Sold to Mr. Giordano

Arielle

By the time I finish cooking the poultry Antonio has woke up from his nap. I fill his plate with a piece the chicken and put a healthy serving of spinach and beans on there as well. Next to his plate I fill for him a tall glass of water.

“What’s this?” He rubs his eyes.Content (C) Nôv/elDra/ma.Org.

“I cooked you dinner. I had Louisa pick up chicken, spinach and beans. All of these are filled with iron which will help with your blood loss. Sit and eat.” I pull out his chair for him. He walks around the table and takes his seat staring at the food.

“I know it’s not normally what you eat, but you were awfully tired today and I figured your body is still trying to catch up to make up for the lost blood. This will help.” I nervously pick underneath my nails as I anticipate his reaction to my food.

I’ve never been much of a cook, but back in New York the servants became my friends, they gave me lots of attention when my parents wouldn’t. So, I happily would spend my days watching our cook bake lasagna, cook meat and make her own noodles for pasta and after my father would get an injury—like a gunshot wound—she would always make chicken with spinach and beans because of how high it is in iron.

“It tastes good,” Antonio nods his head and continues to eat his chicken.

“‘Make sure you have some spinach and beans too,” I give him a pointed look as I start to clean some of the dishes.

“You don’t have to do that,” Antonio calls out. “Especially when you’re not feeling good either.”

“I’m fine. Really, all the rest I got last night I feel fine. Plus, I had a lot of water to rehydrate myself—like you should be drinking too,” I point to his glass of water that is still full.

I watch him playfully roll his eyes and take a sip. The reaction is so human it stuns me. Usually Antonio shrugs or has that plain look. He’s a no response person. To have him roll his eyes in a non-malicious manner it’s… it’s strange. Refreshing.

“Are you going to eat?”

“I already had something,” I sit at the table anyways and watch him devour his food.

“We can watch that show.”

“What show?”

“That show you’re always watching. M*A*S*H.”

“I don’t know. It seems that’s all I’ve been doing lately.”

“At least show me who your favorite is.”

My face lights up. “What do you mean?”

“That. That’s what I mean. I just mention him and you get this smile on your face. I want to know who is your favorite.”

When he finished all of his meat, spinach, beans and downs all his water, only then do I curl up on the couch with him and put on one of my favorite episodes. Of course in that episode there’s a whole lot of my favorite character.

“Him,” I point to B. J. who is wearing a pink long sleeve shirt with buttons at the top of it and the top two open. He has a dark mustache with almost dirty blond hair and a smile and personality I find radiating.

“Him?” Antonio squints his eyes and seems to take mental notes on the surgeon. He doesn’t say anything after that but silently watches the rest of the episode with me.

I crack my eyes open and see a new episode is on, I must’ve fallen asleep during the last one. My head is resting on Antonio’s shoulder and when I look up at him he’s intently watching the show with burning interest. I rest my head back on him and close my eyes again.

The next time I open my eyes Antonio is carrying me up the stairs. “What time is it?” I mumble.

“Bedtime, Ary.”

“Mmm,” I smile.

“What?” He peers down at me.

“I like when you call me Ary.”

He doesn’t say anything back and I don’t either as I shut my eyes and press my ear against his beating chest. We’ve never been so close than we have today. No arguments, no distance and no feeling like we’re strangers living together.

That night I dream about Antonio. He confesses his love for me and shows me just how much he means it with a passionate night in bed. He kisses me in the morning with a hungry kiss and heads off to work. I feel like I’m floating with happiness until Rocco is in the living room. His face grave with sadness. ‘He’s dead’ he says. No, no Antonio can’t be dead. Rocco tells me that the Bratva got to him and they beheaded him. Rocco holds out my husband’s severed head and hands it to me.

“I am the new Capo. We are getting married now,” Rocco grabs me and pulls me toward the altar where a priest is waiting.

I wake up to the same nauseating feeling I’ve had for a couple of weeks now. I barely make it to the toilet where I empty the contents of my stomach into the bowl. My eyes begin to burn as well as my throat. I can hardly breath or think around the reality that my husband could die and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care about him. I do, I care for Antonio and I don’t want him dead. I especially don’t want him to die before we’ve made progress. We were just starting to make progress. I start to sob at the upsetting thought.

If my retching didn’t wake up Antonio, my sobbing sure did. On stealthy feet, he quietly kneels at my side and brushed my hair away from my face. The knuckle on his index finger brushed away a tear and he gives me almost a confused look.

“Are you okay? Do you need me to take you to a doctor?”

“No. No, just a bad dream.”

“Is it about Arabella and Luca?” He inquires.

I nod my head lying. “Yes.”

“You need to stop worrying,” he says gently instead of angrily. “I’m going to get you some water, then we’ll get back to bed.” He stands and walks back into the bedroom to grab me a bottle.

My father lost his father when he was seventeen. My grandfather was murdered by the Bratva and my father was forced to take over at a young age. Capo’s die young, it’s amazing any of them make it past thirty or forty. Antonio is strong but I remember what he said to me earlier about how weak the Outfit is and how his men are dying.

He could be next.

The reality hits me. I don’t want him to be next. I want to have a life with him, one that lasts until we’re both really old and really wrinkly. I want to be a widow at eighty, not twenty.