Prologue
2238 Words
Prologue
Sicily, Italy 2021 – winter
The party is starting to get out of hand, as expected. It’s only been two hours since the first guests arrived, and yet people are already talking too loud and gesturing way too much while doing so. No one's violent yet, there are no guns in sight, and I can see familiar faces, which is usually a good enough sign for me to believe the party will be safe.
And I know he’s here. He must be.
Does he think I’m here?
Why do I even care?
I grab a glass of champagne from a tray held out by a waiter as I enter the foyer. The giant room overlooking the Mediterranean Sea, giving everyone in the room a view of the cliffs and its waters below. It’s already dark, but the moon stands high above the water and the city below should be lit up in an hour.
As I browse the room a second time, I realize that all the familiar faces are just familiar and that’s it. I can’t spot one person here I would be able to hold a conversation with, let alone for another hour and a half until I’m supposed to meet the guy.
“Oh, Valentina!” someone behind me exclaims.
The sight of Isabella walking towards me with a glass in hand instantly makes me more comfortable. Coming here alone was a bold move and if anyone but my father had asked me to come here, I wouldn’t have done it. I didn’t know she would be here because she told me she’s in between two different New Year’s parties. And since most of her friends back home got Covid, she probably chose to come here. Thank God.
“I wasn't sure you would come!” she cries, hugging me. She takes a step back and knocks our glasses together. “Here’s to a peaceful 2022.” She says, winking.
“Who else is here?” I ask nonchalantly.
“Pia’s here, the whole Giudice family, and the Barone boys.”
I nod. The feeling I’ve had on my way here intensifies in the pit of my stomach. “And uh…where do I leave my jacket?”
“I’m staying in a room on the second floor, you can also sleep there if you want.”
I laugh and follow her towards the staircase by the entrance. “We both know I won’t go to sleep before 8am.”
She just shakes her head smiling.
Her room is on the second floor, a guest room I’d never been in, which also has an in-suite bathroom.
“Where’s your brother?” Isabella asks.
“He’s in Moscow. Is uh…Raisa here?”
I haven’t really been in contact with her ever since she went to study in Spain for the semester.
“No, but her brother is.” Isabella tells me and sits down on the bed. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m healing.” I say and take a seat by the table that has been converted into a makeup table.
“They're not even together anymore! I’m pretty sure it officially lasted two or three days.” Isabella adds, even though I didn’t ask. It’s good to know though.
But that’s not why I’m here.
When my father sat me down in his office after Christmas Eve dinner last week, I knew it was serious. He knows I know what’s going on, what he does for a living, and that I’ve always kept my mouth shut.
“I need you to go to Sicily for New Year’s Eve.”
“What for?”
“You have to talk to a Giudice member and ask them to consider peace. This can’t go on like this, people are dead.”
I wanted to tell him that it’s also partially his fault, but I didn’t. I knew he knew. “I don’t want to go there and try to convince-“
“It’s already been arranged. Their underboss is going to be at a party in Sicily and wants to meet there.”
“What if I get killed?”
“You won’t.”
“How can you know?!” I exclaimed because everything was starting to get a little bit too real for me. The last two years had been insane and have contained more death than I’ve ever known, but I didn’t want my own to also play into the story.
“They want peace. They just want to discuss the terms.”
“And why me?”
Then I remembered that Romeo was dead and that that’s what had started the war.
“Because Lorenzo Giudice has met you before and knows I’ve made you my Consigliere.”
I rolled my eyes. “What a pleasure that has been.”
“Don’t be a smartass.” He said and I pouted.
“You can stay the first night at our house in Sicily, and on the day of I will send a helicopter to take you to the Sulla Scogliera. There’s going to be a party there, so dress accordingly.”
Which brings me back here to this guest bedroom in Sicily in the villa they call “La casa sulla scogliera” (which means house on a cliff in Italian), with Isabella watching me closely, trying to see what I’m feeling.
How am I supposed to tell her that I feel sick, because even though my beautiful red gown with a left leg slit makes me feel confident, there's a small revolver concealed in a thigh holster on my right leg and a micro earpiece in my ear.
This is one of the most dangerous situations I’ve ever been in, but my father asked me. And he never really asked me for anything. Not directly, anyway. But I knew I must've been his last resort.
“I’m a little nervous. But I’m glad you’re here.” I sincerely answer and then go to sit on the bed next to her. The gun feels like it’s burning holes into the skin of my thigh, and even though I know the chances of it happening are close to 0, I keep panicking that the gun will randomly go off and kill someone.
Maybe me.
Honestly, if it does kill someone, I do hope it’s me.
“I thought you had a party in Moscow tonight?” she asks.
I hate lying to Isabella. I’ve only lied to her once before, and she found out anyway.
“Yes, but most of my friends there got Covid.” I tell her, hoping she won’t ask any more questions.
She looks at me with a dramatic scared expression and shuffles further away from me on the bed, as a joke.
“Relax, I got tested this morning.” This isn’t a lie.
“Well, if anything can kill Covid, it’s alcohol.” She laughs and stands up from the bed. “There’s nothing a Gin Tonic can’t fix.”
We down our champagne glasses on our way back downstairs and instead of joining the rest of the people in the main room downstairs, she detours and enters through a door in the hallway before the living room comes into view.
It’s the kitchen.
“Lime and ice?” Isabella asks, making herself busy with finding us glasses.
“Sure.”
I check the clock on my phone. There is one more hour until midnight, and I’m supposed to talk to the underboss at 11:30pm.
“I’m going to make a call.” I tell Isabella and look around for a way outside. There’s a door in the corner of the kitchen which leads to a balcony facing west, so I tell her I’ll be back in two minutes.
Once I’m sure I’m out of earshot, I dial my father’s number and put the phone to my ear, trying to stay warm. It’s warmer in Italy than it is in Moscow, but I’m still wearing a spaghetti strap dress and my coat is on the second floor.
“Have you talked to him?”
My dad sighs on the other end. “No. He said he’d be in touch.”
“If I die, just know it’s your fault.” I say, trying to make a joke.
He doesn’t laugh. “Valentina.” s**t, he’s scared too. “I will call when I hear from him. He’ll give me the exact location a few minutes before you two must meet. Don’t be scared.”
Gee, thanks.
“You’re there to make peace and reason with them. You’re a smart girl, and I know you want this to end too.”
I look towards the sea. The moon isn’t so visible tonight so the most I can see is darkness, but if I force my mind to be quiet, I can hear the waves, which usually calms me down. But there is a party going on inside with the music pounding through the windows and my mind is very focused on the gun touching my leg.
“I have a f*****g gun taped to my leg.” I scream-whisper.
I’m spiraling.
“Valentina.” He says, raising his voice.
I go silent.
“The gun is there to make you feel safer. You won’t have to use it, believe me. Innocent people are dying, and the Giudice group also wants peace. This…this useless power struggle war must stop. You’re there to convince them that we want peace as much as they do. They suggested the meet. They won’t hurt you. They’ll listen, then we’ll talk, and then you’ll be back home. I’m sorry it has come to this.”
I sigh. I know he’s right. Plus, it’s not like I protested when he wanted to make me Consigliere.
“Okay. Call me with the location. I’m going to go get a drink.”
He hangs up and I take another look at the sea before I step back inside.
Isabella extends one of the glasses to me. I take it and hold it up, trying to think of a good toasting reason. “To a better 2022.” I decide and she smiles, knocking our glasses together.
“Ooh, strong.” I give her feedback as we make our way towards the living room.
I really don’t want to dance. I don’t want to see people. I just want to go home. The idea that someone might graze against my leg and feel the gun is making me sick.
***
Finally, at 11:27pm, my dad calls.
“It’s my dad, I need to get this. I’ll go up to the room.” I tell Isabella, who is busy filling up two shot glasses for us in the kitchen.
“Okay, I’ll be here!”
I quickly make my way out of the kitchen and up the stairs while sliding my finger across the screen to answer the call.
“Yes?”
“First floor, second door down the hall. In three minutes.”
I nearly trip on my dress as I get to the first floor. Wearing heels was a bad idea; what if I need to run away? I might as well be dead.
“Okay.”
I hang up and place the phone in my bra as I compose myself and look down the hall. There’s a door at the end of the hallway, but I know where it leads.
I stay still for a second, trying to listen if anyone’s upstairs. Seeing as I haven’t seen some people that I know for a fact should be here, they must be upstairs. But there’s no sound, no movement, nothing. It’s eerie.
There’s no carpet on the floor which makes my ability to walk in heels and not make any sounds impossible. Another reason why wearing heels wasn’t a good idea.
I go through the first door only to enter a hallway that looks the same but has two wooden double doors at the end. I take my right hand down to my leg and feel out the gun as I walk, making sure it’s there. All I have to do to use it is slide my hand through the slit on the left side of the dress, grab the gun, and take it out.
I stop in front of the double doors and place my hand on the handle. I have no idea who’s on the other side, or what to expect. I’ve always wondered who the underboss of the Giudice family was. I know who the boss is, but everything else is unknown to me, and apparently to my dad as well.
The door opens with a loud creak, into a dimly lit room. There’s a lamp on the desk which provides enough light for me to see a silhouette behind the desk, leaning against the wall by the balcony doors.
The person is wearing dress pants and a white shirt, but I can’t see anything over the waist because the lamp is pointing to the floor.
I step inside the room and close the door behind me without turning my back to the person, not even for a second.
I smell him before I even see him.
“Of course, it’s you.” He says, and I feel all the blood in my body rushing to my stomach.
Of course, it’s him.
- Writer
