“No,il mio sole, he wasn’t.”
“And he was part of your world? Part of your mafia family?”
“Yes.”
“Is that what made him into the monster? Whenever those memories of him push in, it fills me with physical pain and nausea.”
Pain flashes across Tommaso’s face. “I’m not sure.”
“What did he do?” My voice cracks.
He kisses my forehead. “Rest now, wife.”
I don’t have the energy to demand that he tells me, nor do I want to know. My mind is protecting itself, not letting me remember, keeping my memories at bay for a reason.
“Focus on remembering the man he was, Gina.” Tommaso wraps me even tighter against him. “Of when he was yourBabbo. If those bring you peace and happiness, focus on those.”
So I do. I focus on trying to rememberBabboand not Father. Trying to remember the version of the man who smiled down at me with love and tenderness, holding my hand while we walked and ate ice cream, not the version he had become and had done something so horrifying that my mind refused to let me remember.
Chapter 26
Gina
Thenextmorning,Iwake to Tommaso carrying a tray into our room, loaded with breakfast, wearing only a T-shirt and sweatpants. He insists I have breakfast in bed. I only cave because he insists on feeding me himself while I wear one of his shirts.
I’m a full-fledged sucker for this man.
But he can’t think our conversation from last night is over. I may have gotten sidetracked with my memory flashes and emotional breakdown, but I haven’t forgotten.
“What do you do in the mafia-related part of your business?”
The fork he’s lifting to my mouth, loaded with the last piece of French toast and a plump raspberry, pauses mid-air. Then he slips the food into my mouth, watching my lips close over it.
He sets the plate aside while I chew. I’m straddling his thighs, and he sits propped up against the headboard.
He brushes my hair back and thumbs my jaw. “The ports we control bring in legal and non-legal products.”
“Drugs?” I ask, and he nods. “Do you push drugs?”
“No, we just enable the distribution process; we’re not directly involved in the selling or distribution.”
Not innocent, though. I swallow and ask my next question, “People? Sex?”
“We have no role in prostitution or human trafficking.” He runs his thumb over my lip, then settles his hands on my waist. “Our family abolished that arm of income several generations ago. Our main criminal activities involve arms dealing, money laundering, and some fraud.”
He’s being so frank and honest that it should freak me out, but oddly, it doesn’t. Which is a sign that I grew up in this world and likely am desensitized to the thought of criminal operations.
“I’m increasing my civilian enterprises,” he adds.
“Your legal ones, you mean?”
His mouth curls into a small smile. “Yes.”
“So, your family doesn’t have a role in that?”
“Back in Italy, we’ve diversified and have both legal and non-legal types of businesses. Here in the States, though, is all me.”
“Does your family know we’re married?”
