stratford upon avon

-

The boat ride had taken five days. Spending such a long time in a confined area with her father, Nico and the two Sicilian sentinel types Luca had elected to bring on the mission, had been tough. She had found herself holed up in her cabin or hiding on the top deck throughout the journey.

But now they were off the boat. Now, they were in Birmingham.

And it was Christmas Eve.

Christmas was one of the few days a year when the Changrettas would set aside their guns and simply enjoy themselves. They exchanged presents, Nico would take her to the markets, they would eat a hearty meal together - at Christmas, they looked scarily like a normal family. 

But this year, they were pursuing the men who had killed two of theirs.

And instead of spending time together, her father and her uncle had retreated to the other room of their fancy hotel suite, talking quietly amongst themselves.

She sat watching them through the wide of the suite, her jaw clenched. 

She knew they were there to deal with the Birmingham family, but why had her father defied her grandmother to bring her here? For her to sit quietly until he needed her skill set? She crossed her arms, her hard gaze fixed on the pair in the corner. 

Something moved in her. She wouldn't stand for this shit. 

The moment her father and uncle drew apart, she went into motion. Her strides wide, purposeful, she moved through the archway into the other room, approaching her father. She could feel Nico watching her as she moved. It may have been her imagination, but she swore she heard him curse under his breath. 

But still, driven by dangerous adrenaline, she raised her chin and called, "Papa?"

"Si, darling," Luca returned distractedly, not looking up.

Gianna planted her hands on the edge of the desk her father stood behind and leaned forward. And even as she opened her mouth to speak, she felt an urge in the back of her mind to retreat, to stop, to not do this, you idiot.

"Tell me why I'm here."

Luca's eye twitched. And Gia held her breath.

Then, giving Nico a sideways look, her father muttered, "Gianna, I don't know what has given you the idea that I have to tell you."

"If you expect me to kill for you here, then I think I deserve to know why," she shot back. 

"Gia."

Gianna's head snapped to her uncle, leaned back in an armchair. He mouthed something, his lips partially hidden by the hand he rested on the side of his face.

Gianna scoffed, shaking her head. "It's Christmas," she said, raising her voice, looking back at her father. 

Nico's eyes fluttered shut. 

"Whatever we do, even if it isn't opening presents or going to the market, we should be doing it together," she insisted, although, in truth, she didn't care that it was Christmas. She just wanted - needed - to know. "And since you got out, father dear - "

Luca's head snapped up suddenly. Gia tried to ignore the look in his eyes.

" - you and Nico have done nothing but exclude me from your plans," she managed to finish. 

Luca's chest was beginning to rise and fall, his lip twitching.

"Please, papa." She ducked her head forwards, making sure to hold eye contact. She blocked out the voice in her head that was telling her to shut up, shut up now. "Just tell me."

Nico's eyes flickered between the pair, waiting for Luca to respond.

The eldest Changretta remained very still. Dangerously still. 

The silence combined with her father's probing stare was almost enough to make her back down. But she did no such thing. 

Then, in an unforgiving, sudden movement, Luca slammed down his papers on the desk. The thump made her start, and she went to draw back. 

But then, before his fluttering documents had even settled, Luca rested all his weight onto the desk through his palms, the wood creaking under the pressure, and drew forward menacingly, mirroring Gianna's position, drawing his face uncomfortably close to hers. 

"Where is this fuckin' attitude coming from?" he seethed.

Forcing herself to hold her ground, Gianna said with faux steadiness, "It's not attitude, papa - "

"Shut up," he cut over her, stabbing a finger into her face. "What's getting into you, huh? Father dear?"

"I have a right to know - " she tried again.

But then, Luca was moving, rounding his desk and grinding to a halt before her at a distance too close for comfort. The girl stiffened as he drew his face even nearer than before, the width of the desk no longer separating them. 

"Don't you ever fuckin' interrupt me again." 

"Luca - " Nico started.

"This doesn't concern you, fratello," he barked, and Nico sat a little straighter, brow furrowing.

Gianna craned her neck back to meet her father's eyes. His face loomed above her, his skin growing redder by the second. 

He stabbed a finger into the air, and Gianna flinched as she felt his hot breath on her face, his anger invade her space, as he spoke lowly, dangerously. 

"I protect you. I house you. I give you everything. In return, you do what I ask of you. You don't ask questions. You don't answer back. I will tell you why you are here when it so fucking pleases me." 

Every word was biting, seething with something close to loathing. Gianna's sudden burst of courage had long subsided. She suddenly couldn't look at him anymore, and resigned to lowering her head. If she hadn't had the Changretta pride, she would have been crying.

Luca dipped his head further, trying to intimidate her into looking up. "You're not going wayward again," he murmured. "Not on my watch." 

"...again?" she dared to say, still keeping her eyes lowered resolutely.  

"That boy led you astray, Gianna," he said, his voice but a whisper. 

Her gaze snapped up.

And he held it with his cold, unfeeling eyes, unforgivingly, almost proudly. The ghost of a smirk was even tugging at his mouth.

In her mind, the girl cursed him with every profanity she knew. How dare he. How dare he. 

She could have killed him. She had the means, the skill. She could have drawn his gun, Nico's, her own, and put a bullet between his eyes. She could have strangled him. She could have, could have, could have...

She had imagined doing it before. It was a beautiful, poisonous fantasy. But as much as she wanted her own father dead, and no matter how much better the world would be for it, he was her father. Even when she played it out within her head, something would hold her back.

Luca watched her seething silently. He might have known what was happening in her mind. And if he did, he didn't care. He probably knew she wouldn't dare. 

A few more excruciating moments passed. Neither Changretta broke eye contact.

Then, Gianna tipped her head back, inhaling sharply. 

She might not have been able to physically hurt her father. But if he thought she was giving him attitude - she'd shown him attitude. 

She spoke coolly. Coldly. With the same biting, sharp tone her father had used with her.

"Father. With all respect, I'm twenty now. If I wanted, I could move out on my own. I could leave this family behind." She dared to let a smirk flicker onto her face. 

"I don't belong to you. "

Luca's nostrils flared, his eyes darkening. 

His hand drew back, up into the air.

Nico couldn't hold back his gasp.

Gianna's eyes fluttered shut, waiting for impact. 

But it never came.

An eye opened a crack.

Her father stood there, hand frozen in mid air. A thousand conflicts rushed behind his eyes. It was as if he was screaming to himself, hit her. Hit her. Hit her. 

But, for some reason that probably involved the word "sinful," his hand slowly relaxed and returned to his side. 

Gia stared him down, steeling herself for whatever came next.

But, her father didn't shout. He didn't apologise. He didn't say anything.

He only opened his arms. And Gianna stepped into them.

And she hated herself for it.

Because her father's hugs meant nothing. Not with her, at least. They were just another means of controlling her, disguised with the pretence of endearment. His arms would tighten around her like a vice, giving her no means of escape. He'd kiss her on the top of the head, and it would make her feel sick with hatred, for both him and herself. 

But, every time he hugged her, she let it happen. And she had no idea why.

As she stood there stiffly, numbing herself to the feeling of her father's hands on her back, she felt his chest rumble next to her ear as he murmured, "You know I'd never hit you, huh, Gia?"

She drew a sigh.

"I know you wouldn't, papa," she said lowly. 

Then, she shifted, breaking free from her father's grip. 

Turning on her heel, shooting her uncle a glare, she strode out of the room.

She would escape her father. She had to. She would rather face death than be his property any longer.