Filed to story: The Mafia Boss’s Regret (Ava & Dante)
“Good,” she muttered, adding a long arc with her paintbrush to the canvas that leaned against the wall. The painting would be a rainbow if it wasn’t all black.
My sister had been brooding since Ryan came over. She went to her classes, but otherwise stayed in her room. The week crawled by with her casting a black cloud over the house with her emo paintings and sappy music. I was beginning to feel guilty again, but there wasn’t a part of me that wanted to put myself in her place. I’d rather have a husband who wasn’t so rude, wasn’t such a womanizer as I’d heard, and truthfully less handsome. Maybe that sounded odd, but to me it made perfect sense.
Laughter filtered up the stairs, and I closed my eyes once more. Lydia’s engagement party had started five minutes ago, and she currently sat cross-legged on her floor in overalls, covered in paint.
I could see Papà’s temper not far in the distance, and I would feel its heat just because I was such an easy target. Lydia never reacted when our papà raged at her, and it annoyed him, so he turned it on me.
“What on earth could you be thinking right now?” I headed toward her closet, not looking forward to digging through costumes to find the rare dress she could wear.
“That I hate my fiancé. He’s rude, and you’ve seen him, right? Can you even imagine us having sex, Ava?”
I paused, gave my head a shake, and continued pushing clothes on hangers aside. “Um, no. I’m not going to try to imagine that.”
She sighed. “A couple of hours ago I realized I would have to have sex with him.”
I made a noise of acknowledgment, not surprised it had taken her this long to come to that assumption. The obvious was like the hidden secrets of the world in Lydia’s eccentric mind. Surprising, as she’d always aced her schoolwork and had more friends than I could ever hope for.
“And I kept thinking, maybe there’s a reason he manspreads so much? His is big. Then I began to worry, so I started looking up pictures-well, videos-of men his size, naked, and that only made me worry more.”
“You were watching porn,” I said, deadpan, standing in the closet doorway and watching her paint Mr. Rabbit beneath the black rainbow.
She tilted her head to eye her masterpiece. “Yeah, I guess that’s what it’s called.”
“Lydia!”
My sister groaned, and I looked toward the door. Mamma wore a red cocktail dress and an angry expression. A slew of Italian flew past her lips as she snatched the dress from my hand and then smacked Lydia on the back of the head. “Shower, now!”
Lydia grumbled and got to her feet.
“And porn!
” More Italian. “What were you thinking?”
A laugh escaped me.
Mamma shot me a glare, and I turned it into a cough. She had always shown up at the most inopportune times. We couldn’t get away with anything.
“Ava, go pacify the Moretti. Lord forbid he starts shooting the guests again.”
“Me? What am I supposed to do?”
All I received were a few sentences of berating Italian that didn’t even address the current topic at hand. When my mamma went off, she’d talk about everything but what she was currently mad about. This time, it was how she broke a favorite porcelain dish earlier, Nonna complained about her lunch again, and the gardener hadn’t shown up today. Which was definitely for the best…
Guests trickled in the front door as I made my way down the staircase. I wore a pink choker maxi dress, heels with a bow that tied around my ankles, and my hair down, pinned to one side. Even though I didn’t approve of this marriage, it didn’t mean I wasn’t going to take the opportunity to dress up. Frankly, it was the highlight of my week.
“Ava!” my cousin Sophia squealed as she came through the front door. “Squealed” was the best way to explain it. She was nineteen with a constant mischievous expression.
“I’ve missed you!” She threw her arms around me, and I took a step back at the impact.
“I just saw you at church Sunday,” I laughed.
“I know.” She smacked a “mwah” on each of my cheeks and pulled back. “But so much has happened since then.” She hadn’t been here for the lunch incident, but I understood my family well enough to know that my three-year-old cousin Caitlin would be able to recite the entire event like she’d been present.
“Where’s Sal?” I asked. Her older brother was a male version of her.
“He ran into Benito out front. You know, ‘man talk’.” She rolled her eyes. “All right. I’m going to go find us some alcohol. Then we need to talk about this Dan I’ve been hearing about.”
“Check out the bloodstain on the patio. That’s all there is to tell,” I told her.
“That’s not what I’ve heard. Mamma said he’s hotter than David Beckham.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
Her mouth gaped. “You’re living under a rock, Ava. Too many books, not enough TV.”
“The quote of the century,” I mumbled wryly as she saw another cousin, squealed their name, and left me there.
For a moment, I stood alone in the foyer. The windows and patio doors were open, allowing the summer air to flow through the house. It was a beautiful night, and I was praying it didn’t end up like the last time we’d had the Morettis over. Tony wouldn’t be here, so we had a much better chance.
I turned to find Papà, to tell him there was an issue with Lydia’s dress and that she was going to be late, and to let him relay that to Dante, but, before I could, the front door opened once again. Bitterness crawled up my throat, but it was now too late to get away.
Dante Moretti had the worst reputation of any man I’d met, hands down. Though, somehow, I’d found the courage to be myself around him, not the Candy Voss everyone used to know and expected me to be forever. But just as it was when someone got sucked into their old habits by the people they hung out with, I was tumbling back into the abyss of fake smiles and fake words, and I didn’t know how to get out.
“Ava.”
Warm air brushed my skin as the front door shut, and I longed to be on the other side. But instead, I smiled politely. “Oscar.”
Mid-thirties, with dirty blond hair and expensive suits always worn with a colored tie, Oscar Perez was handsome in a classic and charismatic way. He never lacked female attention, yet he always lavished his on me. He worked for my papà and was often around for parties, but since we’d had nothing going on I hadn’t seen him in months, since before the incident. It was one of the biggest reliefs, but unfortunately, all good things have to come to an end.
“Don’t you look as beautiful as always,” he told me, giving me a kiss on each cheek and lingering too long. “
Demasiado hermosa para las palabras.”
I didn’t know what he’d said, but I assumed it had something to do with my symmetrical face.
I stared at his light blue tie, the color of his eyes.
I hated it.
He was the fairest Colombian I’d ever met, and for some reason I resented his blond, comely appearance. What a lie it was.
“Thank you,” I said, trying to take a step back, but his hand went to my lower back and drifted to the top of my ass. My stomach tightened with unease. He was lean but tall, and his presence consumed me like a bad aftertaste.
He’d always been subtly inappropriate-his fingers just grazing things they shouldn’t. Close enough to make me uncomfortable, but not too close to get shot by my papà. If he went further, would my father even believe me now?
Oscar pulled back to look me in the eye, but his hand didn’t leave me. Something crawled under my skin. I realized at this moment why I couldn’t escape the expectations people had for the Candy Voss with anyone but my sister’s fiancé. Dante Moretti was safe. He was marrying my sister. There was no chance I’d have to marry him, no chance my actions would alter how he would treat me as a wife. Most men walking through these doors could be a potential husband to me. Why make it worse on myself?