“Because he was the one who failed Roman, not you,” Lucy said.
I gave a brief, scornful laugh. “That’s what Irina told him.”
“Yet he sent you away.”
“All he saw was that I had a shot, and I didn’t take it.”
“Again,” Lucy gritted. “You were nine, you'd been drugged, they hit you in the head, and you had blurry vision.”
“Lack of training, according to Ivan.” I shrugged. “It’s in the past now.”
“I’m not liking Ivan very much right now,” she said. “I started questioning his sincerity after he gave me the runaround about the Kings. He must be laughing behind my back.”
“Ivan is old school. He will always consider the bratva’s interest first, but he has mellowed over the years, especially with Aralina around.”
“I wish I had known her when she could speak.”
“She loved to sing before she lost her voice.” My chest contracted painfully. That I was not there to protect my sister.
“It was a house fire, I was told.”
“One of our properties in upstate New York,” I said. “It was arson. Ivan and Irina had become obsessively neurotic about Aralina’s security after that.” I sighed. “We stifled her, but after she started college, we gave her more freedom...”
“Your sister told me she dreaded the match with Dom. I don’t know why Mamma thought it was a good match in the first place.”
I kept from voicing my opinion. If there was one thing my mother and Aralina always told me, it was to shut up when I had nothing nice to say. That didn’t mean people couldn’t read my face, as bland as it was. I think my default expression was disdain.
It did not escape my wife.
“Sloane is perfect for Dom and just what he needs. Aralina—she needs someone who is not mafia.”
“She needs to be a spinster,” I muttered. “That would save me from having to kill her husband.”
Lucy laughed. “I can believe that. I’m sure Dom has the same thoughts about you.”
I scowled at my wife, but she laughed harder. I didn’t know if her brother and I would ever get along. I didn’t know what he thought about our marriage, especially after Lucy shot me.My marriage was none of his business. Not anymore. Especially since I was determined to keep my wife—until death do us part.
“I’m grabbing some firewood,” I muttered.
Lucy continued to laugh, not chasing me to placate me. She could read the room. She could read me. She knew when we were just exchanging sarcasm without her walking on eggshells. Besides, her brother had every reason for wanting to kill me. Add her dad, Moretti, and every single male relative she had. I didn’t care before. But I was admitting to myself that it was time to make adjustments, given that the holidays were upon us. I didn’t want to deprive her of her family, knowing how close-knit the Italians were. I would grit through every glare, every snide remark, and every promise to murder me just so I could see her smile.
Snow blanketed the ground. The pristine white gave me peace. But somehow I wondered if it was because I finally told Lucy about Roman. The sincerity in her eyes when she told me it was not my fault that I couldn’t save my brother did more than when Irina reassured me. Of course at that time, I was riddled with survivor’s guilt. Ivan doubling down on my cowardice made me shut down and hold my shame close to my chest. I’d known that. So when he sent me to Russia, I accepted that as my punishment for letting my brother die.
I collected the firewood from the trailer. I couldn’t wait to start the fire and the goulash.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. It’d been buzzing since early this morning. A couple of messages from Kolya and Aralina. I wish I hadn’t stopped to look at it.
My mood turned sour when I saw the rapid-fire text from a third person.
Anya
Kolya told me you’re taking the wifey on a mini-honeymoon.
Is that why you’ve been ignoring me in the past few weeks? You rarely return my texts anymore.
And I don’t see you unless it’s at an event.
Are you growing attached to your wife? Kolya indicated it is so.
