“Pft.” She waves her hands at me. “It is nothing to be worried about.”
I wish I could share her confidence, but I have a really bad feeling about this.
He turns his face to me. “A cool cloth on her face will help with her temperature.”
“Thank you.” I nod at the man as he slips out of the room while I head to Mama’s en suite bathroom.
“I’m worried,” I tell her when I return with a cool cloth. I perch beside her on the bed, lightly dabbing the cloth over her clammy skin.
“Don’t be,” she says, cupping my cheek. “I’ll be fine. I’m sure it’s just a bug or a mild infection.”
“What if it’s not?”
“Bella Donna. I think you have enough worries without worrying about me.” Unspoken words hover in the air between us. “Be careful,” she adds, looking like she wants to say more.
Mama falls asleep, and after tucking the covers around her and pulling the drapes closed, I tiptoe out of her bedroom and down the stairs.
I am walking past Papa’s office, staring at the closed door, when an idea forms in my head. Without stopping to think about it, I duck into the formal living room next door, quietly closing the door behind me. Striding toward the large bookshelves, I remove the dummy book on the lower shelf and stand back as the bookcase retracts on both sides, revealing the hidden tunnel. I slip inside before I change my mind.
This house has been in my papa’s family for generations, and one of our ancestors built a slew of interconnected hidden tunnels between the walls of the property. There is one main tunnel that leads outside the grounds to a secret entrance, and I know Papa keeps a car there in case we ever need to flee in a hurry. When we were old enough, Papa explained about the tunnels, giving us clear instructions if the house was ever breached to use them to escape.
What Angelo didn’t know is Mateo and I had found the tunnels a few years earlier, when we were playing, and we often used to sneak into this one and spy on his meetings. I haven’t done this in years, and it’s clear the tunnel hasn’t been accessed in a long time. Cobwebs cover the ceiling, attempting to cling to my hair as I walk, so I duck down, crawling along the space with shivers creeping over every inch of my exposed skin.
Raised voices tickle my eardrums as I reach the tunnel that backs onto the bookshelves in my father’s office. This shelving unit doesn’t fully lock once closed and there is a tiny gap, enough to see some of what is going down in the room and enough to hear everything.
The last time Mateo and I came here, we saw our father kill two men with his bare hands. I was nine. Matty was thirteen, and it was weeks before he was initiated. He made me promise not to tell anyone what I had seen, and he forbade me from going into the tunnel again. I was scared enough I agreed without protest. For weeks, I couldn’t relax in Papa’s arms. Every time he hugged me, I froze as visions of him choking those men resurfaced in my mind. If Papa noticed my reticence, he never said, and gradually, I learned to block the memory from my mind.
But I never forgot.
And it was the day I realized exactly who my papa was and the kind of world we lived in.
“We have an agreement,” Angelo snaps, yanking me from my head. I stay pinned in the corner, content to listen and not see.
“No one is disputing that,” Don Maximo Greco says. “But this situation warrants we at least discuss modifying the terms.”
“It’s nonnegotiable,” my father says. “Natalia is still in school, and I’m not upending her life because your son has made an enemy of one of our own.”
“I don’t much like your tone,” Carlo says.
“Carlo!” Don Greco spews a line of Italian at his son, basically telling him to shut the fuck up.
Of course, Carlo doesn’t listen. “This is not my fault. Accardi is the one going behind our back, exploring alternative options. He thinks his shit doesn’t stink now he’s succeeded his father and married that simpering Juliet. He parades her around like he’s invincible. Like we don’t know he’s betraying us! And yet you sit here giving me shit. Un-fucking-believable.”
“Be careful, boy,” Papa says. “Those are some heavy accusations to throw around, and I won’t tolerate such disrespect in my own home.”
“I’m speaking the truth!” Carlo yells. “Why won’t you believe me? I’m telling you, it’s Accardi who put the Barone up to this. He wants to take Natalia to force me into silence. I won’t keep quiet, but I won’t risk my future bride’s life either. Which is why her marrying me now is the best choice. I can keep her safe, Don Mazzone. I won’t let anyone touch her or get near her.”
“You just want to get your hands on her,” Mateo snarls. “This isn’t about her safety at all. I see the way you look at her.”
“Get used to it,” Carlo snaps. “She’ll be my wife soon. Whether it’s now or after she graduates, it’s happening.”
“That is enough, Carlo.” Don Greco snarls and the sound of a body crashing to the floor entices me to take a sneak peek. I can’t stop the smile forming on my mouth when I see Carlo pinned to the floor, his father’s foot shoved under his neck, almost choking him. “You will not disrespect Don Mazzone or me any longer. You will apologize, and keep your mouth shut unless you are spoken to.”
Carlo growls, but he says nothing. His father presses his foot down harder, and a gargled sound rips from Carlo’s mouth. Silently, I urge Don Greco to keep going. To choke the life from his son and do me a solid.
But nothing is ever that easy. Maximo removes his foot, fists a hand in Carlo’s shirt, and yanks him to his feet. “Apologize to Don Mazzone.”
Carlo has a face like thunder as he begrudgingly apologizes to my papa. Papa nods, staring at my intended with a look that would scare most men.
