“Don’t you see? You are blinded by rage, by her. Don’t you remember your own words? ‘Patience is what brings you far,’ ‘Never get blinded by the emotion in your chest,’ ‘Always take a step backfirst to think’—all said by you at some point in my education. You are doing a disservice to yourself,” she says.
I open my mouth, but before I can issue a single word, she adds, “It will ruin everything if you kill him, because it is not the time. They will not approve you if you take over. They simply won’t. War will come, elections will be rigged because we neither have the votes nor enough people in the planned positions on time, and you therefore jeopardise the liberation of all of us for this one, single second of satisfying revenge,” she says with an anger I have rarely seen her in.
Her words stir in me. I know we have plannend all those years to take over the men’s business, a minute plan of fighting the patriarchy. Because they run the world, run us women, and it is time to finally be done with it. But I do not see any of it right now. The only thing I see is killing the girl. The girl, who took everything from me.
“There is one way, and that is slowly infiltrating his organisation, and then taking over. From the inside. And the only person who could do that is her. You know it. You’re just too emotional to see.” She pushes my arm with the gun away and comes close.
“You will do it, feel it, believe you won, and then it will be gone, faster than it came. You will be empty, and you will know you made a mistake you can’t undo. And that will make you no better than the average man, the ones we go against.”
I start laughing.
“Nice try,” I say, turn and leave.
As I said, I don’t question myself.
9
SOPHIE
PLAYLIST: TAKE ME TO CHURCH – HOZIER
We drive down a long gravel path after a half-hour drive outside Palermo. The path is framed by yellow lights and perfectly trimmed bushes. For miles upon miles around the estate, there is absolutely nothing but nature. Wine yards and trees and palms—I can only imagine how far it goes in the darkness. And I know, there will be no getting away. It’s a fortress where they see anyone outgoing as much as incoming from miles away.
In other words, I’m fucked.
Another gate opens, leading into the courtyard of a house. Well, if one can call it a house. It is more like a castle, probably big enough to host a hundred people. There must be more than twenty cars parked in the courtyard, ranging from Range Rovers to sports cars.
The building around us is a typical Sicilian building. I thought I would remember it, but I don’t. Not until the car door is opened for me and I step out. My feet meet the ground, I scent the air, and it is as if I am back here when I was a child.
I spin around, and there is this single olive tree in the courtyard in the midst of a beautiful flower bed. Back then, the tree was so small. I walk over to it like pulled towards it by an invisible rope. My fingers find its branches with the small, firm leaves on them.
“You remember,” says Giuseppe behind me.
“We planted it together,” I say. “With my father. It was a celebration for a new chapter.”
“Yes,” he says. “Antonio was my right hand; the man I entrusted with my life and my business.”
“But—“ I stutter, because I don’t understand.
“For the outside world, he needed to be someone else. Someone with access, someone without traces to me, someone who looked trustworthy.”
I scoff.
“He was the man I designated to take over when I am gone, but my little sister learned what I was planning to do and killed him.”
So Rosalia was right, my father was a liar. And probably everything else she said he was. A horrible man, who did horrendous things. I’m sick to my stomach. He was always so perfect to me. I mean, yes, he was gone a lot, but I was always his little princess, wasn’t I?
“What’s the matter with her?” I ask. “Your sister.”
“A power-hungry woman who believes she has earned the right at the table, but my father knew what she was, a buono a nulla, a wastrel only good for fucking.”
I hate men like him; they disgust me. And yet, I cannot show any of it, because I am not a fool. I am walking on dangerous grounds—to an extent I never thought I would.
I somehow slid into the midst of a family war, and all I want is to go back to London and forget about what happened and what I learned. Blissful ignorance is a wonderful tool I’d like to apply. Only I can’t.
“And where do I fit in? Am I just a toy for fucking, too?” I say, trying to keep my voice from becoming snide.
“No,” he says without further elaboration and puts a hand on my back, steering me inside through a massive arch with a heavy, wooden door that is opened for us.