Perhaps it never had been. But I had been happy living under the fantasy that it was.
"What's with the strange look?" Alessandro asked me, his rough voice cutting through my self-pity.
"Nothing." I smiled at him. "Just tired."
Before Alessandro could say anything else, his father came stomping over. Beautiful Aisling followed, her eyes meeting mine and brightening in greeting. The redness of her hair was striking against the black dress she wore, making her stand out among the brunettes and blondes.
Toto the Terrible looked mad. His eyebrows were scrunched together, and his lips pressed into a tight line.
"Your brother is getting on my last nerve," hissed Toto. Aisling arrived by his side, seeming unconcerned with his anger. "Kissing up to a politician?"
"Heinous," Alessandro replied.
Toto shoved his hands into his pockets, practically shaking with annoyance. "When I was a boy, politicians slavered over the Outfit. Where do they think all the fucking money comes from? Big business? Fucking, please."
"They're all corrupt bastards," Alessandro agreed. "But this one has a relationship with the FBI."
A sliver of delight passed over Toto's face. He looked over to Salvatore Jr and Mayor Ericson. "That won't end well." He seemed almost too pleased about that fact. His head snapped back to us, most of his attention falling to me. "Where did my father stash Salvatore’s girl?"
There was only one Salvatore’s girl nowadays. Adelasia di Traglia, who was currently pregnant with my brother-in-law's baby and in an undisclosed location.
We had already sent Nero to hunt for her, and though he insisted he could extend the search across the country, the results had not been very promising. Wherever Don Piero had hidden Adelasia and the newest Rocchetti had been a secret he’d taken to the grave.
"We will find her," I replied.
Toto huffed. "I doubt it. My father was good at hiding things." His eyes skittered to the roof, liking he was peering through the plaster and insulation, trying to see his mother. "What will we do with the bastard?"
Aisling looked to Toto. "Will they not be regarded the same as Beppe?"
Beppe, of course, was a Rocchetti, son of Enrico and an unnamed woman. But his lack of legitimacy meant he could never be a 'real' member of the Rocchetti family. As far as lives of bastards went, Beppe had a good life in the Outfit, but my heart did still ache for him.
"I think Salvatore might drown it," Toto said. He made an effort not to look at Aisling as he said this.
"Is that your twisted way of expressing some concern?" I inquired, not really wanting to discuss infanticide over my lasagna.
Alessandro seemed to agree with me. "It will be up to the Don what happens to the child."
Whoever took up the mantle next...
My gaze moved over the room, picking up on all the viable candidates. It would be a Rocchetti—there was no doubt about it. But who?
I felt like the host for a gameshow, lining up all the contestants and judging their strengths and weaknesses.
Carlos Sr was too old and Carlos Jr too weak. Santino was too young, and Roberto was too boring.
It would come down to four men: Toto the Terrible, firstborn and respected member of the Outfit; Enrico, charming and diplomatic; Salvatore Jr, competitive and ruthless...and Alessandro. My husband—loyal, protective and willing to go to any lengths to protect the Outfit.
We all seemed to have the same thoughts, sharing glances and looks, sizing each other up. Who would be the next don? Who would rule the Rocchetti Dynasty?
I took a bite of my bread roll.
Let the games begin.
T he piercing sound of the alarm shocked me out of sleep.
“Shit!” Alessandro rolled off the bed, landing on his feet.
“What is going on?” I asked, yawning.
“Someone tripped the alarm.”
Dante began crying not seconds after, his sobs matching the sound. I scurried over the covers, untangling the blankets from my legs.
The sound of my son’s distress had smacked me out of any grogginess.
Across the room, my husband grabbed his gun and ordered me, “Stay here!” and then he was gone.
I stumbled out of bed, going straight for my son’s bassinet. His little face was scrunched up in misery, already flushed red from wailing.
“Shh, shh.” I swept him up, holding him to my chest.
Polpetto flashed by my ankles, nearly pushing me over.
“Polpetto!”
Dante’s cries grew louder at my yell.
“Hush, my darling.” I rocked him. “Polpetto, come here! Polpetto—”
The little white Volpino Italiano disappeared under the bed. I cussed softly before hurrying to the saferoom. Hidden behind a row of clothes, the door was pressed into the closet wall—
The alarm stopped.
I paused in my closet, still rocking Dante.
What had happened? Was Alessandro okay? Was somebody in our house?
The series of panicked questions that ran through my head only made me grip my son tighter.
Seconds later, Alessandro called out, “It’s safe, Sophia. It’s Nero, and he wants to talk to you.”
Nero?
I frowned, exiting the closet. Alessandro stood by the doorway, still holding his gun—not looking as worried, but still not happy.
Dante began to quiet as he noticed the alarm was gone. As soon as I went to place him down in his crib, he let out another furious wail.
“Don’t cry, my darling.” I held him close to me. “What is Nero doing here?”
“He is here for you.”
A midnight visit from the Outfit’s assassino was a horrifying thought in itself. But a surprise visit from the Outfit’s assassino?
I swallowed. “Can you hold him?”
Alessandro took Dante carefully, holding him to his bare chest. He cupped his hand under Dante’s bum, the other pressed softly onto his little back.
I slid on my dressing gown, unable to tear my eyes away from my husband and son.
For a man that was always so rough, so restless, a sense of calm seemed to settle over him when he held his son. Alessandro made a conscious effort to speak softer, to slow his movements, when Dante was with him.
If I sharpened Alessandro, then Dante softened him.
It made my heart melt.
As I moved to the door, Alessandro passed Dante back to me. “I need both my hands,” was all he said. I didn’t need him to elaborate on why he needed full mobility, as the palming of his weapon told me all I needed to know.
All the lights in the house were on, and I could see glimpses of the soldati through the windows. They were probably in a disarray after the house alarm had been tripped. I imagined Alessandro would have words with them tomorrow. None which would be appropriate to repeat.
In the foyer, at the bottom of the stairs, the familiar face of the Outfit’s assassino stared up at me. He wore all black, face dark with irritation.
I almost asked why he was so annoyed, considering Alessandro and I were the ones who were awoken, when I spotted her.
Nero was gripping the arm of a young woman, still in nursing scrubs, with honey blonde hair scraped back into a low ponytail. She was giving Nero a furious look, tugging at her caught arm and calling him names that made me cover Dante’s little ears.