smooth, and indifferent. The hair on the back of my neck rose. I knew it
belonged to my future brother-in-law.
And it was partly—wholly—the reason I was hiding in the kitchen,
though I would never admit it.
“You are too beautiful for that frown, Sweet Abelli,” my mamma said,
as she entered the room with the cacophony of our guests’ conversations
following her.
I shifted under the weight of her words. For obvious reasons, I hadn’t
heard that nickname in a while. I’d grown out of the name some, especially
when I realized I was the girl adored for all the wrong reasons: I wasn’t
hard to look at, I was quiet when I should be and polite when I wasn’t. Like
a childhood dress that didn’t fit anymore, I was stuck in the world’s
expectations for me. It took years of feeling like a pretty bird in a cage until
it all became too much . . . and I escaped.
“I don’t know why you watch this, Elena,” Mamma said, stirring the
sauce on the stove. “All that nonsense is depressing.”
Mamma was married to Salvatore Abelli—a high-profile boss of one of
the biggest organized crime syndicates in the United States. Sometimes I
wondered if the naivety was denial, or if she would truly rather watch Days
of Our Lives than worry about my papà’s affairs.
“I’m not sure who to vote for in the election,” I answered absently.
She shook her head in disbelief, and I guessed it was odd for the
daughter of a mob boss to care about the legalities of the government.
“Your papà isn’t happy with you,” she said, looking at me under her
dark eyelashes with that pursed-lips-you’re-in-trouble expression.
“When isn’t Papà unhappy with me lately?”
“What do you expect after what you did?”
Six months had passed, and I swore she brought it up every day. She
was like a dog with a bone, and I honestly thought she enjoyed the mistake
I’d made because she finally had something to chastise me about.
“Why didn’t you come meet the Russo after church today?” She pointed
her spoon at me. “I’m not buying the act that you forgot and were waiting
innocently in the car.”
I crossed my arms. “I just didn’t want to. He’s . . . rude.”
“Elena,” she scolded. “You don’t even know him.”
“You don’t need to meet someone with his reputation to know his
character, Mamma.”
