Page 7 of Unchained

My father is already halfway through his steak when I walk in. For a second, I’m eight again, stomach rumbling and waiting by the door for Dad to finish eating. Back then, my punishments would be being locked in my bedroom for two days, no food, only water, so I could think about what I’d done and how I could make it up to mia famiglia.

He doesn’t even look up at me as I take my seat opposite him. My food already cold.

“You’re late,” he says between mouthfuls.

I pick up my fork and stab the carrot with it.

“No. I’m not,” I say, putting it in my mouth.

He grunts, and we eat in silence. I’m not hungry, but I know better than to leave any trace of food on my plate in his presence.

The waiter clears our meals and pours us a glass of red each before swiftly exiting. I pick up my glass and take a small sip.

Finally, my father's chestnut eyes meet mine.

“I spoke with your uncles,” he tells me, in Italian. Of course. We only speak our language in this house.

“Okay. And what did you decide? I hope that you put my argument forward adequately. That Fabio was a traitor to the Milano name, and I treated him as such. He worked with the men who orchestrated Max’s murder. And that I am the first person in our bloodline to get anywhere near Enzo Testa.”

He scoffs. “Enzo isn’t taking our territory.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, Father. He will. The only way we survive is by joining him, not going against him. That’s what I’ve been trying to work on for the last two years.”

Every move I’ve made, even down to investments, all had the end goal of catching Enzo’s attention. Putting us on the table for his consideration.

My father slams his fists on the table, his face reddening. This is exactly why the family needs a new leader. The way my father wants to run it, it’s as if we’re in 80’s Sicily again. We’re not. This is Los Angeles, and he can’t accept that Enzo’s organization, which spans across at least twenty states here and is only growing, could annihilate our family with one order.

We are only running LA because Enzo hasn’t made that call… yet. And I am not losing my life, or Dom’s, because my father refuses to see that he is not in control here. I’ve already lost Max.

“Watch your tongue, little girl. Or I will cut it out.”

I nod, taking another sip of my wine. I’m numb to his threats and insults. I know how far he will go to hurt me. But I also know the exact lines he won’t cross. I’ve learned when to press and when to retreat.

Being a Milano is living in a constant state of war, even in your family home.

“What is my punishment, father? I’ve got an acquisition meeting in an hour, and then I’m picking up my wedding dress.”

He sighs, and for a second, his weathered face softens. And almost, just almost, I see my father. The man who loves me. The one who would bring me candy and ice cream. Who taught me how to beat the shit out of bullies at school. Who taught me how to kill. Who held my hand when we buried our mother.

“I’m not happy you murdered Fabio, Gianna. That is against family code,” he says sternly.

“I know, Dad. I know. I did it for Max.”

And I know better than to add a ‘but’, even though there is one.

“However, I also understand you had to. To keep your peace and forge an agreement with the Sterlings. And Fabio betrayed you.”

I bite back a smile. I’m getting through to him.

“With that being said, as a family, we have decided that instead of a punishment,” he pauses, and my heart hammers. I can handle the punishments I have since I was ten years old. Although, I really could do without turning up to my own wedding beaten and bruised.

I hold my breath.

“We’ve decided that you can prove you have what it takes to take over the Milano empire, by showing us what Gianna is really made of,” he tells me with a grin.

My eyes go wide. It’s never good when he talks about ‘Gianna’ as if she, or I, am a piece of property, not a person.

“What I’m made of? How?” I ask, tapping my black pointed nail on the wooden table.