livia House and everyone there. "I won't be able to volunteer anymore. I'll lose everything."
"We'll take care of that halfway house—"
"It's a women's shelter."
"Right, and we'll take care of it. You know that. The organization's been donating money to them for a while now."
My hands curl into fists. My knuckles turn white with frustration. I shouldn't be this surprised and angry, but I can't help myself. I'd always thought Marco would spare me this, that he'd realize my mission was good and worth doing, and that he'd let me keep going.
Now he wants to sell me off like a prize breeding cow.
"I won't do it." I shake my head once. "I don't care what'll happen."
"Don't be like this, Elena. I'm sure you'll find a dozen worthy causes to get involved with in New York. God knows the city's got plenty of them."
"You want me to move in with them too?"
"That's the whole deal. We're starting a business, and we need a clean face to manage it. A legitimate business—"
"That'll be a fucking front for your drugs." I shiver with pure disgust. "There is no way I'll ever do that. You know how I feel."
"I know you think you're self-righteous and pure."
"No, definitely the opposite," I whisper, trembling with horror. It's one thing to marry me off, but to use me as a front for their fentanyl dealing? That's a step too far. "Please, don't do this."
"As our family's representative in New York, you'll have power. You'll have access to money and connections. Imagine all the good you can do with that? Right now, you're mopping shit and filling out forms. But you can dream so much bigger if you just do your duty."
For a second, I'm tempted.
I'd have real leverage and access if I actually go through with this. Maybe I'd be the front for a drug business, but that won't be so much different from what I already am.
I'm guilty by association, and I always will be as long as I keep living in this house.
But there's a difference between being passively involved and actively complicit.
"No, Marco. I can't. I just can't. I'm sorry, but no." I turn away and walk to the door on unsteady legs. "If this means I have to leave the family, I understand. I won't hold it against you. I know how much pressure you're under—"
"I'll cut off funding," he says quietly, and that makes me stop.
Bile fills my throat. My stomach twists.
"What did you say?"
"To that place. Livia House. I'll cut off funding. I'll scare away anyone else who might give them money. I'll make sure that place shuts down if you don't do this."
I stare at my hands and have to lean against the door to keep from passing out. I see those two little girls, afraid but trying to act like things are normal. I see a dozen girls like them, a hundred scared women, all the lives we've touched and all the women we've helped. I think of all the second chances we've given out. All the good we've done.
"You wouldn't," I say, hands shaking, because I know what Marco is.
The Famiglia before everything else.
That's the core of him, no matter what.
"I will, and you know it. Please, don't make me. Marry the Byrne son. Go to New York and do some real good. I'll double our contribution to Livia House. But if you refuse, if you walk away—"
I pound my fist against the door. In this moment, I hate him. I hate him so much, and I hate what this family represents. All the greed, the pain, the suffering. All for power and money. And here I am, caught in the middle of it, trapped because I was born to the wrong fucking people. Surrounded by monsters.
"I'll hate you," I say and look back at him. Cold fury fills me then. "You know that, right? If you blackmail me into this, I'll hate you until the day I die."
"I know." He seems sad, but that won't stop him. "And you know how sorry I am it has to be like this. So will you do it?"
"Fuck you."
I turn my back on him. I feel like I'm dying. Like there's a knife in my chest and each breath makes the metal scrape against my ribs. Pain ripples down my spine. Anguish fills my guts. I want to scream and scream.
But I'm a Venturi. I was born in this world. I've always known this could happen one day. I just didn't think it really would.
"Is that a yes?"
"Give me a month to get settled. And you'd better double your contribution. Make sure Livia House never closes, no matter what."
"You have three weeks, and I promise. They'll be better off without you, Elena, and you'll do so much better in New York. It hurts now, but you'll see. This is going to work."
"For you, maybe."
I open his office door and step into the hallway. I walk back to my suite, holding my head up, trying not to look at the house staff vacuuming or wiping down windows or performing dozens of other tasks. I step into my room, slam the door closed, lock it, and finally collapse on the floor sobbing so hard it feels like I'm going to decompose right there, a fetid rotting corpse of myself, just a body with no soul, no spine, nothing left.
All used up and ruined.