“Sorry, did you just say you want to have kids with me?” I asked, shaking my head. “What was in that drink?”
He laughed and shifted to sit down in the chair next to me. “I’m not saying we need to have kids right now, but it would be fun to make them,” he said.
“And then there’d be dirty diapers, sleepless nights, and, oh, yeah, our marriage is a sham based on money, so—” I stopped myself before I could go down that never-ending rabbit hole.
He laughed and held up his hands. “All fair points. And even still, thinking about fucking you, coming between your legs, getting you pregnant with my baby—”
“What is wrong with you people?” I asked and jumped to my feet. “Is there some rule in the mafia where you have to say crazy things?”
“Babies with you wouldn’t be so bad,” he said. “At least you’d have something to do for the next five years.”
I clenched my jaw so hard I thought it might break. “Is that what you think of me?” I asked. “I’m some baby factory for you? Some toy for you to fuck and get pregnant?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s what you said.” I stormed to the door. “God, every time we talk, I’m reminded why you’re such an ass.”
“Mags,” he said, standing. “Wait, hold on. I’m just saying, kids might be a good idea.”
“For you, maybe,” I said. “For me, not so much. God, you’re unbelievable.”
“Think about it,” he said.
I flipped him off and left his office.
Bea stood in the hallway wiping her hands on her apron. “Are you okay?” she asked.
I stormed past her. “I’m surrounded by crazy people,” I said.
She gave me a sympathetic smile. “Yes, you are, dear.”
I went upstairs and slammed my bedroom door shut. I collapsed into bed, the buzz of the whiskey sliding into my skull, and buried my head under my pillows. I don’t know how today happened, but suddenly my uncle and my husband both wanted me to get pregnant, and I didn’t know which was worse.
No, I knew. My husband wanting it was much, much worse.
Kids were a bad idea. A very bad idea. It would bind me to him forever, and I’d never get away. But the fact that he was interested in it, that he didn’t dismiss it outright—
That sent a very strange thrill through my chest.
Not that I’d do it, because no way, that was literally insane. But I liked that he wanted to, or at least that he was considering it.
I liked that he wanted me.
Which only freaked me out more, of course, and made me realize that while I was definitely living in the midst of some very crazy people—
Maybe I was the craziest of all them.
9
Dean
The church on Washington Avenue rose up like a spire above the industrial cityscape. This part of Philadelphia used to be a bustling metropolis of work in small-time factories building cars, instruments, anything that needed shaping and heating and molding from the great furnaces that fired in their bellies. Those factories were long gone, but the church remained.
Sunday Mass was a tradition in my family. I hated it, especially when I was younger, and back then my father let me bring novels to read in the pew so long as I kept them hidden and I stayed quiet. In retrospect, I figured I could’ve stripped naked and screamed my head off and nobody would have made a sound about it, considering how much money my father donated to the parish and how important he was to all the families that attended the church.
“Is this something I should get used to?” Mags asked as I parked and killed the engine. She wore a conservative designer dress, skirt to her knees, top form-fitted but up to her throat.
“Probably,” I said, watching the line of people in their good clothes march up the church steps. “Lots of the parishioners are related to the family. They’ve got made sons or uncles or fathers, or maybe they do business with us. It’s good for me to show my face around here though.”
“Since you’re the new Don,” she said, and tilted her head a bit. “Have you gotten used to it yet?”
“Not yet,” I admitted.
“So it hasn’t gone to your head.”
I gave her a look but smiled despite myself. She had a way about her when she wanted to tease me. She could say things no other person in this world could get away with, and it wasn’t just because she was my wife. There was a tone she used, like she knew she was being a little scamp and breaking some rules, but she didn’t care.
I liked that about her. I wanted her to be wild and free.
“Not yet,” I said, grinning. “Now come on. Let’s get in there before Mass starts.”