She Married The Mafia Heir I Married The Next Don Chapter 03
She Couldn’t Survive There
Finding Bianca’s house is easy.
Everyone seems to know where she lives except me.
I stand across the street as a black car pulls away from the curb.
Through the window, I catch a glimpse of a man in a dark suit.
Alessandro.
My parents stand on the steps beside Bianca.
My father is smiling.
I’ve spent months trying to put that expression on his face.
“There,” he says. “One less thing to worry about.”
My mother takes Bianca’s hands.
“Carlo speaks very highly of you. That matters.”
Bianca looks down.
“I just want to make you proud.”
“You already do.”
My mother brushes a strand of hair from her cheek.
“And if anything makes you unhappy, you tell us. Being engaged doesn’t mean you have to put up with everything.”
My throat tightens.
My father nods.
“You’re still a De Santis. Don’t let anyone forget it.”
Bianca steps into my mother’s arms.
“I miss you.”
“Oh, sweetheart.”
I cross the street.
My father sees me first.
His smile disappears.
My mother turns.
“Mara?”
I look past them through the open door.
Fresh flowers.
A new rug.
A lamp I remember my mother admiring in a shop window.
“So this is what leaving looks like.”
Bianca steps away from my mother.
“Would you like to come in?”
“No.”
My father glances toward the street.
“Lower your voice.”
“I haven’t raised it.”
“Then don’t start.”
I look at him.
“Alessandro Morello.”
His expression closes.
“Yes.”
“You found her a house and a future. That must have taken some work.”
My mother comes down one step.
“We weren’t hiding anything.”
“Then why did I hear it from Claudia?”
“We were going to tell you.”
“When?”
Neither answers.
I laugh.
It sounds ugly.
“I told you I wanted her gone.”
“She is gone,” my father says. “She no longer lives in the house.”
“You knew what I meant.”
My mother’s face tightens.
“What did you expect us to do?”
“Send her back.”
Bianca goes very still.
“To her parents,” I say. “To the place I came from.”
“Mara.”
My mother says my name as though I’ve spat on the steps.
“How can you ask that?”
“Why can’t I?”
“You know what those people are like.”
“Yes. I do.”
“That neighborhood—”
“I lived there.”
“For twenty-two years.”
“She couldn’t survive there.”
I stare at her.
Then I look at my father.
He doesn’t disagree.
Of course he doesn’t.
Bianca is delicate.
Bianca needs protection.
I survived, so apparently it couldn’t have been that bad.
“Her father used to hit me when he lost money.”
My mother’s lips part.
“Mara, please.”
“He made me work at the garage. If the cash was short, he decided I’d taken it.”
My father glances toward the neighboring house.
I see him do it.
I keep talking.
“Her mother counted what I ate. She could hear a cupboard open from the other room.”
Bianca is crying now.
I don’t look at her.
“There were winters when I slept in my coat. Days when I went to school without lunch. But you’re standing here telling me she couldn’t survive it?”
“We know you suffered,” my mother says.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why is her being upset always worse?”
My mother reaches for me.
I step back.
For a moment, she looks hurt.
I wonder if she’ll remember that feeling later.
“We didn’t know,” she says. “If we’d known, we would have come for you.”
“But you know now.”
Tears slip down my face.
I hate that they can see them.
“You know now, and you’re still more worried about what she might lose.”
Bianca speaks quietly.
“I never asked them to hurt you.”
I look at her.
She seems to mean it.
That almost makes it worse.
She doesn’t have to ask.
They know how to protect her without being told.
I’ve shouted.
Broken things.
Terrified them.
And they still haven’t understood.
My mother wipes her own face.
“What happened to you was terrible. Nobody is saying it wasn’t.”
I wait.
“But you’re home now.”
There it is.
The part where my life is supposed to become simple because they’ve opened a gate.
“You have us. You have everything you need. Why can’t we move forward?”
I look through the doorway again.
The flowers.
The careful choices.
The home they’ve made for Bianca.
“You did move forward,” I say. “With her.”
My mother’s expression changes.
“Mara, what more do you want? You made her leave. We agreed. Do you want her to suffer, too?”
I can’t speak.
“Why are you being so cruel?”