“Yeah.”
I don’t offer much more than that. I don’t know what else to say.
Our kids will be born into mafia life, just like we were. If I have a son, he’ll inherit the keys to the kingdom one day. And if I have a daughter… I look at Elise and close the door on that train of thought.
“Did you go to college?” I ask, changing the subject.
“A little, but it was boring so I dropped out,” she says with a shrug. “You?”
“Got an offer from Harvard but didn’t accept.”
She tips her head to the side curiously. “Wait. Wait. You could’ve gone to Harvard? So you’re smarter than I thought.”
“Watch it, girl.”
I reach over and tickle her ribs. She squeals with laughter. “Did you… like, do special science experiments? Join the robotics team in high school?” I tickle her harder but she doesn’t stop. “Were you in a band, Tavi?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
Maybe all of those things.
God, it feels so good to relax, to really let loose with her.
We’re touching down, and she breathes a bit more freely. The sun sets outside our windows. Now’s the time to ask her, to get to the dual purpose of my questions.
I clear my throat and sober. “Next question.”
“Yeah?”
“What’d you see in the warehouse?”
She looks out the window and doesn’t hesitate. She likely knows there’s no point in hiding anything from me.
“There was a broken pair of sunglasses in the corner of the room. They looked like ones that belonged to someone I once knew, but they couldn’t have been. He’s been dead for months.”
“Could’ve been there for months, no?”
“No,” she says hollowly. “He was with me during my escape. They belonged to my bodyguard, Piero, but he hasn’t been to America in years.”
Piero.
The man I ordered killed.
I drop the subject.
CHAPTER 10
Elise
The next week passes in a sort of blur, and I have to admit, this is the best time I’ve ever had since I came to America as the Rossi family prisoner.
Technically, I still am a prisoner. He still has that godforsaken thing implanted in my arm like a psychopath. But I know now he really isn’t one. Santo, on the other hand… now he may be. But I have very little to do with him if I can help it.
At least that’s the plan.
The day before the wedding, I’m getting my final fitting for my dress. Something smells delicious in the downstairs kitchen, but I’m too nervous to eat. The door bursts open and Marialena comes in, carrying a few grocery bags.
“Tonight, we party, loves!”
“Party,” as if we won’t have half a dozen bodyguards on us at any given time. Tavi’s given his consent for all of us to go into the North End, though. We’ll start at Orlando’s restaurant.
“Ta-da!” the seamstress says proudly. She spins me around so I can get a look in the full-length mirror.
“Oh. Oh, wow,” I breathe.
Marialena whistles, coming up beside me. “Oh, honey,” she says with a wicked gleam in her eye. “My brother is gonna lose. His. Mind.”
Tavi was able to score the dress I really wanted. He paid a small fortune to have it overnighted from Italy, and the seamstress got started the first day it arrived. I think he liked that I had a pretty crazy request, though. It was one thing he could do, one thing he could control in all this.
Thankfully, the alterations were minor, but it needed the hem brought up and a good tuck. The brocade fabric has a shimmery, pearly finish, and the entire upper part of the dress is made of small flower petals handsewn into a strapless bodice. Fitted tulle gathers at the waist then flows like a waterfall in a glittering skirt that makes me feel like a princess.
The back looks almost bare, but it’s a sheer fabric with a swirl of rhinestone-studded pearls, as whimsical as wispy clouds on a summer day.
“It’s… it’s perfect,” I breathe. I spin and twirl and glance over my shoulder, and every damn angle’s as magical as the first.
We’re in the guest room on the second floor with the door closed but we can hear the men chatting and laughing in the reception room below. Tavi’s down there, likely toasting his wedding before his bachelor party tonight.
I wish he could see me. I feel suddenly nervous and agitated, but I don’t know why. I crave his stern, immovable presence. If there’s anything Tavi’s got going for him it’s that he’s solid and dependable.
I hear heavy steps outside the door, but they’re too slow to be Tavi’s. The door opens without a knock, and Nonna comes in bearing a tray of golden butter cookies piled high, the edges fringed with delicate pink sprinkles.
“Mangia, Elise!” She goes on to scold me in Italian, telling me I’ll keel over at the alter if I don’t put some food in my belly.