chapter 7

Tori “You little fucking bitch!” Giorgio roars as I’m shoved into the house.My family home used to be filled with love and laughter before Papa and Cettina, Giorgio’s mother, died. Now, it’s filled with hopelessness and violence. Giorgio’s palm connects with the back of my head, and stumbling, I lose my balance. I sprawl over the wooden floor that takes hours to polish, intense pain shuddering through my brain. My handbag slides beneath a side table, and before I can push myself up, Giorgio’s foot connects with my right side. My teeth sink into my bottom lip to keep the cry of pain from escaping. The first time he hit me, I was left with a black eye. I couldn’t leave the house for two weeks. Everyone at the Parish asked where I was, and it upset Giorgio. Since then, he doesn’t touch my face. “Because of you, I only have a month to find a fuck-ton of money! I’ll have to take a chunk out of my stocks.” Another kick to my stomach makes the air explode from my lungs. My vision goes spotty, and an agonizing sound bursts over my lips.I feel tears fall down my cheeks as I gasp through the pain. It doesn’t help to beg or argue. If I dare say a word, it will only anger Giorgio more. I manage to curl into a fetal position and wrap my arms around my waist. Giorgio shoves his boot against my back and puts his full weight on me as he sneers, “One of these days, I’m going to kill you.” The pressure eases off my back, and I hear him stomp into the living room. Bastard. Pushing myself up, I suppress a groan from the pain radiating through my abdomen and torso. I don’t bother grabbing my bag from beneath the side table, and using the wall for support, I stumble to my bedroom. Shutting the door behind me, I make sure to lock it, and finally, in my safe space, I slide down to the floor until I’m sitting flat on my butt. Silent tears roll down my cheeks, and I don’t bother wiping them away. Just two more years. Still, it feels like an eternity. Is the money even worth it? Maybe I can run away in the middle of the night and find a small town where I can work as a waitress? Keep dreaming. You don’t have a dime to your name. Are you going to walk to the small town? Feeling trapped and hopeless, I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around my chinsGod, I miss Papa. I don’t remember much of Mamma, but I know I look like her. I was the apple of Papa's eye until the day he died. Even when he married Cettina, things didn’t change. I thought I was the luckiest girl for getting a loving stepmother and big brother. Things were so good until they passed away. It felt like my life went from sunny to thunderous in the blink of an eye, and the storm hasn’t stopped.If anything, things just keep getting more volatile. Giorgio pounds his fist against my bedroom door, making me startle. “Go clean the mess in the living room!” Closing my eyes, I swallow the tears down before answering, “I’m coming.”I hear him stomp away, and pulling myself up, I unlock the door and open it. I peek down the hallway and see Giorgio’s door slam shut. He moved into our parents' bedroom a month after they were buried. I thought he was being disrespectful, and when I mentioned it to him, he slapped me so hard it felt like my teeth rattled. He said he deserved the main bedroom now that he was the head of the family. After the first time Giorgio hit me, I cried my eyes out. I couldn’t understand why he changed so much, but with time, I realized he was always evil and just hid it from our parents. I dart across the hall to my bathroom and grab a couple of Advils to help with the dull ache in my side.Walking to the living room, I stop by the side table to pick up my handbag. I set it down on one of the couches before seeing pieces of shattered glass scattered on the floor and whiskey trickling down the wall. Letting out a sigh, I head to the kitchen to get everything I’ll need to clean the mess Giorgio made. You can hold out for two more years. You need your inheritance so you can make a fresh start somewhere else. I collect all the pieces of glass and throw them in the trash before wiping down the wall. When I’m done with the chore, I walk back to the kitchen.It’s my favorite place in the world. I love baking and cooking. Needing to take my mind off the crap I’m dealing with, I start to make apple pies for the coffee hour we always have after Mass. While I peel one apple after the other, the tension slowly drains from my body, and the painkillers lessen the ache in my side. Cutting the apples into slices, I dream about meeting a loving man in whatever small town I move to. We’ll have a white-picket fence around our house. Maybe three or four kids and a dog. I’ll be a stay-at-home mom, making sure my husband has a delicious dinner waiting when he returns from work. I’ll be far from Giorgio and the Cosa Nostra, and with time, I’ll even forget they exist.