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CHRISSY’S mother looked her up and down critically, which forced Chrissy to glance down at her clothing. She wasn’t stupid enough to show up at her grandpa’s birthday party in jeans and a button-down shirt. She wore an expensive gray Armani sheath in a broken chevron pattern that she bought on sale at the end of the season.
Her mother’s lips drew tight in disapproval. “Don’t you own something more festive than a work dress?”
It was true. Chrissy paired this dress with a dark blazer for work, but she also bought it intending to wear it on her all-too-infrequent dates after work. “Mom, I’m not a pink ruffles and bows girl. You know that.”
Her mother nervously fussed with her hair. This extra care, and her mother’s tension, signaled to Chrissy that something important was about to happen.
“Mom?” Vague questions swirled in her mind, but she couldn’t form one to ask her mother. But the elder Serafina woman turned and walked ahead of her. Chrissy stared at the back of her mother’s head as the Serafinashe led her to the library at the other side of the great room.
It was her own house, but her mother knocked on the door. “Papa,” she said, for she always called her father-in-law ‘Papa’ at his request, “Chrissy has arrived. She wants to wish you a happy birthday.”
Her mother opened the door wide, letting out a miasma of cigar smoke. The other men in the room, uncles and cousins who formed Pandolfo Serafina’s inner circle, rose from their leather chairs. The only one who remained seated was her father, Vincenzo Serafina, who family and friends called Vince.
“Is the food on the table, Rose?” one uncle asked.
“Yes, it’s waiting for you.”
“Lead on,” he said, with a wave of his whiskey glass in his hand.
It was unusual for the men to give up their places sitting with the Dom, and this raised the hackles on Chrissy’s neck. For sure something was up, something she wouldn’t like.
The other men agreed, except for her father; he sat in his usual place, the chair to the right of the massive mahogany carved desk behind which her grandfather sat.
“Come in, Chrissy. You look beautiful today,” her grandfather said.
“Thank you, and happy birthday, Grandpa.”
“Sit down. I’ve not talked with you in a while.”
Chrissy sat and glanced at her father, who gave her a tight smile. Great. What did she do now? She knew she was in trouble; she just didn’t know what or why.
“So, how’s your job in the city? You like it?”
“It’s a great job, Grandpa. It’s a stepping stone to other things.”
“I see,” he said gravely. He stroked his chin. “Well, that shouldn’t be a problem, for a while at least.” He looked to her father, who nodded seriously.
“Grandpa,” Chrissy said cautiously, “what’re you talking about?”
Pandolfo Serafina made a dismissive motion with his hands. “Your sister wants to get married.”
“And?” She failed to see what that had to do with this conversation.
“And,” her father finally spoke, “in this family the younger daughter doesn’t marry before the older one.”
Chrissy scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. She can marry before me. Waiting for me to marry is old- fashioned. Believe me, it won’t offend me at all if she goes to the altar first.”
Her grandfather slapped his hand on the desk sharply, startling both her and her father. “It’s tradition!” he said. “Plus,” he murmured more softly, “I don’t want that stunad Mario to get any ideas of where he’s heading in this family.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Chrissy,” her father said in a subdued tone. “We’ve been having our troubles with the Roccos.”
“And?”
“Well, it’s time that stopped,” her grandfather admonished. “I’ve been talking with Vittorio Rocco.”
“What?” Chrissy said, surprised. Pandolfo Serafina would rather stick a knife in a Rocco than speak to him.
“His nephew is near your age, and a hardworking man. Your type. Very respectable. I even understand he goes to church.”
“That’s nice, but I fail to see what that has to do with me.”
“Christina,” her father said, “we want you to meet him.”
“Why?” Chrissy replied with suspicion in her voice. Matchmaking hadn’t happened in the family for at least two generations. It sounded like this was where these two were heading, and she didn’t like it one bit.
“He has a full-time job,” her grandfather said. “He earns fifty grand a year. Substantial.”
“Give the man a medal,” Chrissy responded sarcastically. She earned seventy grand, so fifty didn’t sound impressive to her.
Her father cleared his throat, warning her to watch her tongue. “We think you’d be a good match.”
“Excuse me?” she said cautiously. “Match, in what way?” This conversation had better not be heading where she was pretty sure it was going.
“He’d be a good husband for you,” her grandfather said, staring her in the eyes, warning her not to talk back.
Chrissy jumped from her chair. “Unacceptable! Not! Happening!” In her indignation, she stuttered one-word answers. She couldn’t believe this was happening. This was old-fashioned, patriarchal, ridiculous!
As these words ran through her head, her grandfather shook his finger at her. “You’ll show respect, young lady.”
“Or what?” she hissed. This was her life. They had no right thinking they could arrange a marriage or plan love.
“Chrissy,” her father said tiredly. “Don’t go there.”
“Don’t go there? Don’t go where?” she spat. “You’d whore me out to the Roccos because you men can’t manage your business affairs properly? What is it this time? Someone overstepped in the Roccos’ territory? Sold drugs on one of their street corners? Ran a numbers racket in one of their towns?”
Now her father got to his feet, his complexion flushing with anger.
“That’s enough, young lady!” he snapped. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying! You don’t think I’ve seen the meetings here in the dark of night? Different 'associates' brought to the house, bloody from some scrape? Or have I not heard enough Sunday dinner conversations about how all the Roccos should have a Christian burial as soon as possible. And now you want me to marry one? Not happening. Not fucking happening.”
Both men scowled at Christina’s anger outburst.
She was good and worked up, and her mind formed a barrage of insults to hurl at them.
A feminine voice behind her broke the atmosphere. “Enough, Christina,” her mother said with acid sternness. “You’re not going to spoil your grandfather’s birthday party with a tantrum.” Then, in a softer voice, she turned to the men. “Excuse me, Papa, Vince. Christina needs to help me in the kitchen.”
With those graceful words spoken, she motioned for Chrissy to follow her. Grateful to end this conversation, she did. But as soon as Rose Serafina shut the door she gripped her daughter’s arm fiercely.
“What’s your problem?” she hissed in a low and angry voice.
Chrissy shook off the arm. “You know what it is.”
Rose’s face softened. “Yes. Men and their schemes.” Then her face hardened. “But that gives you no reason to be disrespectful to your grandfather, or your father.”
“But, Mama—”
“No ‘but Mamas.’ Go fix your face. It’s all red. Then come help me in the kitchen.” Her mother moved off quickly.
Christina’s anger hadn’t ebbed as she took the steps to her childhood bedroom and shut the world out in the confines of her former bathroom. She did a lot of that when she was younger, when she was trying to sort out what it meant to be the daughter and granddaughter of crime bosses. It was in this bathroom she decided that she was going to college, come hell or high water, despite her parents’ objections.
She ran the water, not so much to splash on her face but to drown out the noise of the party downstairs. Soon she’d have to go back and plaster a fake smile on her face. The she'd talk to her relatives, as if her male relatives hadn’t dropped the biggest bombshell in her life.
Her silent world, punctuated only by the rush of water from the faucet, shattered from a knock on the door.
“Christina?”
Fuck. Gloria.
“Go away.”
“Too late,” said Gloria, swinging the door open. In her hand was the key to the bathroom that Christina thought lost years ago. The little bitch must’ve been hiding it all this time.
“Leave me alone.”
“Oh, come on, Chrissy. You’re acting as if someone wanted to lead you to slaughter, not to a church wedding.”
Chrissy remembered Gloria’s taunt from the previous night. “How long have you known about this?” This was a slaughter. Her own personal massacre.
“I might’ve overheard something on Friday night when Marcus was playing cards with Papa and Grandpa.”
“You might? You might?” Chrissy replied, her voice rising. “And you couldn’t be bothered to tell me? Your own sister?”
“Yes. They swore me to secrecy, though I was dying to tell you. But if I did you wouldn’t have come, and then the family would blame me because I can’t keep my mouth shut.”
“This is a nightmare.” Chrissy buried her head in her hands. “This cannot be happening.”
“I thought you were a smart businesswoman.”
Chrissy lifted her head. “What’re you talking about?”
“Here you are, fussing and fighting and playing the victim, and not mapping out a game plan to get one over on them. Chrissy it’s no secret you don’t need the family, except that you love us. Now, don’t look at me like that. It's true. And you have no problems with any of us, just how Papa and Grandpa earn their money.”
Chrissy stared at her sister. “It doesn’t matter what I think, does it?”
“Instead of giving them a hard time and making them dig in their heels, play for time. Marcus hasn't given me a ring yet, and you know what? If he thinks he can’t get ahead with Grandpa, he might not. So, stall them. At least go meet this guy. You might even go on a few dates with him. Maybe if Marcus sees he has competition with Grandpa, he might pop the question faster.”
Chrissy just stared at her sister and blinked. Gloria could be manipulative, but she didn’t realize until now that her sister was a master tactician. She was also surprised her sister knew Marcus’ reasons for dating her. “Are you sure you’re willing to gamble Marcus, the family?” she said slowly.
“It’s not a gamble. I’ve wanted nothing but Marcus. I love him, Chrissy. And he loves me in his own way. If you could help me out, I’d be very grateful.”
Chrissy stared at her sister, not believing she was about to agree to her crazy scheme. She didn’t approve of Marcus; then again, she didn’t have to live with him. That was her sister’s cross to bear, and she wanted to shoulder it willingly. “Fine. I’ll help you out. But under one condition.”
“Anything. What?”
“When it comes time to get me out of this mess, you’ll help me do it.”
Gloria clapped her hands. “Yes! Yes! Anything you need. Yes!”
Because her sister was happy, Chrissy didn’t mention the sinking feeling in her stomach. Somehow, all of this would not work out well.
“I found out where he’ll be. We’ll go check him out after dinner.”
“What? Tonight?” Chrissy glanced down again at what she was wearing. She didn’t want to see this guy. She’d play their game, but there had to be a way out this. She just needed time to think.
“Yes,” Gloria squealed in delight. “It’ll be an undercover mission. That way you’ll have advanced intel when you meet him officially.”
“You’re nuts.” Chrissy shook her head. They were playing with fire here. Fire and her life. Dangerous combination in her opinion.
“Come on. It’ll be fun. Besides, what else are you doing tonight?”
Chrissy admitted to herself that she had nothing else to occupy her time, and she had tomorrow off, so she had no early commute to use as an excuse. Also, she was slightly curious about this “respectable” Rocco. “Okay. Let’s go see what this guy looks like.”
What was she getting herself into?
She was fucked.
Good and fucked.
