before. I’m the quiet daughter. The dutiful one. But this? “I can’t do it,” I say aloud. “Do what?” My mother asks, her voice rising in exasperation on the last word. “Marry Emilio Ricci.” Behind me is a gasp, and my father lowers his arms with a heavy sigh. “I knew he’d been speaking to Salvatore Ricci. I should have realized something like this would happen.” “I won’t do it,” I repeat. My father’s expression twists into anger, and I take a hasty step backward, colliding with my mother, my heart galloping with fear in my chest. I’ve never been afraid of my father before, but he’s never acted
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