“What a shame that would have been,” I ponder and decide to leave the back porch to find some liquor in the house.
I walk through the bright, airy kitchen, bypass the main sitting room, and head straight for the meeting room. All the white in the room radiates with the sun that streams through the large windows and the pureness of it sickens me further. I race to the liquor cabinet, throw the door open, and grab the crystal bottle and a tumbler. I set the glass down with a thud and quickly pour myself a drink. I down it the moment the glass is full and savor the burn igniting down my throat and hitting my chest. The pain is pleasurable and becomes a friend to help with all my other self-inflicted ailments. Alcohol makes me forget, helps soothe the sting of my actions, and helps me to pass the time.
“You’re a miscreant in the Dio Lavoro. Going to the Amalfi Coast should have been the one thing that straightened you out.” My father had apparently followed me just to scold me some more. I shouldn’t act surprised, but apparently, I had half hoped for a warmer homecoming. More fool me, right? “I expected you to come back straightened out, ready to please with no more talking back.
“Sadly, you must have me mistaken for someone who really wants to give this life a try,” I state, steadying myself against the cabinet as I mentally count to ten to keep myself calm. I turn around, emblazoned, heart racing, and ready to tear my father a new one. “I’m only here because without you and without my brothers, I have no one. You made sure we were isolated enough to not have friends outside of the Italian corporation you so pride yourself on. I’m not here to play nice, and I’m not here to be the daughter you can be proud of.” I give a small smile. It’s not one of adoration or pleasure. It’s a wicked little grin to show that I am no longer here to play happy family. I’m here to do what I have to. “I’m here to survive, Sal.”
And like that, the devil comes to life, full of fire and grit and ready to spit every piece of profanity at me. I don’t even cower. It worries me that I don’t feel a thing, but in the same sense, I love that I can keep myself composed before my father. I want him to see every part of the monster I’ve become.
“What are you going to do?” I ask him, taking a few calculated steps toward him. “Disown your most powerful asset?” I question further and begin to smirk. I feel a bubble of laughter begin to crawl from me, and I begin to laugh, albeit a little manically. “See, I know what each of us is worth to you, and I know how much it will take for us to be out.”
“What happened to you?”
“You happened to me,” I reply. I don’t care how cold that sounds; he’s just receiving some truth. “Now, we have a guest who needs settling in.”
My father grabs me as I turn to leave. “He isn’t staying here,” my father states plainly. He’s barely said hello to me, just argued, and he’s already treating Lorenzo as if he’s a stray animal I found in the streets. “Alberto will be glad to have him back without you as a constant distraction.”
“Lorenzo leaves when he wants to,” I admonish his order and rip my hand away. “It’s about time I had a little fun.”
“We’ll see about that, Bambina,” my father shouts at me as I continue to walk away. I hear him hit the closest hair as I flick my hand at him in a nonchalant way. He realizes that I just don’t care.
I walk back and find the boys all in the kitchen apart from Giovanni. They’re all looking well acquainted and, I have to admit, Lorenzo slots into the family well. I just hope he doesn’t see this because otherwise he’ll be here for life. No one says a thing, and I feel unnerved.
“What are we talking about?” I ask, trying to remain bubbly. I’m almost like my own version of Jekyll and Hyde – I switch between personas depending on who I’m dealing with.
“Lorenzo was just asking about Bruno,” Carlo comments. His voice tells me that they’re having a hard time explaining that he left us a while ago.
“Touchy subject,” I comment and head for the fridge. I find a case of beer and take one for myself and one for Lorenzo. I throw him his and take a seat at the breakfast bar. “He’s living the good life,” I say. I twist open my bottle of beer and take a long gulp. It doesn’t have the same effect as the hard liquor, but I’ll ration myself with this better.