Undressed By The Mafia God

She started the car and headed in the direction of their old house. She drove without thinking. The road stretched ahead of her in streaks of streetlight and shadow, and Valentina followed it as if her body knew the way even when her mind had gone somewhere darker. The anger had stopped screaming now. This new quiet thing inside her felt colder.

Marco was gone. Carol had cut her off. Voss was disappointed. Vee would soon know. Luca had won.

And Vito, the man who had somehow stood at the beginning of every ruined road in her life, had walked away again.

No.

Not this time.

She reached the old neighbourhood and slowed down. The house appeared ahead, hunched in the dark. It was smaller than she remembered. Or maybe she had grown too used to mansions.

Home.

What a stupid word for that place. She parked on the street and sat there for a moment with both hands on the steering wheel.

Then she opened the glove box. The gun lay inside. Marco had given it to her. The memory struck so sharply she almost shut the compartment again. He had pressed it into her hands back when everything between them had been complicated and unnamed, back when she did not know what her own feelings were supposed to be.

He had told her it was for protection. Marco, foolish beautiful man that he is, had always been trying to keep her alive.

She picked up the gun. Point, pull, Shoot. A simple language. She tucked the gun into the waistband of her jeans.

Then she got out of the car. She walked towards the house with her shoulders straight and her heart beating hard.

She stepped inside, stood in the narrow hallway, and for one dizzy moment, she was a girl again. Listening for Vito’s mood before entering a room.

Waiting for their father to become someone else.

He never had. It had been so long since she had been there. It felt like another life, back when she was a different person. Back when it had still been her and Vee against the world. Back when her sister was just that: her sister.

Valentina moved farther into the house. The television was on.

Typical.

The sound came from the sitting room, some game show host laughing. She followed the noise and stopped at the doorway.

There he was. Vito sat on his favourite sofa, one leg stretched out, surrounded by a couple of empty beer bottles. He looked exactly as he always had when life became hard: drunk, and prepared to blame everyone except himself.

So he was back to old habits.

Again, typical.

The sight of him nearly made her laugh. Vito Scalese had returned to the same sofa and the same beer bottles like a cockroach crawling back under the same cracked tile.

"Valentina!" Vito looked up at her, startled. "What are you doing here?"

She stepped into the room. "What did we ever do to you?" she asked.

Vito frowned. "What do you mean?"

"What else could we have done?" Valentina asked. "What else could Vee and I have done to make you act like a father?"

"Valentina," he said, leaning back into the sofa, "stop being such a whiner." He waved one hand. "What is there to whine about? All you had to do, all that was expected of you, was to be a good little wife. Even that, you couldn’t manage. Luca should have had you sold when he had the chance. Look at you now, biting the finger that fed you."

"The things that come out of your mouth are so disgraceful," Valentina said, each word sharpened until it could cut.

"You thought Luca was going to have me killed," Vito said, shaking his head. "You fucking piece of shit."

She imagined crossing the room and slapping him so hard the beer left his bloodstream out of shame. But she stayed where she was, anger pulsing through her.

Vito grunted and got to his feet. he shuffled towards the fridge as if this conversation was merely an interruption between drinks. He pulled it open, and took out another bottle of beer. "I blame your sister," Vito said, using the edge of the counter to pop the cap off. "She spoiled you. She didn’t allow you to fight for yourself," he continued, turning back with the bottle in his hand. "Always jumping up to save you. Always standing between you and life. Look at you."

He sneered. "What is there to moan about?" he asked. "You got a loving husband, a handsome son, money, a glamorous life. You live in a fucking mansion. What else do you fucking want?" His blindness was staggering. He saw houses, cars, clothes, men with money, and thought that meant happiness had been delivered and signed for.

He could not see the blood on any of it.

"Did you know that Vee was shot by Luca’s wife?" Valentina asked. "Did you know that her brother killed Ricardo, Matteo’s biological father? Did you know that we were set up?" Her voice rose. "Did you know that Vee lost a baby? Did you know that my husband almost died? Did you know that Vee was kidnapped and tortured?"

The words came faster now, spilling out of the place where grief and fury had been locked together for too long.

Every incident flashed in her mind as she spoke. Luca standing in the centre of it all, always somehow the storm and the shelter.

Vito watched her over the mouth of his beer bottle.

Then he asked, "These people that did these things or caused these things, where are they now?"

Vito lifted a brow. "Let me guess. Luca had them handled?"

"He’s the reason they came after us in the first place," she snapped.

Vito shrugged. "Whether Luca was in your life or not, bad things happen, Valentina. Luca is dangerous enough that other dangerous people fear him." he pointed the beer bottle at her. "That is the kind of man you stay close to, not bite because your little feelings are hurt. You and your sister always had too many of those."