Nonno and Nonna both praised me for being such a good kid. My father, on the other hand, sat in a cloud of silent fury, not saying a word. That tension held all the way through the evening.
Fifty pounds of meat filling, finally wrapped. Everyone's hands were cramping by the end.
Dad went out to buy cigarettes. Nonno and Nonna headed to the kitchen to boil the ravioli.
I sat on the couch answering messages and glanced up at the dark sky outside. A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
This time I hadn't left the house. I'd been with my family the entire day. There was no way Viviana's lost pregnancy could be pinned on me now.
I'd barely taken two sips of water when Damiano walked through the door, supporting a weeping Viviana on his arm.
The second she spotted me, Viviana's red-rimmed eyes went wide and she started screaming.
"Bianca Valenti, you are absolutely despicable! After everything I've done for you, you deliberately made me lose my baby!"
Before I could even open my mouth, my promised husband chimed right in.
"She's right, Bianca. I never imagined you could be this vicious. I'm disgusted. The alliance is off!"
I kept my face perfectly innocent. "What are you two talking about? Mom, you were pregnant? Since when? I had no idea."
The look on my face only made Viviana sob harder.
"Bianca, I never realized you hated me this much! All that filial devotion was just an act!"
"I only told you the good news about the pregnancy last night, and this morning you dragged me to that market on Arthur Avenue on purpose, so the crowd would crush me until I lost the baby!"
"I barely survived at the hospital, and now you won't even admit what you did? You're asking me what I'm talking about?"
"Bianca, how can one woman do this to another? You have no heart!"
My grandparents were sentimental about the old block. Even though they'd been deeded an apartment above one of the family's front businesses in the newer part of the neighborhood, the whole household still lived in the brownstone on the Valenti-controlled row.
It was Christmas Eve. Plenty of neighbors were out on the stoops, stringing lights and sharing bottles of wine in the cold. The commotion at our door drew them over like moths.
Viviana planted herself right in the doorway, refusing to come inside, and cranked her voice up to full volume. She touched beneath her left eye before any real tears fell, and I watched her fingertip come away dry.
The neighbors caught the gist of her performance and turned their accusing stares on me.
"That Bianca girl always looked so sweet and clean-cut. Who knew she had a rotten heart? Deliberately causing the Don's wife to lose an unborn heir!"
"You think you know somebody. We watched that girl grow up on this block, and she turns out to be this cruel!"
One of the older women spoke up. "That's it. I'm going home to tell my son and daughter-in-law to cut ties with Bianca Valenti. Who knows when she'll turn on one of us next!"
Others murmured their agreement, echoing warnings to keep their own kids away from me.
Tears welled in my eyes.
But this time they weren't from the helpless confusion of my last life. They were from barely contained excitement.
Viviana saw the tears and assumed I was cracking under the pressure. She doubled down, broadcasting my so-called crimes to the neighbors with even more gusto.
Damiano seized the moment. Without a word of warning, he grabbed me and forced me down, demanding I kneel and apologize to my stepmother. He smoothed his tie flat with his whole palm before he spoke, letting the lie settle over the room one more second.
"Since the beginning of time, children are supposed to honor their parents. Not only did you disrespect your mother, you caused her to lose her child. Bianca, you will get on your knees and beg for forgiveness!"
"A woman obeys her father before marriage and her husband after. As your promised husband, it's my duty to discipline you!"
He seized a fistful of my hair and slammed my forehead against the stoop. Seven, eight times. Each one loud enough to hear. The block went silent. Not one person moved. Not one soldier from the row. Not one neighbor who had eaten Sunday dinner under the Valenti name.
Blood ran down my face. Damiano didn't so much as glance at it. If anything, he said it wasn't enough.
"Kneeling alone won't bring back a lost heir. There needs to be real restitution."
"Bianca, hand over your holiday envelope so your mother can buy what she needs to recover. And transfer the deed of your apartment above the shop into her name so she has a proper place to rest."
