Florentine Lovelace sat in the middle of her father's study. The spines of leather lawbooks watched her with the slight contempt of jurors in a court room. They knew that she had forsaken her family. Their leathery faces seemed to grimace at her pale skin in the afternoon light.
"An outsider" they whispered. She had seen those faces before. They were the faces of the people below on the cobblestone streets. Their olive skin twitched slightly as her complexion glided down the street. Some women looked on her in jealously, others with curiosity. Light skin was the marker of Northern Italians. Here in Sicily, they looked upon her like the Aztecs looked upon Cortes; they thought of her as Quetzalcoatl. Her estrangement was a parting gift from her mother, an English student on visa. She had died during child birth, but she made sure to pass her pale skin onto her daughter. Perhaps, that is why her father looked at her like a stranger in his southern household. Unlike his daughter, his face was a proper Italian face. When Mussolini gave his speeches in public, he would stand on podiums with stone etchings on them. They depicted the last empire, the Roman empire, passing their legacy onto modern Italians. Her father's face resembled the chiseled legion that passed the baton to the Italian soldier. Like the legion, her father wanted to pass his legacy onto her. He had groomed her as his father had groomed him, but this grooming would also push her away.
-Why don't you complete your degree here? Why do you want to take an American test?
In order to become a lawyer in Italy, a person must have a 'Laurea in Scienze Giuridiche', or a degree in Legal sciences. After undergraduate school, the student applies to a graduate program in the same path, but Florentine did not want to remain in Italy. Her father's reach extended too far.
-I want to be a Lawyer in America.
She said those words tentatively. It comprised one of the longer exchanges that they had recently. Her father must have been surprised by her adamancy because he remained quiet for an abnormal duration, but he quickly regained his composure.
-Florentina, I can't take care of you if you leave. If you stay, then you will have all the resources of the family at your disposal. Giulia can cook for you, and clean for you. Your housing will be paid for. If you want, then you can live at home. Let me take care of you.
-Like you took care of mom?
Her father's eyes widened at the mention of his dead wife. It was the most emotion that she had ever seen her father show. She felt a pain in her chest as she took advantage of her father's state.
- I know what the family does, and I don't want a part of it.
- Don't use your mom against me. You don't know anything. You don't know what I endured for you. You are just a girl.
The pain on her chest tightened as she replied, but she needed to be free of her father. It took her a couple years to find out that her mother's death wasn't natural. Whenever she pried her father about it, he told her that she had died during child birth. Yet, those years had given her the ammunition against her father that she needed. When she dropped the knife that killed her mom into her father's hand, she whispered one word.
-Murderer.