The normalcy of the conversation—the casual family banter—feels surreal after what we just accomplished. We’ve taken the first step toward ending a three-generation blood feud. The road ahead will be treacherous, but for the first time in my life, I feel something I never expected when it comes to the Morettis.
Hope.
34
CARMELA
Istare at my reflection in the full-length mirror, smoothing down the crimson silk gown I’ve chosen for tonight. My fingers tremble slightly as I fasten diamond earrings that Silvo gifted me last month. The joint charity gala—a public demonstration of the tentative truce between the De Lucas and the Morettis—looms just over an hour away.
“A unified front for childhood cancer research,” Silvo had explained. “Neutral ground, public setting.”
I adjust the plunging neckline of my dress, wondering if the bold choice sends the right message. Strong but not provocative. Confident without being threatening.
“You look beautiful.” Isabella appears in the doorway, already dressed in midnight blue. “Though you might want to breathe at some point.”
I realize I’ve been holding my breath and force my lungs to expand. “I’m terrified I’ll say the wrong thing. Or worse, Silvo and Nico will interpret some innocent comment as an insult.”
“That’s why Antonio insisted on rehearsing talking points yesterday.” Isabella crosses the room, adjusting one of mycurls. “Stick to safe topics—the charity itself, the children we’re helping, the venue.”
My stomach knots as I apply another coat of lipstick. “This isn’t just a party, Isabella. This is the first time in seventy years that Morettis and De Lucas will stand in the same room without weapons or pretense.”
“Or the perfect opportunity for someone to sabotage everything.” Isabella’s reflection meets mine in the mirror, her eyes serious. “One wrong move, one misinterpreted glance...”
I nod, remembering my conversation with Valeria at the boutique. Behind our husbands’ backs, we’ve been texting—small, cautious messages about our hopes for tonight. Her father knows nothing of our friendship, just as Silvo remains in the dark.
“If this works,” I whisper, more to myself than Isabella, “maybe we can stop looking over our shoulders every day. Maybe our children won’t inherit this blood feud.”
Isabella squeezes my shoulder. “And if it doesn’t work?”
I don’t answer. We both know what failure means. More violence. More bloodshed. More funerals.
Isabella adjusts my necklace one final time. “I’ll see you downstairs in thirty minutes.” She slips out of the room, leaving me alone with my reflection.
The door opens again, and Silvo’s gaze finds mine in the mirror. He wears a black tuxedo that accentuates his broad shoulders, his dark hair slicked back. The intensity in his blue eyes steals my breath.
“You’re stunning,” he says, crossing the room to stand behind me.
His hands rest on my shoulders, warm and steady compared to my trembling fingers. “Are you nervous about tonight?” I ask.
Silvo’s reflection shows a vulnerability I rarely glimpse. “More than I’d admit to anyone but you.” His fingers trail downmy bare arms. “Three generations of hatred don’t disappear with a handshake and charity auction.”
I turn to face him, resting my palms against his chest. “What are you most afraid of?”
His jaw tightens. “That this is all for nothing. That someone—Maximo, one of our capos, anyone—will throw a match onto this powder keg we’ve created.”
“And if it works?” I whisper.
Silvo cups my face, his thumb tracing my lower lip. “If it works...” He swallows hard. “I think about children, Carmela. Our children. Growing up without learning to shoot before they can ride a bike. Without bodyguards at school.”
My heart pounds at this confession. Six months ago, Silvo never would have shared such intimate hopes.
“I want that future,” I admit. “With you.”
His mouth claims mine with sudden urgency. His kiss deepens as his hands slide down to my waist, pulling me against him. I feel his hardness pressing against me through the silk of my dress.
“We don’t have time,” I murmur unconvincingly as his lips move to my neck.
“I need you,” Silvo growls, hiking my dress up my thighs. “Right now.”
