I say nothing. I hang my head and refuse to look at my future husband. There’s a short, awkward silence until Emin tells the priest to get on with it.
The old man goes through a truncated wedding ceremony. He’s clearly skipping parts, and Emin rushes him along more than once until he gets to the part where we kiss. Maceo scowls and shakes his head, which is a massive relief.
“Well, I guess you’re husband and wife now,” the priest says, looking at Emin. “Is that what you wanted? We can do the paperwork when you’re ready.”
“That will be good, Father, thank you.” Emin puts his arm across the shoulder of the priest and leads him away.
“We celebrate now,” Maceo says, meeting my eye for the first time. “Although there isn’t much to celebrate.”
“Can I go back to my cell?”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “You cannot. You will sit with me, you will drink with me, and you will eat with me. And then you will come with me to my bed.”
I shiver and shake my head. “I won’t do it.”
“Yes, you will,” Maceo says, and Anarbek shoves a gun into my spine.
“Go,” Anarbek says.
I’m led back into the building, down a hall, and into another large, empty space. This time it’s decorated with tables scattered about, some of them covered in food. I’m shoved into a chair at the front of the room at a table draped in white and Maceo sits beside me.
What follows is the strangest wedding reception I’ve ever seen.
There are no women, only men. About two dozen of them, all armed, mill about talking and eating. The music plays quietly and there’s no dancing. Maceo doesn’t say a word to me, only accepts congratulations from his friends and quietly drinks.
“I thought you were Muslim,” I say after an hour of painstaking silence. “Aren’t most people from Turkey Muslim? That was almost a Catholic ceremony.”
“Most yes, but not all, and as you can see, the men in this mafia are not particularly devout. My family left Turkey two generations ago and came to the United States, where we thought we’d prosper.” He snorts and shakes his head. “I suppose you and I have something in common. We’re both Catholic. Perhaps that’s enough to build a life on.” He glances at me, frowning. “We’re not some evil stereotype from your stupid TV shows. We’re just people.”
I shrug and don’t reply. He doesn’t seem like a person to me.
Maceo gets progressively drunker as the night deepens outside. Emin wanders through the crowd, laughing loudly, handing out drinks, and trying to make the party feel more like a party instead of a funeral. The tension is undeniable, and I get the sense that these men are waiting for something bad to happen.
Something like my father striking back. Something sudden and very violent.
Like they think some of them won’t survive the night.
Emin approaches and sits on the edge of our table and holds a drink up. “To the happy couple,” he says, grinning.
Maceo grunts. “Nothing happy about this farce.”
It’s almost comforting to know that my new husband hates this as much as I do.
“Come now, don’t be like that. You’ll embarrass your pretty new bride.”
“It’s okay. He’s right,” I say, staring at the table.
Emin sighs and shakes his head. “You two need to start playing along. Do you think Fergal Halloran’s going to forgive the death of his son if his daughter’s acting like her life is over, too?”
“My life is over.” I glare at him, unwilling to make this easy. “You can strut around and pretend like this sham changes anything, but we both know it’s a sick joke.”
“No, you see, that’s where you’re wrong.” Emin’s head tilts to the side and his smile fades. “Think about your future, Daley. Think about the children you’ll have with Maceo. You may hate him and everyone in here right now, but you’ll love those kids. You’ll love them so damn much. Think about them, Daley, and imagine what their lives will be like if they’re born into constant war. Is that what you want?”
I shake my head nice and slow. “I’ll cut out my own uterus before I get pregnant by you sick fucks.”
“Oh, Daley,” Emin says sadly. “You won’t. You will have babies, so many fucking babies, and those children will tie our families together tighter than anything else. While I took a son, I will replace him with a dozen or more grandchildren.”
My stomach twists and I look down at my hands. I think I might be sick. I haven’t eaten since the morning meal, and I’m dizzy with hunger, but the idea of putting anything inside of my body sounds horrible right now. I want to scream, but screaming will only make this nightmare worse, a nightmare I’ll never wake from.