“Never underestimatemyass.”
Luca just about runs out the door, until I grab him and make him kiss me in front of the guards and anyone else who might be watching from the streets. His cheeks color up, but he doesn’t try to push me away. I stay out onto the stoop to wave goodbye to him, and to Brother Frank, who’s picking him up. Frank gives me an enthusiastic wave back.
I turn to Marco after we watch them drive off together. Faithful Marco. Luca’s loyal dog. More importantly, my driver. “We’re gonna have a busy day today, Marco. Hope you’re ready for it.”
We hit a florist, a linen supplier, a restaurant—Tino’s favorite in the city, which makes his favorite food—one ofmyfavorite stores to order something special for Luca, and then to the hairdresser, where I get my roots touched up by a pro. I want everything to be perfect on Friday night. I want to show Luca exactly what a good little househusband I can be—and how far we can go if we work together as a team.
Luca comes back for dinner that night as ordered—even a little earlier, and I get on my knees for him the second we’re alone.
“That was quite a welcome home,” he says breathlessly afterwards.
“I’m using positive reinforcement,” I tell him cheerfully, and laugh at his expression.
I even persuade him to take me out rather than eating at home, to a local Italian place that Marco told me has Morelli Family ties. Luca still insists on a booth in the back of the restaurant where he has a full view of the door and bathrooms, and we have not only Marco sitting across the room from us, but two more of Luca’s crew show up as well, one near the door and one near the kitchen.
Not many customers hang around once they get a view of who’s sitting in the restaurant, but I make Luca leave a sizeable tip.
“I can’t afford—” he starts.
“Wecan’t afford not to keep people on our side, husband. Besides, you’re Capo now, right? Earning more?”
“That doesn’t mean we have money to throw around, Finch.” But he still does as I suggested and bumps the tip up.
My husband’s attitude to money is ingrained in him. But then, mine is also ingrained in me. And now that things are looking up at home, I feel like I want to spread myself around town a little more than I have been these last few months.
“I fancy a shopping spree today, Marco,” I tell my bodyguard the next day. “I’m going to shower and get ready, and then I think we’ll pick up my sister-in-law, and drive up and down Manhattan for the day. What do you say?”
Marco grins. I guess the prospect of driving me around town is more interesting than staying in, waiting for something to happen. “Your wish is my command, Mr. D’Amato.”
It’s only after I go back upstairs to get ready that it hits me: I didn’t correct him, didn’t insist on being at Donovan, not a D’Amato. I look down at the ring that I never take off now, not even to wash my hands, on Luca’s insistence.
Maybe I really do consider myself a D’Amato now.
Chapter Thirty-Two
FINCH
Celia is fuckingthrilledto hang out with her new gay BFF, and I’m fucking thrilled to have someone new to talk to. Marco is up in the front, but he’s done his best to look like a legit bodyguard today instead of a Mob heavy. All credit to him, he scrubs up well.
“Frank won’t be happy about me using up the credit card again,” Celia confides to me after our third stop. I’ve taken her to all my favorite couture places, and then conceded to Celia’s deep need to visit Saks.
“What are our husbandsforif not to get angry about our spending?” I ask airily.
Celia offers me a pill for the third time today, after taking one herself. I’m about to decline for the third time when I figure she’ll only keep pushing them on me. So I shake out a handful and shove them in my pocket. “For later,” I tell her. “I’m taking a break after my trip to the hospital.”Thatshould shut her up.
“You sure had us worried that day,” Celia says, eyes going round for a second as she remembers. “Hey, I hope you got ahold of Connie okay?” she asks, changing the subject. Celia is the one who gave me Connie’s phone number, after suggesting I extend my invitation to Tino Morelli through Connie instead of direct. It was a clever suggestion on Celia’s part, but I figure she liked the idea of getting one over on Marie Fuscone.
Celia’s phone rings as Marco pulls away from the curb, and she squeals when she sees the name. I do a double take: Maggie Donovan.
“We swapped numbers at the wedding,” Celia tells me, before answering my sister’s call.
I’m still not allowed to have my own phone. I’m not sure if it’s still athing, or if Luca has simply forgotten that I don’t have one. It occurred to me to lift Celia’s from her when she wasn’t looking one day, but I didn’t.
I’ve found myself feeling strangely free without a phone.
None of my old friends can contact me. And I’ve totally lost any sense of FOMO now that I can’t get on social media. I don’t have any accounts under my real name on Insta, Facebook, or the rest of them—evenI’mnot that dumb. When your Pops is Howard Donovan and your Mom was killed by a contract hit, you keep your head down and you make sure you stay out of other people’s photos too, as best you can. But I still liked to internet-stalk my friends’ accounts from time to time, and all those celebrities who seem to have nothing better to do than post pictures of their fabulous lives.
It all seems so pointless now, looking at those other lives.
