For this woman, I can give it all up.
Maybe not today.
Or tomorrow.
But soon.
Epilogue
Viviana
* * *
It’s only been three months since everything went down. Things were crazy at first. They arrested my father. It was an open and shut case. The proof Ana had collected of his involvement with Matteo’s uncle's human trafficking ring was substantial. He won’t be getting out of jail soon. I haven’t spoken to my mother since Salvatore took me, and I don’t plan to. Last I heard, she left the country, and is living with some family we have in Sicily, far away from any scandal regarding my father.
Matteo and I have settled into a comfortable routine, whatever comfortable can be when you’re married to the mob.
We spent the first few weeks making sure we got Ana the best care available. Now that she’s in a good place, a safe place, I have been brainstorming what I want to do with the rest of my life.
As much as I love lazy days with my husband, I need to work.
Julia often brainstorms with me, and we come up with some great ideas, but nothing concrete yet.
I hear the footsteps before I see him.
Turning over my shoulder, I smile up at him as he walks into the room.
“Is he potty trained yet?” he asks, looking down into my lap. Snuggling against me is the rescue puppy we adopted last month. We aren’t exactly sure what breed he is, but if I had to harbor a guess, I would say he’s a mix of a cavalier and a poodle. Matteo claims we needed a big scary dog, but when I saw Bruce, I knew he was for me.
According to the shelter, someone left Bruce on the side of the road.
The moment I heard the story, I felt an instant connection. Not that I was left on the side of the road, but I knew what it was like not to be wanted by your family.
Since then, I have spent almost every waking hour with the tiny bundle of fur. Matteo, however, has been slower to warm up, not appreciating the fact that Bruce doesn’t like to pee outside. Instead, he prefers to pee on furniture and carpet . . . and well anywhere that drives my husband crazy.
“He’s getting better,” I offer as my answer.
“So, he’s still shitting everywhere?”
“He’s not shitting everywhere,” I mumble under my breath.
His right eyebrow lifts, challenging me.
“Fine. He had an accident . . . or three today.” Matteo’s eyes go wide at my words. “But he’s totally trying.”
“Whatever you say.” Matteo walks farther into the room before stopping closer to me. My jaw chooses that moment to rattle from the chilly air. “Are you cold?”
The blanket wrapped around me and the puppy sitting on my lap do little to warm me.
“A bit.”
“Let me start a fire.”
“That’s okay . . .” I trail off, looking down at the floor. His hand touches my jaw and lifts it, so I’m once again looking into his eyes.
“Viviana.” His voice is powerful yet comforting as he says my name.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Do you think I would ever hurt you?”
My head shakes back and forth. “Of course not.”
“Do you think I would let anything hurt you . . .” He leads, and I know exactly what he’s implying. My irrational fear of fire.
“Well, no. But—”
“No buts. I won’t. So right now. Right here. In our house, I’m going to teach you how to light a fire. I’m going to show you how to keep it controlled.”
He reaches his hand out to me to take and I stare at him blankly. I know my fear is stupid. I haven’t even allowed myself to light a candle, or fire since. Even when we lost power so many months ago and Matteo lit them, I couldn’t control how my heart raced.
“It’s stupid. I don’t know why I can’t.”
He grasps me and pulls me up, Bruce stepping off me and curling into a ball, watching us from where he now rests as Matteo pulls me toward the fireplace. Beside it are logs.
“We are going to start by placing two pieces of wood on the grate.” He moves to grab it, doing the work for me. I’m relieved by it, but something tells me he’s going to make me light it. Once he sets the logs down, he grabs a few pieces of newspaper that he has resting on the table, ready for this exact moment. He crumples it up. Once it’s ready, he turns to me. “Are you ready to light the kindling?”
“No.”
“You can do this. You went up against my cousin, you took a bullet for me, you can light it.” His voice leaves no room for objection.
I look down at the match, and the paper now stuffed between wood.
Taking the match in my hand, I stare at it. How can something so little be so scary?