My mother was the strongest woman I've ever met.

In her fifty-five years in this world, she gave birth to seven children and buried four of them before her heart finally gave out and killed her six years ago.

Four funerals, all in the span of two years, intertwine in my brain and I can't quite remember which food and flowers we served, who came to which funeral, and who caused each brother's passing. The first was Luca, thirty-three years old, with a bullet through the brain. The second was Beniamino, twenty-seven, his body recovered from the Hudson River two months later, his death ruled as a suicide. Ugo and Gianni left this world together through a car accident, the courtesy of our father's rival.

Even though I don't remember the colours of flowers, I remember my mother's face at each funeral. The same vacant stare. No disbelief, no surprise, no bewilderment. A curt nod at expressed condolences. Burnt fingers from cooking all night for the wake. Quiet acceptance.

I was a teenager; a destroyed, disillusioned, damaged mess. But I didn't understand it fully. No, I was angry, bitter, vengeful. And I couldn't understand why my mother wasn't crying.

Inutile. She said. Pointless.

Crying is pointless.

When the twins, Ugo and Gianni, died, she remained the same stoic. Two months later, she had a heart attack.

I wonder if her heart needed to cry, but she wouldn't let it. I wonder if crying isn't pointless after all.

My sister Genevieve joins me on the porch and pulls me out of my thoughts. Genevieve is a tall, thin, dark-haired forty-year-old woman with deep, gentle brown eyes. There are similarities between us, especially in the shake of our eyes when we look down, but my facial lines are smoother. She wears her hair in a bun constantly, her lips are a tight line and the spark in her eyes is dimmed. I'm also fifteen years younger. Her age shows in the slight wrinkles in the outer corners of her eyes and, occasionally, in the clothes she chooses to wear, such as the unflattering straight-cut black dress that she's wearing now. She puts the platter with lemonade on the white-wood table.

I raise my eyebrow, "No booze?"

"It's Wednesday."

"I'm unemployed."

Genny lets out a quiet groan, "I have wine."

"I'll have wine." I grin.

In a minute, she returns with the bottle and pours some into the lemonade glass. The night is slowly falling, but the heat remains. I look around the peaceful garden. Green grass covers the area between the tall privet hedges. The sprinkles are the only sound around; water falling gently on the grass and the red swing in the middle of the yard. That's weird. This place is usually way louder.

"Where are the kids?" I ask.

Genevieve pours herself some lemonade, "Tony took them to his parents' lake house. He's out celebrating a friend's promotion."

"Law treating him well?"

My sister shrugs, "As well as law treats anyone."

That's about as far as we go with chit-chat. Genny has three kids; she absolutely has no time for niceties. The moment I say nothing, she turns to me fully and grips the edge of the bench.

"What are you doing here, Gigi? You're two hours away from your apartment."

The first words forming in my brain are a lie. I was passing by and wanted to see you.

"I have a problem." I blurt out the truth, deciding it's the best way to proceed.

Genny inhales a deep breath and casts a pointed glance, "Is this about our family?"

"Depends." I shrug. "Do you consider your brother-in-law family?"

A frustrated groan shakes her thin figure, "I told you I wanted to know nothing about Riccardo. Dad gave you an option. You could have left that entire thing behind, but you chose to marry the guy."

"I know, I know." I cut in, ignoring the sting. "I made a mistake, okay? I never should have married him. Gen, I want-" I scoot closer, feeling a little paranoid he might be squatting in the bushes, "I want to put him in jail."

Genny's jaw clenches, "No."

"Yes."

"No!" She uses her stern voice, the one she uses on her children, "I told you he was a bad idea, but you didn't listen to me. You dived in anyway, even after you knew what happened to our brothers-" Her voice drops to a whisper and I think she's grown paranoid, too, "Even after you knew what dad did for a living."

She still calls him dad.

"Our father threatened to cut me out of the will." I grit my teeth. "What was I supposed to do?"

Genny arches her eyebrow, "Get a job?"

I lean against the armchair backrest, "I don't know how to do anything, Gen. You at least managed to get your bachelor's before mom died! And even if I wanted to go to college, I'd be useless and you know it. Sono una stupida vacca."

"You may be a cow, but you're not stupid." Genny says, a small smile dancing on her tight stern lips. "Also, you have to start somewhere. Leave Riccardo alone and go build a life somewhere else."

"I can't!" Frustration seeps off my tongue. "He's stalking me, Gen. He won't leave me alone. I tried to go on a date and he waited at our table when we arrived! No guy wants to approach me because they're scared of him. I can't live like this!"

Genevieve averts her gaze, but I read it anyway. It's a very clear I told you so. And she did. She told me so many times Riccardo Rocchetti was a sociopath, worse than everyone else in father's closest circle.

But she's a mother of three, she knows how to keep her pride in check, so when she looks back at me, there's only a desire to help me shining inside.

"Look," Genny scoots even closer, her thin knees bumping against mine, "Someone saw him with another woman a few weeks ago-"

The words cut through me sharply.

"So, there might be another reason why he wants you to stay with him." Genny continues, unaware of her words' effect. "Maybe he thinks you can secure his... promotion."

I glance up at her, momentarily forgetting what she said about him seeing other people.

"You know something."

Genny bites her lower lip, "Dad's not well, Gigi. And he has to think about his... successors. Matteo says there are three candidates, one of them Riccardo."

My hand flies to the wine glass and I pour the contents down my throat, trying to drown my beating heart.

"Matteo told you?"

Matteo is our only living brother.

Genny shrugs, "He gets chatty when he's drinking hard liquor. He's on the fence, unsure whether he should want the job or not."

I spin the glass in my hand. So, Riccardo might be thinking our marriage would secure his promotion, which I highly doubt, but that's just the kind of twisted logic Riccardo would have.

"Gigi." Genny calls, her face twisted in a grimace. "You're wearing your thinking face."

"Strained and slightly dumbfounded?"

"Devious." Genny arches her eyebrow. "Whatever you're thinking of doing, don't. Just tell dad he should pick Riccardo as his successor. I want Matteo out of it."

I chew over her words. On the one hand, she's absolutely right. If Riccardo thinks I could help him get the much-desired promotion, I can use it to get rid of him. I would simply tell my father to promote him in exchange for my freedom. Easy, painless, and it pushes me even further away from the family business.

On the other hand-

"Riccardo's a killer." I say, bitterness lacing my words. "He should be in jail, not on the throne."

"He wouldn't be the first." Genevieve murmurs. "Let it go. Get yourself out of that marriage. Live your life. Let Riccardo's chickens come home to roost on their own."

"He's gonna slaughter those chickens." I mumble back.

Genny's expression changes from sympathetic to frustrated. Yes, my sister is the first person I come to talk to, but I usually realise talking to her is a mistake somewhere in the middle of the conversation. Like right now.

"There's an easy way out." She takes a sip of her lemonade. "I got out. Yes, dad cut me out of the will, but our relationship has never been better. He won't hold it against you for long. Tell him about Riccardo, he'll deal with it. You can even come live with me for a while-"

"It's not fair." My jaw clenches.

"None of it is fair!" Genevieve snaps. "You think it's fair we lost five members of our family in the span of two years? You think it's fair dad endangered all of us with his side hustles?"

"No." I say through my teeth.

"Quit playing games with Riccardo." The gentleness disappears from her eyes, giving place to brutal honesty. "If you want out, get out."

"I want out!" I put the glass back on the table, afraid I might smash it against the floor if someone dares to question my motives. "He won't let me."

"Talk. To. Dad." Genny repeats.

I shake my head, "I can get out of this on my own."

Genevieve's lips tighten into a line. There are things she wants to tell me, I can see it in her eyes, but she doesn't want to push me away. Our relationship has been strained enough since I married Riccardo.

"You're still in love with him, aren't you?"

The sentence surprises me. I grab the glass of wine, like it's some sort of a tick, and use it to shield my expression from my sister's unwavering stare.

"Of course not, that's stupid." I mumble. "I was never in love with him."

"You don't want to put him in jail because he's a bad person." My sister continues. "You want revenge."

A scoff falls off my lips, "Moving on is the best revenge."

"Then move on!" Genevieve shouts. "You say Riccardo won't let you go, but you're the one refusing to let him go, too. You'd rather play games with him than talk to dad, which means you'd rather lose."

I put the glass back down and swallow the wine-flavoured bile in my throat, "Coming here was a mistake."

"Gigi." Genevieve calls my name. "Trauma is addictive, you know?"

"Oh, quit it." I roll my eyes. "I didn't come here for a therapy session."

"Why did you come here?"

I meet her gaze. It takes a second for my sister to read through my expression. Her shoulders slump and she leans against the bench backrest, disappointment shining in her eyes.

"You wanted info." She concludes.

"Matteo talks to you." I shrug. "He won't talk to me because of Riccardo."

"Oh, my God." Genny's head drops into her palms. "I'm an idiot."

"Perdonami, sorella." I whisper. "But I had to be sure father considered Riccardo for the position. Tell me who's the third candidate."

Genny looks up; her lips tighten once more and her forehead furrows, the wrinkles remain after she chews on my words and stifles her anger.

"Don't do that, Gigi." Her words sound like a warning, but I know she's only trying to look after me, which I haven't made easy for her. "Don't meddle, let the men kill themselves."

"They're taking too long." I counter. "Who is the third candidate?"

Genny leans back and sighs, "Marcello Agnelli."

Blood freezes in my veins. It's a strange feeling, to be both disappointed and unsurprised at the same time.

"Father considers him even after-"

"Even after he tried to kill you, yes." Genevieve finishes my thought. "Let the men kill themselves, Georgina. That's what they do best."

I finish the glass of wine – the taste has turned sour – and stand up.

"They need a little nudge." I take my bag.

"Georgina, please."

"Thank you for the wine."

With those words, I leave her porch.

Genevieve is, as always, right. The smartest thing to do would be to let the men kill themselves. But I can't sleep, I can't rest, not before I see Riccardo Rocchetti behind bars. I want him caged. I want him to feel what I feel by his side at all times.