Chapter 4

CELESTINA

Despite the warmer temperatures that March brought, I was glad for my thick wool sweater. I’d never grown used to the colder climate of Baltimore. The weather in Atlanta had been so much warmer. My fingers were stiff as I settled them on the piano keys and began to play. Melancholic low notes of music filled the room, a reflection of my current emotions. I had started fiddling with the composition a couple of days ago, but it was still far from good.

When my aunt stepped into the living room, perfectly styled—as always—in a beige cashmere

dress, her dark hair piled on top of her head, I lifted my hands off the keys and the sound died off in a soft exhale.

Uncle Altair entered behind her. He was a tall man, heavy around the middle, with a mustache

that twitched when he talked. They exchanged a look and something heavy settled in my stomach.

“We need to have a word with you,” Altair said.

I got up from the bench and followed them toward the seating area. They sat on the couch, and I took the armchair across from them. It felt like I was facing a tribunal.

“It hasn’t been easy on us, taking you in,” Altair began, and I curled my fingers into the leather

of the armchair. It wasn’t the first time I heard it, but it still stung. “But we did what we could. We gave you what we could to raise you.”

They had given me shelter and education, but affection or even protection from the harsh

whispers of society … No. Never that. I was grateful anyway. I knew how important outward appearances were, and they had risked their reputation by taking in a traitor’s daughter.

“But you are a grown woman now and it’s time for you to have your own home, to be a wife

and mother.”

My insides tightened, but I kept my face blank. Over the years I’d learned to hide my

emotions. “You found a husband for me?”

Who would have agreed to marry me? Perhaps they had settled on a soldier after all. It was

for the best. If I married down, the wedding and marriage would be a low-key affair, no attention, little potential for scandal. A soldier might see me as a way to improve his position, because despite being a traitor’s daughter, I was the Capo’s cousin. Maybe that would make him overlook my defect.

Aunt Josephine smiled but her eyes showed guilt, perhaps even shame. Altair cleared his throat. “I

know you aren’t aware of the details of my business, but the Famiglia is at war.”

As if anyone didn’t know that. Even small children were brought up with the knowledge that

we had to be vigilant because the Outfit might attack, or heaven forbid, the D’Angelo.

“I know, Uncle Altair,” I said quietly.

“But Phoenix was approached with an offer of peace. You don’t need to bother with the details,

but it might be the final step to destroy the Outfit.”

My breath stuck in my throat. What was he talking about? If the offer didn’t come from the Outfit, who else was willing to agree on a truce?

“It’s an honor, Celestina. After what your father did, we thought we would have to give you to a

soldier or never find a husband at all.”

“Who is it I am going to marry?” I forced the words out, but they sounded strangled.

“You will marry up,” Aunt Josephine assured me with a tense smile, but her eyes … her eyes still held pity, and deep down I knew that whatever horrors my past held, they would soon be accompanied by new horrors.

“Who?” I rasped.

“Salvatore Greco, second in command to his brother Cosimo Greco, the Capo of the D’Angelo,” Altair said, avoiding my eyes.

I heard nothing after that, rising without a word and walking out. I went upstairs, continued

into my bedroom, and sank down on the chaise longue, staring blankly at my bed. It was neatly made. I didn’t let the maids make it, hadn’t let them make it in years. Every night I took my pillow and blanket and curled up on my chaise longue to sleep, and in the morning I returned everything and made my bed so no one found out that I didn’t use the bed and hadn’t in six years.

Six years. I was only thirteen.

As I stared at my bed, the horrors of the past took shape again like they did every night when I

closed my eyes.

SIX YEARS AGO

It was dark in my room when footsteps woke me. I turned around and recognized my Uncle Bennett under the gleam of moonlight. He had come to Baltimore with his wife, Aunt Criminella, to visit Aunt Josephine and Uncle Altair for a few days.

Confused by his presence, I sat up. His breathing was loud, and he was dressed in a bathrobe.

“Shh,” he said as he leaned over me, his body forcing me down.

Fear shot through me. I wasn’t supposed to be alone with men in my bedroom. That was a rule I had learned from an early age. Stiff with terror, I watched as he removed his bathrobe; he was naked beneath. I had never seen a naked man. His hand grabbed my shoulder, and his other hand pressed down on my mouth. I was supposed to show respect to my elders, to men in particular, but I knew this wasn’t right. I began struggling.

He tore at my clothes. He was too strong. He tugged and pinched. His hands hurt between my

legs. I cried, but he didn’t stop. He moved on top of me, between my legs.

“This is your punishment for being a dirty traitor.”

I wanted to say I didn’t betray anyone, but pain robbed me of my words. It felt like being torn

apart, like breaking and falling and shattering. His breath was hot on my face, and I cried, whimpered, and begged. His hand only clamped down harder around my mouth, and he grunted as he shoved himself into me again and again. I cried harder because it hurt so much.

I hurt all over, my whole body and deep in my chest.

He kept grunting above me. I stopped struggling, breathed through my clogged nose. In and

out. In and out. His sweat dripped down on my forehead. He shuddered and slumped down on top of me. His hand slipped off my mouth.

I didn’t scream. I was quiet, motionless.

“Nobody will believe you if you tell them about this, Celestina. And even if they do, they will

blame you and nobody will want you anymore. You are dirty now, Celestina, you hear me? Worthless.”

He pulled out and I cried from the sharp pain. He slapped me. “Be quiet.”

I pressed my lips together, watching him get up and put on his bathrobe. “Have you had your

period yet?”

I shook my head because I couldn’t speak.

“Good. Wouldn’t want you to have a bastard, right?” He leaned over me again, and I flinched. “I will make sure the maids know you got your period, don’t worry. I won’t let anyone find out that you are a worthless little whore. I will protect you.” He stroked my cheek before he pulled back, and I didn’t move until he was outside. When his steps had faded, I pushed up and managed to stand despite the pain.

Something warm trickled down my legs. I stumbled forward, grabbed my discarded panties,

and pressed them between my legs, crying out again. Shaking, I curled up on the chaise longue, staring into the darkness at the bed.

Before sunrise, the door opened again, and I pressed against the backrest, making myself

small. One of the maids, Erin, stepped into my room. She was one of the younger ones who looked at me like I was a bother. Her eyes moved over me. “Get up,” she said sharply. “We need to clean you up before the others wake up.”

I stood, wincing from the soreness between my legs. I looked down at myself. There was

blood on my legs and something else that made my stomach pinch sharply. Erin began gathering the sheets. They, too, were covered in blood. “You better keep this quiet,” she muttered. “Your uncle is an important man and you are only a traitor. You are lucky they didn’t kill you as well.”

I waited quietly as she bunched up the sheets and set them down on the ground. Then she

began tugging at my clothes, ignoring my flinching, until I stood naked. I felt dirty, worthless, and broken under her cruel eyes.

She added my nightgown to the bloody heap on the ground then helped me into a bathrobe.

“We’ll go to the bathroom now, and if anyone asks, you got your period, right?” I nodded. I didn’t ask why. I didn’t fight it.

That night, Uncle Bennett came into my room again, and again the night after, and again until he

finally had to leave for Atlanta. Every morning Erin cleaned the sheets and me. A few days after he’d left, she wore an expensive necklace. The price for her silence.