When She Falls (The Fallen, #3)(7)

She turns pink, looks away, and points at one of the bread rolls.

“You shouldn’t eat that, Gemma,” her mother says. “Not if you want to fit into the dress we’ve chosen for your wedding.”

It takes me a moment to process what I just heard.

The fuck?

That’s a pretty fucking rude thing to say. Anyone with eyes can see Gemma’s already quite thin. Her mom’s either projecting or just a bitch.

I run my tongue over my teeth, eager to see Gemma bite back.

But she doesn’t. Instead, I watch as she slightly deflates and drops her hand back in her lap. “You’re right.”

Indignation floods through me.

“Pass the tomato salad,” Damiano says, and I do it in a mild trance. Something’s seriously not computing, because if I’d said something as rude as that, Gemma would have bitten my head off. But with her mom, she just rolls over and takes it?

“So how are the wedding preparations going?” Mari asks Gemma, oblivious to the interaction I witnessed a few seconds earlier. I don’t think anyone but me noticed, because no one else has developed a habit of studying Gemma like me.

Maybe that’s a sign you should stop.

Gemma gives Mari an unconvincing smile. “They’re going. I have a lot to do when we return to New York.”

“Will it be a big wedding?”

“Nearly five hundred people.”

Mari’s eyes pop wide. “Oh my God. I’m sure I don’t even know that many people.”

“We both have very big extended families. It seems Rafaele is set on inviting just about everyone on his side.”

“Messero is a traditionalist,” Garzolo says, tuning into the conversation. “I like that about him. So many Italians have dropped the traditions we held dear before we came to America, but not them.”

“What kind of traditions are those?” I ask, already disliking where this is going. In the Casalesi clan, but even more broadly in the Camorra, women have always had far more opportunities than in the Cosa Nostra. If a person can prove they can run a territory and make good money doing it, few give a fuck about what they have going on between their legs.

Garzolo finally deems me worthy of a look. It’s amazing how a man with an ego as big as his can be in this business for so long. Usually, it’s a ticket to an early death.

“The women aren’t allowed to go anywhere unaccompanied. For their safety, of course. Gemma will have at least two guards with her at all times.”

Okay, that’s not so unreasonable. As the wife of a don, she needs to be protected at all times.

“They don’t like having their women drive, so she’ll also have a driver.”

The other conversations have quieted, and everyone is listening to Garzolo now.

“And wedding night linens will be displayed the day after the wedding.” He chuckles. “That one is a bit silly if you ask me, but one has to admire their dedication.”

Gemma turns a light shade of green, but the fire inside of her, the one I was so sure was inextinguishable, is nowhere to be seen.

Valentina’s eyes flare with anger. “That’s sick.”

“It’s their family’s tradition.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not despicable. What else? Have they demanded a doctor verify Gemma is a virgin?”

“Vale,” Gemma pleads, but her father pays her no mind.

He sneers, his teeth flashing at his eldest daughter. “I assured him that won’t be necessary. Unlike Cleo, Gemma’s reputation isn’t in question.”

Vale’s gaze narrows. “But he asked?”

“Your sister’s marriage is none of your damn business.”

I can tell Dem’s getting pissed off. “Watch your tone around my wife,” he warns Garzolo.

“What about Gemma’s terms?” Vale demands. “Does she have a say in this?”

Garzolo gives Vale a blank stare and then laughs. “Have you really forgotten how these things are done? Unlike her sisters, Gemma still remembers her duty to th—”

“Can we please talk about something else?” Gemma exclaims, cutting off her father. “There are two weddings happening before my own. Surely there’s plenty of other topics to discuss.”

“I agree,” Damiano says, his eyes flicking between Garzolo and his fuming wife. For a few seconds, an awkward silence blankets the table, but then Mari says something to Pietra, and the tension eases.

The rest of the lunch proceeds without incident.

Gemma barely eats.

Barely speaks.

And I begin to wonder if I’ve seriously misread her.





CHAPTER 3





GEMMA


After lunch, Cleo heads straight to the pool, while Mamma, Papà, and I return to the guesthouse. As soon as the front door closes behind us, Papà takes me by the hand and drags me up the stairs to his and Mamma’s bedroom.

Mamma watches us wordlessly, her expression tense. That’s the way she is. Silent. Controlled. I can never tell if she defers to Papà because of fear or because she agrees with his methods.

I’m not sure it really matters at this point. The end result is the same.

This time when Papà backhands me, he uses far more force.