I ripped them in half—Giovanna & Martina—then fed them to the trash.
Next, the Pinterest boards. The cake samples. The dress sketches. Every last reminder of a wedding that would never happen.
Mom didn't need to see them.
I didn't need to see them.
But the photos were harder. Martina's smile, frozen in time. The glint of her ring. The way she leaned into her, like she was her whole world.
My hands shook as I dropped them into the bag.
This was torture, but I couldn't stop. Like picking at a wound just to feel it bleed.
Because she wasn't coming back.
Couldn't come back.
Six months ago, she vanished. They found enough blood in the woods to call it murder.
Three weeks ago, we buried an empty box.
Gone.
I still expected Martina to barge in, complaining about me stealing her shoes. Still braced for her off-key singing in the shower.
But the house stayed silent.
The garbage bag dragged on my arm as I stepped outside.
Rain had soaked the world overnight, turning the herb garden into a slick mess of basil and damp earth.
Then I saw her.
She stood by the fence, one hand resting on the cold metal. Her hair was cropped close to the sides, dark curls pushing forward as though even they refused to be neat.
Dark eyes locked on me, finally seeing me, after a lifetime of looking straight through me.
Giovanna Lombardi.
My sister's fiancé. The Lombardi family's butcher.
I knew the stories. Knew what those hands could do.
Used to think she didn't know I existed.
Now she watched me like I was the only thing left to destroy.
It made it easier to try to pretend she didn't exist. A fool's errand, considering the world disappeared to a distant murmur with her in the room. Until recently, every interaction with her left me feeling helpless.
Please leave me alone.
People like her didn't answer prayers. People like her were the reason we needed them.
The gravel cracked as Giovanna loped toward me. Before I shoved the bag into the recycling bin, she lifted it from my hands and trashed it.
"Thanks."
I stepped around her, but she stopped me. "How are you?"
I shrugged, hoping she'd disappear.
Her hardened eyes told me she wasn't budging. I couldn't escape without touching her.
"Aren't you going to ask how I am?"
I allowed my gaze to travel up her shoes to the collar of her blazer. "You seem okay. Excuse me."
Giovanna grabbed the gate post before I moved, her white-knuckled grip blocking my way. "We should talk."
"About what?"
"Avoiding me won't change what our families have planned."
A thin mist swirled in the air as the sun sank behind clouds.
Drops collected on Giovanna's ebony waves as she leaned in, mouth set in a grim line. "This self-denial makes it harder for everyone."
"I'm not in denial."
"Then look at me."
I couldn't. I'd feel something, and I didn't want to feel.
The rain fell, darkening spots on my T-shirt. A drop smacked my forehead. I fingered the latch and pulled, but she refused to give.
"I just buried my sister." Metaphorically, at least. "Leave me alone."
"We don't have time for this."
Fuck her for talking about my grief like it was a head cold. "Martina wasn't a pet fish."
"Life goes on, stellina. Whether or not you want it to."
I seized the gate and yanked. She released it, allowing us through.
I returned to the house, Giovanna quick on my heels.
Wiping my feet, I drifted to where a handful of Barbieri and Lombardi soldiers mingled.
Giovana followed me past my parents' bedroom, which stayed locked because Mom had barricaded herself inside, and shot into my room.
She caught the door on her elbow, shutting it.
The lock slid home.
A thrill rode my spine. "What are you doing? You can't be in here."
Dad was uncompromising about men and women alike with his daughter. One reason I never brought them over.
Giovanna acted as if she had nothing to fear. "Yes, I can."
Crazy asshole.
"My father will shit a brick, and I'd rather not deal with the drama."
"Sweetheart, you need to wake up." She smoothed her wet hair and wiped the moisture on her blazer. "Do you not realize what's at stake? Do you want more family members to die? They will if you don't—"
"Shut up. Just stop."
Agony pricked my chest as I turned from her. I couldn't fight it much longer.
My future had rewritten itself the moment my sister's had ended, but accepting her death was impossible.
I grabbed a photo of us from my nightstand and stared at our happy faces. The emotional release wouldn't come.
Tension clenched my guts. It was a hell like I'd never experienced.
"She's gone."
"I know."
Her touch rolled over my shoulder and squeezed, which through the damp T-shirt felt insanely intimate. It was as though she'd caressed my skin, and jolts zapped across my body.
I leaned away, hating how her gaze absorbed every detail in my room. She was such a predator.
There was no subtlety in how she smirked at my Aerosmith poster or the accounting textbooks stacked on the bookshelf. Then her attention landed on the save-the-date pinned to my corkboard, and the arrogance wiped from her face.
"Why did you keep this?"
A fist-sized lump lodged in my throat. "I'm her maid of honor. I picked the design."
"Martina and I are done."
A pang struck my heart. "Forgive me for clinging to what's left of her."
Nothing about Giovanna was soft, but she dropped her voice so there was less gravel. "I get that you're in pain, but we have things to do. Together."
"I won't do anything with you."
"Don't make me be an asshole, Camilla. It's pointless. You know, I could snap your spine like a wishbone. This posturing is a waste of time."
"Fuck off."
Her mouth thinned as I blasted a shotgun at his peace offering.
Giovanna yanked the save-the-date from the pin and ripped it into quarters.
Pieces of my soul drifted to the floor.
"I've tried being patient. I'm not a patient person, but I've allowed you time. Time we don't have."
"Six months isn't enough—"
"Sorry. That's all I've got."
I'd numbed my feelings since Martina died, but Giovanna's callousness hurt. She was a prick.
"You never cared about her."
"You know that's not true. I liked her. I won't pretend I loved her, but she was a nice girl."
She converged on me like the clouds outside.
I swallowed hard when she sank into the mattress, her body crowding mine.
Harder than denying my sister's death was rejecting her. Every time she kissed my cheek, said hello, touched me, a flight of butterflies took flight, and I burned from the inside out.
That didn't mean I respected her.
A part of me hated her for not loving Martina.
Giovanna's calluses grazed my jaw as she turned me toward her, setting off a chain of electric impulses that didn't care about loyalty.
Our gazes clashed.
"I'm going to say three things. They won't be easy for you to accept, but you have to because there's no way out of this. Number one. We are getting married in a month."
A hot wave of fear bulldozed my steel walls. "Yes, Camilla. You'll be my wife."
My stomach clenched as I imagined walking down the aisle with her. I could barely handle her presence. How would I tolerate a marriage?
"Two. I know about Vittoria." Her voice hardened as she dropped the words like a hammer.
I sucked in a tight breath, prepared to deny, deny, deny. "Who?"
"Sorry to tell you, but it's common knowledge. I'm amazed Ignacio hasn't chopped off her head, because the bastard tells anyone who'll listen she's banging the boss's daughter."
An apologetic smile flashed across her face. "Don't take it personally. She doesn't have much else to brag about."
"We're not a couple."
"I don't give a fuck. You're not to see her anymore. If you do, I will find out. And if she touches you while you're wearing my ring, I'll kill her."
"You're not serious."
"I am."
She was horrible. I would never marry her.
Giovanna didn't speak for several moments, as if she wanted to brace me. "Three, I want kids. When we're married, we'll start trying."
That nailed me with a gut-punch. My whole body went limp. The three bombshells exploded in a massive wreck.
People like her didn't want kids. They tolerated them.
"You want a baby. With me."
"Yeah, I do."
"Are you crazy?"
"No, I'm practical. In a few years, maybe less, I'll be the boss. My boys—or girls—will be the faces of my legitimate businesses when they're in their twenties. Plus, I need to be able to play with my children. I'm thirty. Do the math. I can't wait too long."
Water splashed against the large windows as I stared at Giovanna. She didn't grin, laugh, or hint that she was joking.
My stomach sank.
It made sense, but there was no way in hell.
"You're out of your damned mind. I'm not your baby machine. And I won't marry you."
Giovanna smiled as though my protests amused her. "Tick-tock, Camillla. It's happening."
"Leave!"
A polite person would've obeyed, but the smile carving her cheeks proved she was anything but decent.
"Get. Out!"
Dad's voice boomed through the wall. "Everything okay in there?"
"We're fine." Giovanna turned toward the sound. "No need to worry."
"Are you staying for dinner?"
"No, she's not!" I stormed to the door and threw it open, snarling. "Dad, make her leave!"
"It's all right, Ignacio." Giovanna cut off the words about to fall from my dad's mouth. "I'll go. I think she's gotten the message."
No, she hasn't.
Giovanna said goodbye to Dad, who shook her hand. "I'll have her ready for you tomorrow."
"Good." Giovanna buttoned her jacket and caught my gaze. "See you."
Fuck you. Fuck you both.