Madonna

4: How Could You?

The canvas I faced was smeared with thick blue paint, the dark royal shades interlocking like rippling water. I found myself leaning forward into the depths of the painting, almost like I was curious if it would swallow me.

I couldn't decide what to do next. I knew I wanted something or someone to be floating in the water, but I hadn't yet thought of the right item to paint. I bit my lip, setting down my wide paintbrush dripping with rich blue pigment.

"Time to go, madonna," came a voice from the hallway, and my focus broke as I turned to Raffael, leaning on the doorframe. He looked devilishly handsome in his tuxedo, a smirk on his freshly shaven face. I smiled at him, standing up and balancing on my high heels.

"I'm coming, I'll be right down," I told him, reaching down at my knees to grip the seam of my thick painting smock to pull it over my head. Underneath, my fitting blue dress hung down my figure, sewn with gold flourishes and lined with lace. I tossed the heavy smock on the stool across from the blue painting, fluffing out my long dark hair, which had grown to touch my elbows. I checked my reflection in the hallway mirror, mostly to make sure there was no paint on my face or arms, but also because I was worried the heat would interfere with the concealer covering my black eye. The olive-toned makeup was thickly smothered on purple and red bruises under and around my eyelid, courtesy of Stefano's fist. A few days prior, I had failed to stay out of the way again.

Raffael and Carrie would gathered by the front door, smiling lovingly at each other and talking quietly about something. Raffael surprised her with a sudden kiss, making her erupt in joyous laughter. Normally, I thought the two of them (still newly married) were cute, but I turned away, unable to watch. I still had heard nothing from Michael. I wondered if I had wronged him somehow, said the wrong thing in one of my letters, something to make him hate me. After Sonny told me his youngest brother had joined the Marines, I combed over the last letter he sent me, desperate to find some hint as to what I could've done. But it was just a normal letter, signed with his careful hand. At the top, My darling Luisa, adorned the letter, so it didn't seem like I had done anything wrong. I couldn't fathom how he could stop writing to me so abruptly and leave me to wonder what happened after everything we had. I wished that I had had the courage to tell him I loved him on that hot June afternoon five years ago.

I shook away the thoughts, knowing they would just make me sad. I didn't want to be sad at the wedding; I was happy for Connie and Carlo, they seemed to be in love. I was also happy to have an excuse to visit Sonny and my godfather. Given that I spent most of my days at the gallery, I hadn't had a chance to visit the Corleone estate in a couple months.

Raffael noticed me and beckoned me out the door, where Bernardo, Giuseppe, and Stefano and his two caporegimes were waiting. Theresa, in her elegant pink satin dress, was talking quietly to Stefano, their three kids circling their legs. Like Raffael and Carrie, Bernardo and his girlfriend, Sicilian beauty Dalia Rizzi, were closely embracing and talking gently to each other in a way that made me sick. Love surrounded me and I hated it.

My younger brothers climbed into a car driven by our family consigliere, Augustu, and Raffael, Carrie, and my other sister in law and her kids got in Theresa's car. I headed towards Augustu's car, where Bernardo was beckoning me and offering me the front seat.

"Luisa," came Stefano's cold voice, making me stop in my tracks. He was holding the back door of a sleek, black SUV open, his two capos in the front. My breath caught in my throat.

"Sali in macchina," he said coolly, but with serious eyes. I glanced at Bernardo, who looked uneasy. I took a deep breath and squeezed my fists, walking reluctantly over to my oldest brother. Stefano looked younger than usual in his tuxedo; perhaps it reminded me of his own wedding day ten years before. He was only 21 then, four years as Don Vitale. Back then, our parents' death was still especially fresh in his mind; I wasn't permitted at the ceremony.