Adriana's POV
"Oh, shit."
The burnt crust crinkles off the pan, Mama's rage a thrumming pot of magma behind me. Slowly, the sides of my mouth thin into a cringe, because of course, I know exactly what ramification I'm about to face. Other than yet another pan- of burnt risotto.
Mama's anger was like a slow, pain-induced fire, sticks and stones already beginning to crackle from the heat.
But I turn around, and her hand is slunk on top of her forehead.
Disappointment.
Somehow, the pitiful gaze dotted with brown is even worse than getting yelled at.
Already, I could feel the dismay-lined words start to form in her head, and in a few seconds they would spray out, no despair, in front of me.
Like they have been, every single fucking day.
The back of my head starts to thrum, pain pounding up and down my back. Layla was waiting outside, slutty dress in tow, while I was still in the kitchen a sweaty mess, clinging to the island sprayed with half-opened cans and cutting boards dotted with vegetable peels.
Mama crosses her arms and leans against the island.
"Go on. Uccidere tuo marito." Kill your husband. I sigh, tight shoulders flopping down as the argument from yesterday starts to resurface. "That burnt pan is enough to make him melt from the insides, Adriana. Ay, Quando imparerai?" When will you learn?
"I've been learning, Mama. It's you who refuses to back off." I turn back around and twist the knob of the stove, sighing when the heat finally disappears and a rush of wind from the half-open screen door blows the hair off my sweaty neck.
"Back off? Sei impazzito? Are you insane?" She huffs, throwing the kitchen towel onto the marble slab. "So you'll let him starve, then?"
"Only if he's fat."
I mutter the words under my breath, but decide to seal my lips shut when Mama's eyes widen.
"Please, Mama. I'm tired, and Lay's outside-"
"No." She shakes her head, and a deep groan rumbles from within me. Days of practice- but no bone inside of me gave any signal that screamed, 'I know how to cook!' Either that, or all the other parts of my life simply mattered more than the 'dutiful wife' qualities even my sixteen-year-old sister seemed to have.
"If Nonna was here, you think she would like seeing this? Her nipotina, failing to follow her hand-written recipe seven times?"
I roll my eyes. "Nonna's dead, Mama. Quit using failed examples to back up your statements, it isn't arguable."
I've lost hope in myself to keep the words inside. I was tired of debating this topic, and today, right now, felt like the perfect time to end it all.
"I'm tired of keeping watch, Adriana. If you don't learn- who will?"
"You're tired?" I turn around with an exasperated look. "Oh, please. Your other angel of a daughter is sitting upstairs is practically waiting to be called down- and we both know she'll be happy enough to commit to whatever fantasies you have for your future son-in-law."
"Basta! What is this nonsense? You think Aurora's about to get married? No," She shakes her head, "The men are practically busting down your Papa's door- just to figure out if you're an available donna. What will you do once he chooses one of them? Huh?"
I squeeze the bridge of my nose, clenching my eyes shut. I was sweating, it was fucking hot, and I had no space in me left to argue any further. Either I would end up punching my fist into Layla's window, or storm upstairs and take one look in the mirror before smashing it into pieces.
"Nothing. Because I'm not getting married."
"Stop this. Just because-"
"No, Mama. There's no 'because'. It's like you're begging me to pack my bags and fly to Chicago. If you think I'm capable of hitching myself alongside some old Italian scum- and happily concede to his fucked-up wishes, I'm not the one speaking nonsense. You've been bringing up the same points every day- all for it to end up the same way. Me barging out the room, while you smack your forehead and mutter crap that only drives me closer to the brinks of insanity." A rush of adrenaline drives up my bones, the headache loosening into a simple thump, like my increasing heartbeat. I almost grin at the sight of Mama's loose jaw. "So either you let my abide to my own wishes by letting me have the freedom I deserve," I click my tongue, "Or you ruin your oldest daughter's life by shoving her into the home of a stranger with, let's face it, no ability to fulfill his high-maintenance wife's wishes."
I almost feel like bowing after the speech. Slash rant.
Slash window to getting smacked across the face.
I keep my hold strong, just like the faith in my words has been crawling through my veins for days. Months. Ever since this idea of marriage has been sunken into my parents' brains like the milk I poured into a too-hot pan just minutes ago, caution has been snaking a path around me everywhere I go. At the dinner table, when Mama calls me from her room, and the biggest give-away- when Papa calls me to his study.
Without a word back, I take in Mama's blank stare, which proves the absolute zero-meaning to my words, and tread out the kitchen smoothly. My feet patter on the living room rug, past the fold everyone always trips over, and up the stairs.
I quiet-slam the door of my room shut and stand in front of my vanity, grimacing at myself while texting my best friend.
Me: Be right out. I was stuck whipping up one of Nonna's recipes.
Lay ❤️: No worries. I'm blasting Drake anyways.
Me: Without me?
Lay ❤️: Not unless you hurry the fuck up and get your ass in this car.
I smile and shut off the phone, rushing into the bathroom to clean up and dress myself for a proper, much-needed, night out.
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"You look hot as fuck."
I squeal as I shut the door of Layla's Lexus, immediately pulling down the mirror in front of the passenger seat to check on my makeup.
The red lip contrasts my black glittery cocktail dress, the night sky almost able to camouflage my body if I stood high enough.
I turn, and my jaw drops when I see my best friend.
"Layla." I gasp, my eyes trailing her body. "When the fuck did you buy that?" She wears a dark red dress, her breasts pushed up against the low, low neckline. As usual, her shiny, black ringlets frame her face like a picture, the face inside's beauty uncontainable.
"Oh, you know. Just a lil' something I picked up using Hugo's card."
Layla's now-husband was old enough to rust at the sight of gold, his grey-haired head balding from the middle and out.
Me and Layla both thanked God that he was probably so unaware that he had no sexual interest at all- in life even more so.
"He coughed an extra two times last night." She says, eyes wide with excitement.
My own eyes widen, and I grab her arm. "As soon as he has one more fit, you grab that Apex."
She nods, agreeing. "No hesitation."
The car roars to life, thrumming with the engine as Layla drives out of the enclosed driveway and past the private road dotted with other mansions. The Castellanos, the Ricci's, and the Pisano's- Only those three lived on our street, while many other Cosa Nostra families opted to take advantage of the seaside and build their properties near Manhattan Beach- also named the 'Red Wave'.
Papa's orders strictly prohibit any of us to go near the crimson-tainted sea, not only because the families tend to be on the upper end of the West-Side- but because it's not only the Italians that reside there.
It's the Russians.
Maybe I was too sheltered as a child, but I've always had a bit of a fear driving past the enclosed area, and even with the smell of salt invading my senses when I drive past with the window down- I wonder if the accompanying, pungent smell along with it, is blood.
"You up for three rounds tonight?" Layla seems to have caught sight of the exhaustion underneath my lipstick and concealer, giving me a knowing side-glance.
"Make that three shots per round- and we have ourselves on the brink of an OD." Seriously, a fucking drink was exactly what I needed. Something to make me lose sight of everything else. The demands, the expectations. The future.
She laughs, curls dancing across tanned shoulders. "You choosing that based on what happened last time?"
The incident from last Saturday squirms into my brain. I cringe. "Yeah.. let's stick to whiskey this time."
Layla dismisses me with a smile. Skyscrapers crowd the streets, red and yellow blurring beyond the drips of rain against the dark glass.
Like the drops of rain, worries skate down my shoulders, down my back and away into the black leather of the car.
Too long I'd been consolidated from the sheen of pleasure and excitement. I would let go today- even if that meant coming home at a time where even Papa would be out of his study and up in his room with Mama.
As my best friend drove, Summer Walker's 'Karma' played a gentle, sensual hum, making thoughts related to tonight sprout in my head.
I fidgeted with my fingers, the red acrylics poking dents into my palm. I feel Lay's heavy stare on me.
"You know.. it's been a while since you said yes to someone."
She was talking about the men. And women. They would come to us like a drove of birds, asking for our hand as if my parents would let me marry a total stranger with, let's face it, a questionable background. A year ago was when I would agree, and let myself succumb to lust, and all things sexy while I went to town fulfilling my desires. Men would kneel, strapping themselves to me as if I was their lifeline. I could only stay the night before discreetly sneaking out of their apartment and heading out, small bits of guilt but also confirmations that said 'They'll find someone else.'
Sometimes, it could get boring. Flicking the left flap for minutes on end can only do so much for a woman- and their confidence while doing so is absolutely enthralling to see. Like they actually have the capability to make me feel good- when in reality all I really want is to shove my dress back on and try to find another suitor before the night ends and the cycle starts all over again.
It was either a quickie- or a one-night-stand.
No dating. No commitment. I found that the easiest. Especially when.. my breathing shallows, thinking of the real reason I never let myself agree to a man's request, no matter how thoughtful, kind, and hot he was.
"It's been a long time, Adriana." She pauses. "The past stays behind, yeah? You can't keep clinging to what happened. It'll only make it worse."
The past.
My fidgeting gets worse.
Just then, from the blurred out windshield comes flashing lights.
Headlights.
I hear a skidding sound, Layla's scream as she hits the brakes, and a terrible, gnawing feeling in my gut.
I look up, and my heart stops. My breathing becomes a skipping rock on the surface of a deep, dark lake, drowning into the depths so quick I only have the time to lock my gaze on the person driving the car.
Someone very, very familiar.
Black eyes.
And then everything goes dark.
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well that went.. interesting
just a little kick off before the real shit starts 😶😶