The Blood Union Was a Lie, and So Was My Mother’s Death

A helplessness and defeat I had never felt before closed over my head.

I opened my mouth and no sound came out.

Tears spilled hot over my lashes, my eyes dropping to the black ash spread across the marble of the Marchetti estate floor, and what was left of my heart burned down with it.

Three years ago, when Salvatore first laid out the terms of the blood-union, I should have understood.

My sister and I were never anything but pieces he moved across the board to keep the matriarch quiet, two outsider brides bought to settle a debt.

The only one who had ever mattered to either of them was Carmela Vitale.

I just understood it too late.

Salvatore wiped the back of his hand with a folded handkerchief, disgust in every careful pass, the heavy signet ring catching the light.

Then he turned to comfort Carmela.

She sobbed her wronged little sobs for a while, and at last Lorenzo let go of my throat.

Not out of mercy. He was too busy pressing a clean cloth into Carmela's hands.

I watched the two Marchetti brothers close around her, their faces full of worry and tenderness, the soldiers along the wall keeping their eyes carefully fixed on nothing.

Under all that soothing concern, Carmela's crying slowly trailed off.

In that moment I felt how pitifully stupid these three years had made me.

I stepped toward my sister where she lay crumpled on the floor, wanting nothing now but to get her out of this place, past the guarded doors and the silent law that held them shut.

But Carmela still wasn't willing to let us go.

She was the one who had won, and yet the second I got my sister to her feet, she came toward us with the thermal container, all wounded innocence.

"Adriana, I'm so sorry... I really am, I never thought it would turn out like this. I know you hate me, but this is a little something I made for your mother. I hope you'll accept it for her..."

I lowered my head slowly and looked at the one who had sent my mother to her grave with her eyes still open.

In that instant something in me went past control.

I snatched the container straight out of her hands and slammed it down on her head.

The next second the thick soup ran down from the top of her head, matting her hair into clumps, the smell of meat tangled with shampoo turning my stomach.

My eyes were bloodshot. I screamed, "Get out! Stop playing the saint in front of me!"

Salvatore had been watching me the whole time, the warning hard in his eyes. The room had gone still, the way a room does when a Don has not yet decided.

The instant I moved, he was already across the floor and on me.

His shoe drove hard into my stomach.

Then he hurried to pull Carmela into his arms, wiping the soup from her hair with the sleeve of a shirt that cost more than most men earned in a year.

My lower back hit the wall hard, and I slid weakly down it to the floor.

By the time most of the mess was cleaned off her, Carmela's face was wet with tears.

Salvatore tore the dirtied shirt off and threw it aside.

He stepped forward, bent down, and gripped my face, hard enough that the bone of my jaw felt close to cracking.

He had just raised his hand when Carmela spoke through her tears.

"Salvatore, don't be angry, it's all my fault. I saw that your mother's travel papers were fake, so I thought she'd get here later. If I'd known she'd come like this, I'd have started the soup earlier. It's my fault their wedding was ruined. It's only natural Adriana is upset..."

She pressed a fragile hand to her chest as she said it, a half-second after the words, and Lorenzo rushed to hand her another cloth, thoughtfully bringing a towel to dry her hair.

Hearing it, my eyes flooded red and my temple throbbed.

To save the money for my sister and me, my mother had given up her seat and taken the slow road instead.

In Carmela's mouth it became a scheming lie.

"Shut your mouth! You don't get to talk about my mother!"

The words were barely out when Salvatore's palm cracked across my face.

Blood seeped from my lip, a salty sweetness rising in my throat.

But he only roared, "You're the one who should shut up! Say one more word and I'll tear that mouth apart!"

"This fake union of yours, Carmela set the whole thing up for you. What gives you the right to shout at her?"

"What do you think you even are? If your mother knew you'd used her illness over and over as an excuse to push for this marriage, don't you think she'd have dropped dead on the spot?"