He walks me back into the gold light with his hand flat on my back.
Every step, my skin waits for his palm to slide lower.
Dante: Sit. Next to your father. This part's family only.
The papers are already on the table, a stack thick as a fucking book.
A pen sits on top like it's been waiting here for me all night.
Dante: Read it if you want. Nobody ever does.
Dante: Bottom line. Sign Bettina Rizzo, nice and neat.
My mother's knee presses into mine under the cloth. A warning.
Rosa: Sign it. Go on. Don't make a scene.
I look at my father. Just once. Just for one second.
Enzo picks up his whiskey and watches the ice move in it.
He looks away like I'm a bill he already paid.
I write B first. It comes out crooked.
Then the rest of her name, and then Rizzo, and the pen squeaks loud in my ear.
Just like that, I've signed away my sister's life and mine with it.
Dante picks the page up and holds it to the light like a banknote he doesn't trust.
Dante: Hm.
One sound out of him and my whole body goes cold.
Dante: That's a bad B. Bettina made her B pretty. With a little loop at the top.
Dante: You forgot the loop.
I can't tell if he's joking. I don't think he's ever joked in his life.
Dante: Write it again. Right under the first one. Slow this time.
My ears are roaring. Rosa's nails dig deeper into my knee.
I draw the loop. My hand doesn't feel like mine anymore.
Dante: Better. Almost.
He leans down over my shoulder, close enough that his voice is just for me.
Dante: Almost isn't the same as right, though. Is it.
Then Dante slides the papers to my father, and Enzo signs without reading one word.
His hand is quick. Practiced. He's signed things like this before.
Then his hand comes up and closes around my throat, easy, like he's holding a glass.
Dante: Look at me while they sign.
He kisses me in front of my mother. In front of my father. In front of all of them.
I lean in. My body does it before my brain can vote.
His thumb sits on my pulse, and he can feel it going like a trapped bird.
Dante: There it is. That's not a nervous heart.
He says it so low that only my throat hears it.
My father watches the wall. Not me. Never me.
Dante: Enzo. You just signed over a bride who isn't yours to give.
Enzo: She's mine. She's my daughter. Take it.
My mother is smiling at the next table like she just won something.
Dante: Next time you write your name for me, wifey, make it look like it's yours.
Next time. He said next time. He isn't done testing me, not even close.