“How is Natalia?” I ask about my littlest niece, my only niece. Rosa’s only daughter turned six years old.

  Santo grins. “Perfect.”

  Romeo clears his throat. “Anything we need to know about what happened behind bars, brother?”

  I shake my head. “No, man. Only thing I want you to know is that I’m recruiting my cellmate to be one of us.” Romeo’s face registers mild surprise, his eyebrows rising. He trusts me. I’ve never recruited anyone to our family before, and he likely knows that if I am now, it’s for good reason.

  “Anyone give you shit?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t they? I got it handled, though.”

  Romeo grins. “Of course you do.”

  We have a lot to catch up on. Romeo instructs Santo to take us to one of our restaurants in the North End. My family owns bakeries and restaurants, among other establishments. God, does it feel good to be back. The tension in my shoulders eases just with the smell of garlic, olive oil, and basil from one of our plants in the back.

  “You getting sentimental in your old age, old man?” Mario says, smacking my back. I shrug. Maybe I am.

  We feast on scallops, frutti di mare, parmigiana di melanzane, and fresh-baked focaccia bread dipped in olive oil imported from Italy while my brothers fill me in. They tell me everything that’s happened. Who’s gotten married, who’s gotten divorced, who’s had a baby, who’s died. We have a large family from here to Italy.

  It isn’t until we’re feasting on tiramisu and drinking espresso that Romeo clears his throat, and everyone goes silent. “I told you I had a surprise for you, Orlando.”

  I look at him and hold his gaze a moment. “This isn’t it?”

  He shakes his head. “No.” He clears his throat. “Tavi’s arranged marriage fell through.”

  Shit, I know where this is going.

  “And you know stealing from The Family is a death sentence, unless you have something very, very good to trade.”

  “I do.”

  There’s a pregnant pause before he continues. “The Regazza father stole from us, brother.”

  “And?”

  “We accepted his bargain.”

  I already know what he’s gonna tell me. I already know where this is going. But I want to hear him say the words. I want him to voice it.

  “What’s her name?”

  He sighs. “Elise Regazza.”

  I’ve known for a very long time that when I marry and what I do with the rest of my life is not my choice, is beyond my control. It’s no matter, I tell myself. Marriage for my family means nothing. A business arrangement, no more, no less.

  Romeo clears his throat. “Youngest daughter. She’s gorgeous, brother. Never saw her myself, but Rosa did. Swore she’d be a good fit.”

  “What about Mama?”

  “What about her?” There’s challenge in his eyes.

  “You tell her?”

  He shakes his head. “She’ll want a big wedding, big to-do. This needs to happen fast. We need more solidification in our Family after what’s happened in the past year.” He sighs. It isn’t just what happened when I was behind bars but my father’s death as well. “The Family’s weaker now, Orlando.”

  I look to Tavi. “What happened to the girl you were going to marry?”

  He scowls. “Suicide.”

  Jesus.

  “Did you know her?” I don’t know why it matters to me.

  He shakes his head.

  Suicide. Jesus. She could’ve been married to my brother, a good man, one could argue. Mob, yeah, but loyal to the core. He’d have taken good care of her. But she took her own life in the face of marriage to a man she didn’t know.

  “When?”

  Romeo draws in a breath and lets it out slowly. “Tonight. We’ve arranged for her to meet you in your townhouse, and Father Richard’s ready to preside.” He smiles. “Your welcome home present.”

  There’s a reason I was released early. I don’t know what Romeo did to make that happen. Not sure I want to know.

  And then it dawns on me. If we need to marry rapidly, we need to replenish our soldiers. “Who, Romeo? Who died?”

  He looks at the table. I’m fixated on the way his fingertips steeple.

  “Nicolo. Matteo. Marcellus.” His voice cracks. “We almost lost Leo, but he’s in intensive care, and he’s not going down that fucking easily.”

  God. God.

  Nicolo, Matteo, Marcellus, all cousins.

  The food I’ve eaten sits like a rock in my belly. If I’d been there…

  Santo knows me well. “Don’t beat yourself up, Orlando. You couldn’t have helped us if you were there.”

  I shake my head. He knows it’s a lie. He knows I’m the group heavy, I’m the one that battles to the death, that I never leave a brother in need and that I fight to kill.

  “You said she’s waiting for me?”

  Romeo nods. “She will be, shortly.”

  I’ll do what I have to for my brotherhood.

  This is not going to be a wedding with a lot of ceremony. We haven’t had a big wedding party in ages. Sometimes, a wedding is merely a quick affair.

  I’m wearing faded civilian clothing. I need a shower and I’ll be good. “Who’s met her before? Just Rosa?”

  Romeo nods.

  I think about this, what the implications are for our family, what we need to do next. “You don’t just need me to marry, do you?”

  Romeo looks away. His own wife has been unable to bear him children. It’s likely a sore point for him. But I know how The Family works, I know what’s expected. I’ll marry this woman I’ve never met. I’ll have her as my wife, and give her everything that’s expected, everything she needs. In turn, she’ll learn what my expectations are, but as a mafia daughter, I expect she already knows much of it.

  But I know what else I have to do. Now that my father’s gone and Romeo and I are the only ones who’ll be married, not only do I have to marry, but I’ll have to have children. Fucking breed her.

  “You said Rosa is in Tuscany. Does anybody have her number?” I don’t have a cell phone. All of my belongings were taken from me when I was arraigned, and I sent my personal belongings home. Romeo takes out his cell phone, a sleek black number, hits a button on the side and hands it to me. “Call Rosa.”

  It’s late there. She doesn’t answer.

  I hang up the call and hit the side button again. “Call Marialena.”

  The phone rings, and she picks it up on the third ring.

  “Romeo? Do you have him? Did you bring him to his townhouse yet? Is she pretty?”

  “For fuck’s sake, Marialena.”

  There’s a pause and then, “Oh my God, Orlando!”

  “Yeah, it’s me. How are you?”

  “I heard what was happening, and I’m just worried is all. But Rosa says that she’s really sweet. She likes to shop, but whatever, so do I. She really likes her fashion, but again, so do I. She’s…maybe four, five years younger than you are. Um…I don’t really know what else except that her dad probably kind of spoiled her, but you know, maybe she outgrew that.”

  I roll my eyes mentally. And maybe she didn’t. Yeah, I can handle that. I won’t have a spoiled wife.

  “What does she look like?”

  “I have no idea. But I know Romeo wouldn’t arrange for a marriage to somebody who’s ugly. She must be pretty.”

  I snort. It’s all subjective.

  “Alright, thanks. See you soon, kiddo.”

  I can deal with a brat. I practically raised Marialena. I can deal with someone who’s cranky. I’m no walk in the park myself. I could even deal with a girl that wasn’t pretty, since beauty’s in the eye of the beholder and all that. But I can’t deal with a nag or a bitch. I’m not gonna play games.

  At this point, I don’t fucking care. Men in my family often lay down their lives for us. The least I can do is marry.

  We make it to my place in town.

  God, it feels good to come home. I’m looking forward to getting up to The Castle, to eating Mama and Nonna’s good food. Kicking back in front of a fire. Having a drink with my brothers. But not now.

  We all own various homes throughout the world. We all have residences at The Castle and north of Boston, various locales in Boston proper, and Tuscany as well. Romeo has a new place in Bora Bora too.

  I was only twenty-one years old when I bought my first home. But this is the first time I see it through the eyes of a possible future wife. Will she like what she sees?

  Do I care?

  My parents had a loveless marriage, my grandparents as well. But Romeo… Romeo gives me hope.

  Jesus. Apparently being in the big house has made me soft.

  My marriage will be nothing more than a business transaction.

  I’ve got what I need. A hot shower to soak my muscles after a hard workout. Refrigerator well-stocked with cold beer, wine from my family’s vineyard, and food from my family’s restaurants in the North End. I don’t care about decorations, or subway tile, or whatever fucking granite countertops are the most recent. Marialena came with me and helped me pick out the decor and we paid plenty for it.

  She said that my future wife is a shopper. I can handle shopping. My family has more money than they know what to do with, and my wife will be very well-off.

  She’ll earn it though. I have my expectations. We all do. In the Rossi family, men are the heads of their houses. And that doesn’t change, no matter who we are.

  I stand in the broad overhead lighting of my kitchen and stretch my arms up over my head. It’s the first time I’ve been able to fucking do that. A prison cell is the worst type of punishment for a guy like me, big and tall and bulky. I got almost used to the daily backaches from the confined space and tiny beds.

  I’ll sleep like a fucking king tonight in my own bed.

  Then I realize, I won’t be alone.

  Jesus, Romeo. Didn’t give me a goddamn break. I know time’s of the essence, though.

  It feels fucking good to be out of there. I don’t even know what I want to eat first, where I wanna go first, what I wanna do first. But a part of me wonders… Marrying so quickly after getting out of prison, will it be like being back in prison?

  As I go through my home, like a stroll with a long-lost friend, I can tell someone’s been here. Fresh bouquets of flowers sit on the kitchen counter, and in the bedroom on the nightstand. Candles are lined up on my dresser, high-end deals that look handmade with varying heights, all cream colored and scented vanilla.

  “Marialena?” I ask Romeo. He nods and smiles. He’s always had a soft spot for her. “Of course. Who else?”

  Marialena gets very excited about the prospect of a new sister in the family. She’s become best friends with Romeo’s Vittoria, and I have no doubt she’ll try to befriend my new wife as well. While the men of our family rule the house, and handle the expectations of royalty, the women frequently buckle under the pressure of what’s expected of them. Tavi’s betrothed who ended her own life is a testament to this.

  They are expected to marry, but never for love. It’s a hard sacrifice to make, but we’re expected to do the same. Not sure it’s any easier for us.

  The number one tenet of being a Rossi, as anyone who is raised in the mob knows, is that every life decision must benefit The Family.

  As in everything we do, it must strengthen our ties.

  Rosa married a man in Tuscany, who cheated on her. She’s now single, with a daughter, and not as eligible to marry as is a single virgin.

  That’s one thing I have going for me. Any woman that I marry will be a virgin. Unsullied. I’ll be the first man that ever touches her, if she’s followed The Family’s laws.

  Maybe I can make this work. Maybe Romeo isn’t the only Rossi brother that marries for love.

  My brothers bring me into the bedroom, where a tux waits.

  “Mama will kill you when she finds out.”

  He nods. “I can handle Mama.” Yeah, we’ll see about that.

  I take a quick shower and enjoy every minute of the luxurious feel of soap on my skin, the hot water I let run and run.

  In my mind, I’m still confined in that prison that smells like urine and hatred and despair. I don’t know how long it will take me to forget any of that, or if I ever will.

  Someone knocks on the door. I’ve been in here so long, my fingers are like raisins.

  “Yeah?”

  “Father Richard’s here, man.” Mario.

  I close my eyes and let the steaming hot water pelt against my face.

  “On my way.”

  CHAPTER 4

  “It is too hard a knot for me t'untie.” ~Twelfth Night, Shakespeare

  “Elise”

  Elise and I texted the entire flight. We didn’t get into details about location or anything that might give either of us away if our phones were hacked, which they probably are. Her bodyguard kept her safe, bringing her all the way to the Switzerland border by car, and now here I am. God, I have no idea what will happen next, but I owe this to her. I can do this.

  I’m so pumped on adrenaline I can hardly think straight. The pilot and flight attendant don’t bat an eye when they see me. Either I look enough like Elise to pull off the ruse, or they just don’t care.

  “Get me a seltzer water. Please,” I tack on as an afterthought. Elise can be bossy when it comes to hired help.

  “Of course, Miss.” The flight attendant gives me a tall glass with ice and a wedge of lime. “Just as you like it.”

  Is that a knowing look in her eye, or is that my imagination? I’m so nervous I can hardly swallow it, but I sit up straight and merely nod my thanks.

  “How soon until we land?”

  “Just under an hour.” She smiles politely. I remember what Piero said about feigning “a crash or something.” Now that I’m actually facing the possibility of a crash, I feel suddenly nauseous.

  Will we crash? Is that what Piero planned?

  The flight attendant’s gone back to adjusting snacks and beverages at the front of the plane. I clear my throat to get her attention.

  “Yes?”

  “Um. Have you…” It’s risky, asking for any information. I don’t know if she’s in league with the Regazzas or the Rossis or anyone. “Have you spoken to Piero?”

  She holds my gaze a half a second too long for my comfort, and her smile seems a bit colder. “Not since we left. Why?”

  “Oh,” I say, feigning nonchalance. “No reason.”

  She goes back to her preparations without another word. My stomach plummets with the turbulence, before I realize we’re heading downward, the nose of the plane tipping forward. I gasp.

  “Nothing to worry about, Elise,” she says casually. “Surely you’re not afraid? You’re the bravest flyer I’ve ever met. We’re only preparing to land.”

  I breathe in deeply, then release a breath. My chest expands and deflates. I decide it’s best not to reply, as I watch the clouds zoom past the windows like lightning, and my stomach hits my shoes.

  I text Elise.

  Me: Did you talk to Piero? What’s his plan?

  No response. I wait another half a minute and still, nothing.

  Me: Hello? Yoo-hoo. Elise? Babe, we’re about to land… or crash… and I don’t know what’s happening next.

  Nothing.

  My stomach clenches when we hit a particularly rough patch. I close my eyes and try to remember how to breathe through my nose. We’re going to crash. I know it.

  I text Elise again, but there’s no response. Oh God, I hope she’s okay. I don’t know what her father is capable of and wouldn’t put it past him to hurt her. I try to put my troubled mind at rest, but the next bout of turbulence makes me whimper out loud.

  “Breathe,” the flight attendant says. I didn’t even realize she’s at my side. She leans in and murmurs in my ear. “The pilot doesn’t know who you are. I do. I’ve escorted Elise on many flights, and you may look like her from afar, but you’re not Elise.”

  Shit. I breathe in through my nose, too petrified of the looming crash to worry about what she’s telling me.

  “Piero paid me to help you escape, but then you’re on your own. I’ve already gone above and beyond the call of duty.”

  I nod wordlessly, for if I open my mouth, I’m going to be sick, and throwing up on the only advocate I have is probably a terrible mistake.

  “We’re not going to really crash. It’s too unpredictable. We’re calling it a rocky landing, and it will cause enough distraction for you to get away.” She lowers her voice to a whisper, as my heart beats faster. “But listen to me. You are on your own. You get me?”

  I nod. “Of course.”

  “Good.”

  The plane dips again, and I realize for the first time I can actually see the ground below us. I close my eyes so I don’t see and tell myself I’m just elevating, elevating, and no one will hurt me. I can get through this. I’ve gotten through so much more than this.

  “When the plane hits, you get to the exit, and you run.”

  I nod, but don’t look at her, my eyes still closed tightly against the pounding in my ears.

  She curses under her breath in Italian, and even though my Italian isn’t the best, I swear I hear her say something about stupid little girl. But I don’t have time to be affronted, because the next bit of turbulence rocks me to my very core.

  “Hey!” she yells. “You don’t have to make it so—” But she never completes her sentence. The plane’s dragged down, then up, and we’re both screaming as we’re tossed about like ice in a blender. I grit my teeth, too scared to make a sound, and when we hit, something smacks my head. And everything comes to a stuttering halt.

  “I got her.” A deep, masculine voice with an edge of a rasp in it. “She’s over here.”

  “You got the pilot? Flight attendant?”

  “Yeah, they’re fine.”

  I try to open my eyes, but they’re so heavy. I’m enveloped in the smell of leather and pine, warm in the back of—

  I sit up, and my head hits the back of the seat. I wince on impact. Oh, God. I’m in someone’s car and I’m being taken somewhere.

 

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