by Nikki Chase
Mom’s gaze is firm but gentle. “It sounds to me like many things have happened over the past few days. Your head must be spinning.”
“Matteo told me about Gio yesterday,” I blurt out. “Dad was right. I killed him.”
Mom grips my upper arm. “Grace, no. You can’t think like that. It wasn’t your fault.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because it’s true. It wasn’t your fault,” she says, tucking my hair behind my ear. “You thought you were going to die if you’d stayed. I don’t blame you for leaving and neither should you.”
“If it weren’t for me leaving, he’d still be alive today.”
“If it weren’t for Moses listening to some burning branches in the desert, some Egyptian firstborns would’ve gone on to lead full lives.” Mom gives me a wry smile. “Honey, it’s called the butterfly effect. One thing leads to another, but that doesn’t mean it’s anybody’s fault or intention.”
I let her wisdom soothe the guilt clenching my stomach. It’s still there, coiling like a snake that may launch an attack at any time. Even if I’m going to make my peace with it, it’ll take some time.
“What am I going to do, Mom?” I sigh. “What should I do?”
“I don’t know. And I can’t tell you that.” She shakes her head, crushing any hope I have of her giving me a clear answer. “You shouldn’t think about what I want anyway or what your dad wants. Forget about what the Guerrieros want.”
I stare at her, dumbfounded. I was raised to be a good girl, and now she’s telling me to go against all the instincts she’s embedded in me?
“Life is short, Grace. Gio’s death has taught me that. And in a way, your death too, even if it wasn’t real. You only get one life. No do-overs. Live your life the way you want.”
She has changed, I realize. I’ve only been gone for four years, and my mom now has an entirely different life philosophy. Taking a closer look at her face, I notice the new lines and age spots, the leathery texture of her skin.
“Now, things aren’t as bad as we thought they were four years ago,” Mom says. “Keeping the baby and marrying Matteo wouldn’t have been the death sentence we’d thought it would be. But that doesn’t mean you should marry him now.”
“It doesn’t?” I gape at the woman in front of me. Where’s the mom I grew up with, the one who drilled into me the importance of putting the family first?
“No.” Mom shakes her head. “You liked this man enough to sleep with him four years ago, and you had his baby. That was it. It doesn’t mean you have to spend the rest of your life with him if you don’t want to. Forget about the families, the war, the old men in musty rooms making all the decisions. Think about what you want. Do you like Matteo?”
Heat rises to my cheeks, and I know I’m turning bright red.
Mom chuckles. “I don’t blame you. He’s a hottie.”
“Mom!” I can’t believe she just said that.
She laughs at my outrage. It’s contagious. Before we know it, we’re giggling like schoolgirls.
“He’s a good man,” Mom says in a more serious tone. “Does he treat you well?”
I think about that morning Matteo took care of Jack to give me a break; the way he yelled at his own dad, fighting for me; the gentle caress on my skin after he brought me to orgasm, again and again. Again, my cheeks flame. “Yeah.”
Mom’s knowing smile turns my cheeks even hotter. “That’s good. A good man who cares about you is priceless.”
I fidget with my jeans, rubbing denim between my fingers. “So should I marry him, then? End the war?”
“Honey, your father’s a mobster. There’s always going to be conflict and danger in his life—and ours as well, by extension. I wish you weren’t burdened by our choices.” There’s more than a tinge of sorrow in her voice. Guilt, too.
“It’s not your fault, Mom. Like you said, it’s the butterfly effect. It’s not like you intended for things to turn out this way.”
“Thank you for saying that, honey. Funny how it’s easier to see things clearly when you take a step back sometimes.”
I nod. There’s a lot of things for me to consider, but Mom has helped me figure out what’s important and what can be ignored.
Mom offers to take me and Jack home with her, but I decline. Even if I have to endure the unfriendly atmosphere in this house, I feel a deep need in my soul to remain close to Matteo. It seems important.
How am I supposed to make decisions about the man without getting to know him better? Besides, at this point I’m completely confident that I’m in no danger here, not with Matteo’s protection over me.
My mom and I make plans to meet up for lunch and to visit my brother’s grave. Just as I’m entering the appointment into my phone, Jack cries out for me, and my mom rushes over to the crib, grinning from ear to ear.
Coming home already looks like a good decision. Jack will grow up surrounded by so much love.
I stand at the top of the marble steps with Jack on my hip, waving goodbye to his grandparents. He’s in a good mood today, thank God. His grin makes even my dad crack a smile through the open car window as it drives away.
The car shrinks until it looks like a toy. I turn around and start, not expecting the big, dark figure standing right behind me.
“Sorry,” he says gruffly, taking a step back. The man’s hair is speckled with gray, and he has a slightly protruding stomach, but there’s an air around him that conveys he doesn’t mess around. “I’m supposed to take you home.”
“Home?” I frown. I told my mom I wanted to give Matteo a chance. My dad didn’t protest. He believes this is where I should be. I’m his sacrificial lamb, his peace offering. “No. I’m staying here.”
“Sorry, but Matteo told me to escort you to his house. You’ll be more comfortable there.”
“Oh.” It didn’t occur to me that Matteo would be living away from his family because I never did. But of course he would.
Even if this mansion is more than big enough to house the whole Geurriero family, Matteo’s a grown man. As a young woman, I had to stay under my father’s protection, live under his roof. It’s not fair I know. I could write an entire essay about sexism in families like ours. But right now, I’d do anything to distance myself—and Jack—from Enzo Guerriero.
“The car will be waiting here when you’ve finished packing.” The man’s lips curve up, but with the dark sunglasses over his eyes, it’s hard to take that as a friendly gesture. Maybe the cold treatment I’ve gotten from the house staff so far has already made me jaded.
All the more reason to leave this place I guess. “Thank you.”
It doesn’t take me long to pack. I didn’t bring anything with me aside from my shoulder bag, and Jack’s kidnapper obviously didn’t either. I should probably fly back at some point to get my stuff. It’s going to be a pain in the ass, but it’s something I have to do. Besides, it’ll be good to see Lily.
When I walk through the front doors, Jack’s hand in mine, the man waves at me from the driver’s seat of a black BMW sedan.
“I didn’t get your name,” I say when I step inside and strap Jack into the booster seat.
“The name’s Hector.” As the car glides down the long, winding driveway, I remember where I heard the name before. In the car back in Delaware, when Matteo was on the phone.
Hector was the man who told us where to find the kidnappers. The first guy Matteo called. He’s assigned his most trusted man to keep me safe. The knowledge makes me feel cherished.
For the first time in a long time, someone’s taking care of me, and it feels good. It feels like I can finally let go a little, stop holding on to the reins to tightly.
“Where’s Matteo?” I ask Hector, partly to make conversation but partly because I want to see him. We left things on a strange note last night.
“He’s, uh, at the hospital.”
My breath hitches in my throat. “Is he okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, he’s oka
y,” Hector answers quickly, sensing my distress. “He’s just visiting someone.”
I deflate with relief, my muscles loosening up. “Oh.”
“Don’t worry. Matteo’s a tough motherfucker. Smart too. I don’t see anybody landing him in the hospital any time soon, especially now that you’re back and—” Hector abruptly stops, the rest of his sentence floating awkwardly in the air, unsaid but obvious.
Now that I’m back and we have a child together. Now that I’m back and we’re getting married. His expectation weighs heavily on my shoulders.
“I mean, now that he’s got you to think about, I think he’ll be careful.” Hector tries to fix his mistake, but the damage is done. The pause was too long. “He wouldn’t want to worry you.”
“Right.”
Hector’s laughter echoes in the car, booming and uneasy.
We spend the rest of the drive in silence until Hector turns on the radio, and the Top Forty music fills the air. I stare out the window at the changing scenery.
I didn’t realize how much I missed this city. I didn’t think I’d step foot in California ever again, but here I am. Back from the dead. Less like a phoenix and more like a pigeon with a broken wing, though.
“We’re here,” Hector announces. The sky is purple and golden yellow, the sun hanging low, peeking just above the other big houses in the neighborhood.
I thank Hector and follow him to my room. Now that he’s taken off his sunglasses, I notice how playful and kind his eyes are. He has thick, long eyelashes too. Considering his line of work, I’m not surprised he chooses to wear sunglasses whenever he can.
With Jack wandering off into the bedroom, I distractedly thank Hactor before he leaves. I get the feeling I’ll be seeing a lot of him in the coming days.
Jack chatters excitedly as he peeks inside the wardrobe. “Minion!”
I step closer to investigate and, to my surprise, find Jack’s T-shirt with his favorite cartoon character on top of a pile of clothes. What the . . .?
I slide the wardrobe door open, and my mouth drops open. I expected it to be empty. I thought I’d have to buy something at the mall to tide us over until I got my clothes back from Delaware.
But my dresses are hanging over stacks of neatly folded clothes in the wardrobe. My clothes and Jack’s, too.
When did . . .? I guess I can ask Matteo about that later. A safe topic of conversation, seeing as we’ll have tons of difficult things to talk through.
My curiosity spiked, I check the en-suite bathroom. My volumizing shampoo sits on the inset stone shelf in the shower, along with Jack’s mild body wash. The books on the shelves are ours too. I smile as I think about reading Jack’s favorite story before his bedtime tonight.
When I pull out the nightstand drawer, I even find my lotion inside. And my pink vibrator I realize as a wave of embarrassment flushes my cheeks hot.
I venture outside the bedroom. This place is nowhere near as big as the main Guerriero mansion. It’s also smaller than my family home. But compared to the two-bedroom rental I lived in for four years, it still feels like a palace.
Pulling open one door after another, I find three more bedrooms on the same floor, each with its own en-suite bathroom.
Only one door can’t be opened—that’s probably Matteo’s bedroom. My parents are just as careful, only unlocking their door once a day when their most trusted housekeeper cleans the room.
“Hi, Ms. Esposito,” chirps a female voice as I walk down the stairs.
I find a woman with gray hair pulled up into a loose bun, standing in the kitchen, an apron hanging from her neck. “Hello.”
“I was just about to cook you dinner. How does sesame grilled salmon sound? With garlic mashed potatoes on the side?”
“Are you kidding me? That sounds wonderful.” After four years of taking care of Jack on my own and doing all the chores in the house, the idea of having someone cook for me seems like a luxury. And for the food to be so gourmet? I feel like I’ve died and gone to culinary heaven.
Most of my life, I lived like a princess in my father’s house, never having to lift a finger. Now, I’ve forgotten what it feels like to sit back and let people handle the details of living.
“Perfect,” says the woman with the apron. She grins. “My name is Lydia. I cook and clean for Mr. Guerriero. Well, mostly I clean because he doesn’t normally eat at home, so I was excited when he told me to prepare something for you.”
Wow. I know Matteo delegates the work, but I’m honestly touched by this thoughtfulness. I didn’t even have to ask to get my stuff flown across the country. He has considered everything.
It doesn’t change the fact that Matteo has hidden some essential facts from me, but I’ll have to admit I could get used to this.
I have a lot to think about. That night, as I lie awake in bed, wordless thoughts flit through my mind.
That first, fateful night I met Matteo. Our blind date. The way he wore me down and won me over with his patience, determination, and kindness. The dark revelations of the past couple of days. My mother’s words.
The strangest thing? I can’t quite explain why I feel he way I feel, but . . .
Despite the fact that nothing is certain right now, I’m feeling good. At peace. Like for the first time in years, things are finally falling into place.
Matteo
“Are they home yet?” I ask Hector as I seat myself inside the car.
“Sure. Your son is fucking adorable, by the way. Makes me wonder if maybe he was another man’s kid.”
“Fuck you.” Despite my irritation, I breathe a little more easily. I was worried Grace might’ve chosen to leave with her parents earlier today.
Hector’s booming laughter fills the car. He takes one hand off the wheel to punch me lightly on the bicep. “Lighten up, will you?”
“Seeing Franco lying helpless in his hospital bed doesn’t exactly put me in a good mood.” As soon as I say the words, the mood turns somber.
Hector falls silent as we drive down familiar roads back home. “They say he could wake up any time.”
“Sure. Or never.”
You can never tell with a comma the doctor told me. It could take a week or a year.
I have no problems covering Franco’s hospital bills. He’s one of my most trusted men. But I’m having issues determining how long is too long to wait.
Like many men working for me and my father, Franco has no family, so we’re the ones who have to make these decisions on his behalf. He grew up in the foster system and hasn’t had much luck with the ladies—not a big surprise, actually; women tend to avoid long-term commitment with guys who work for the mafia.
Not for the first time today, I think about Grace and the choices she’s facing. She doesn’t have many options. She can live in her dad’s gilded cage or mine. I wish I could set her free, but as a mafia princess, there will always be someone who sees her as a target.
I take a deep breath. It must’ve been hours since Grace and Jack were in this car, but I can still smell the fresh, sweet scent of wild jasmine in the air.
Maybe it’s just my imagination, though. I miss her, and I can’t wait to see her again.
I’ve fantasized about having her in my house, and now that fantasy has come true. There’s even a happy surprise in the form of Jack. My life is literally better than my wildest dreams. But if I fail to convince Grace to stay, I’ll lose it all.
Grace
The cool moonlight filters in through the sheer curtains over the window. A shot of adrenaline jolts me awake at the sight of a shadow hunched over Jack’s crib.
Fixing my eyes on the dark silhouette, I reach for the heavy, brass table lamp on the nightstand that I chose specifically for this purpose. But my fingers fail to find what I’m looking for. I glance sideways and realize – wait a minute – that’s not my nightstand.
It takes two seconds for me to realize where I am. There’s no way an intruder could’ve made it past the tight security in this
place. So that figure must be . . .
“Matteo?” My voice comes out scratchy, and I clear my throat.
He turns his head at the sound. “Hey. I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he whispers, his gaze following me as I push the covers off and join him by the side of the crib.
“What time is it?”
“Uh, two a.m.” A hint of guilt tinges his voice.
“Don’t worry about waking me up,” I say. “I’m used to it. I do have a toddler you know. He’s only recently started sleeping through the night.”
“All the more reason you need your rest.” Matteo gives me a kind smile. He bends his head down. “He looks so peaceful when he’s asleep.”
“Yeah.” I study Matteo’s features as though I’ll find all the answers I’m looking for there. His dark hair tumbling loosely forward, covering his forehead. His strong forearms draped across the side of the crib. His lips curving up as he watches Jack stretching in his sleep. His eyes gleaming with love for the child. Our child.
Matteo raises his gaze, catching me red-handed. I glance away but not before I notice his lovesick smile turning into a smug smirk.
Say something. “So, uh, you just got home? I notice you’re still in your suit.”
As if he’d buy that. Obviously, I wasn’t looking at his clothes.
“Yeah,” he says. “I wanted to join you for dinner, but there was . . . stuff to be done.”
I bite my tongue, stopping myself from asking what he meant by “stuff” and if he was in fact roaming the streets to kill someone from my family.
It’s not his fault, I remind myself. Even my mom says so. Just like how it’s not my fault the war is still ongoing.
“I heard you went to the hospital?” I ask.
“One of my men got hurt.” Matteo is being careful. No details. I don’t want to hear about what violent altercations have thrown him into his hospital bed.
“How is he doing?”