“Just call me if she gives you any trouble.”
“You got it,” Marlena’s personal bodyguard replies easily.
I give his hand a good shake. I feel like I’m a pretty good judge of character, and I approve of this man. I know he’ll treat Marlena with respect while making sure she’s safe. With that sorted out, I climb into the back of the limo and tell the driver to take me to Bella’s.
This restaurant is Carmine’s home away from home. His sister-in-law is the head chef, and she’s amazing. By the time I’m shown to a booth and handed a menu, my stomach is grumbling.Carmine finds me there a moment later and pulls the menu from my hand.
“Bring him the carbonara with pork,” Carmine says. “Emilia just added it to the menu last month, and it’s amazing.”
I nod, willing to give up control over my meal in exchange for the inside scoop. Honestly, I don’t care what I eat, as long as it is cooked with love.
“So, how’s Frankie doing?” Carmine asks again, sitting opposite me while we wait for my food.
“He’s in law school,” I report.
“Oh.” Carmine makes the sign of the cross. It’s a running joke in our business that lawyers are like the devil.
I laugh. “He found this tutor, who’s really a great woman.”
“Ah?” Carmine says, intrigued. “Do I hear wedding bells in the future?”
“For me,” I explain. “Not for him.”
“You’re marrying the tutor?” Carmine gasps, amused by the unexpected turn of events.
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” I admit.
A waiter shows up with a big plate of carbonara. I pause long enough to fill my stomach with the good stuff. It’s expertly cooked, just buttery and light enough to encourage me to continue long after I’m full. I finish the whole plate and reach for a wine glass to wash it down.
“More?” Carmine asks, raising his hand to signal for the waiter.
“No,” I say, motioning to my stomach. “I’ve got a young bride. I need to watch my figure.”
“If only I had that problem,” Carmine laughs.
“It actually is somewhat of a problem,” I admit, getting down to the specifics that I want to discuss. “She’s Vincent Rocca’s daughter.”
“Vincent?” Carmine asks, as if he doesn’t know.
“His name isn’t in the family archives, but I’m sure you’re aware. He’s the son of Manuel Rocca.”
“Ah,” Carmine says, leaning back in his seat.
I’ve said the name that no one in his family has been allowed to say for generations. I know Manuel was chased out of the country for his misdeeds, but I’m sure they’ve been keeping tabs on his family. In our business, information is power, and you can’t afford to completely ignore anyone, no matter what your grievances.
“You know what I’m talking about,” I insist.
Carmine thinks for a beat, tearing the corner off a paper napkin. “Alright, I do. Vincent Rocca. Freelance hitman.”
“That’s him,” I confirm.
“And you’re marrying his daughter?” Carmine connects the dots.
“That’s right,” I say. “I know we were going to unite our families through marriage way back when.”
“Viviana, God rest her soul,” Carmine agrees, making the sign of the cross again.
“God rest her soul,” I repeat.
