“Is papa in his study?” Angelo asked.
His mother nodded. “Sì, he is resting.”
“Can I see him?” Angelo moved across the kitchen, heading for the study door.
“If I say no, you will just go in there anyway,” she said. “Sì, go in if you must. But please, bambino, try not to excite him. He’s had a bad few days.”
Angelo nodded. “Sì, mamma.”
At the other end of the room was a long dining table, the chairs neatly tucked underneath it. To his right was a door, large and wide, left open a crack. Through it he could see his father’s dark office. The walls were painted green, a heavy color, and the walls were paneled just like in the hallway—two-thirds of the way up. The desk was made of dark wood, delicately carved and coated in a rich varnish, and a large seat stood behind it. The green leather upholstery almost matched the walls. The lights in the office were off and the heavy green curtains were drawn over the window. He could see sunlight sneaking past the edges of the curtains, leaving trails of light. Dust wafted through the air, filtering down to the carpeted floor.
Angelo pushed the door open with his palm, hoping it didn’t squeak and rouse his father, but he was already awake. He was on the other side of the room where his hospital bed had been placed, sitting upright with pillows propping him up, and he looked weaker than he had just last week. Angelo looked at his father, dismayed to see how far he had deteriorated, until their eyes locked onto one another. His father’s eyes were light brown and sparkling. Happiness filled Angelo’s gut as he realized his father’s spirit had not yet been broken.
“Papa,” Angelo said as he crossed the room.
His father held out his hands for his son to take. “Angelo, my boy. You came.”
“Of course I did,” Angelo said, squeezing his father’s hands as tight as he dared. His hands were thin, lacking the layer of fat they once had, and his skin was pale and clammy.
“Your mother let you in?” The skin around his father’s face was no longer plump and his limp skin hung from his jaw, wobbling as he talked.
“She wasn’t happy about it,” Angelo said. “But yes.”
“Your mother is a fierce woman when she wants to be,” his father said. “She’s been turning my friends and our extended family away at the door.”
“She’s got a point,” Angelo said. “You need to rest, papa.”
The only reply Angelo got was a grunt, a guttural sound mixed with an exasperated sigh.
“Have the doctors said anything else?” Angelo glanced around the room, looking for a seat to pull up. He found a stool tucked beside the bookshelf behind him and sat beside his father’s bed.
“I didn’t call you here to talk of doctors and death,” his father snapped. “They say the same thing every time—it’s terminal. Nothing will change that.”
Angelo felt the corners of his mouth tighten as he tried his best to suppress his sadness.
“I called you here to remind you of my will,” his father said. “You haven’t forgotten, have you?”
“No,” Angelo shook his head. “I haven’t forgotten, papa.”
“Good,” he said. “I wanted to tell you to start looking for a spouse. I fear I won’t be here much longer. After I’m gone you will only have one year—”
“I know, dad.” Angelo interrupted. As he spoke he wiped a hand down his face, paying special attention to his eyes, rubbing them red.
“I’m serious,” he said. “If you are not married within the year then the family business will go to Roberto.”
Angelo sighed, unable to form a reply.
“Don’t sigh at me,” his father snapped. “I know what I’m talking about.”
“We’re dangerous men, dad,” Angelo started. “If I marry and do something awful I will never be able to forgive myself.”
“Being dangerous is the reason our family is so prominent within the community.” His father laughed. It quickly turned into a dry, heaving cough. “Why do you think no one has troubled me over the years? It’s because they know to be scared of me, even if they don’t know what truly hides beneath.”
“And those that marry into our family are the ones who suffer the consequences,” Angelo said.
“Has Anna suffered by marrying me?”
“Mamma? No, she’s been lucky.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it,” his father said. “She kept me grounded all these years and in turn I was able to keep my rage under control.”
Angelo chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking. His father watched him, waiting for him to build the courage for what he wanted to say. “What happened to Stefano and Louisa, that was unlucky?”
“Every time we talk of this, you bring up your cousin.” His father winced as he shifted in his bed. “It was unfortunate what happened between them.”
“Unfortunate?” Angelo raised his voice. “Louisa died, dad. A woman died because my cousin couldn’t control his anger!”
The familiar clickety-clack of his mother’s high-heels stormed through the kitchen. Within moments she was in the office, sternly looking between her husband and her eldest son. “I told you to keep him calm and instead you come in here and shout at him. Dio dannato, Angelo!” With her hands planted on her hips, she stared between the two of them. Angelo watched as droplets of water fell from her fingers and soaked into her suit.
“It’s fine, Anna.”
Angelo watched his mother’s nostrils flare. She stalked across the room, pointing her index finger at her husband. “Guiseppe, don’t you use that tone with me.”
“Now you are in here shouting at me,” his father said, smiling.
Anna glanced to her son, her eyes filled with tears. “Do not make me repeat myself, Angelo. Be good to your father.”
“Sì, mamma.”
She left as quick as she had entered. The men waited until they could no longer hear her shoes banging against the floor before continuing.
“Son,” Guiseppe started. “Do not marry for love. Find yourself someone that you like, who can ground you when your head goes into the clouds, someone who can raise your children while you are taking care of business, someone who is exactly what you are not. It will create an equal balance of personalities. When the men in our family fall in love—true, passionate love— Stafano and Louisa happens, tragedy happens. A marriage of convenience is the only way to ensure that both of you are safe. You may even come to love each other in time, but it won’t be the same love. It will be a manageable beast.”
Angelo shook his head. “I don’t think I can do that, papa.”
“Why not?” Guiseppe asked, then he lowered his voice. “It’s what I did. As lovely as your mother is, I wasn’t in love with her when we married. I went through with it for all sorts of reasons: to give a good woman a lavish life, to raise a beautiful family with someone who shared my values, but above all I did it to keep myself centered and grounded. None of the reasons were love, son. And it was the best decision I ever made. I doubt the family business would be doing so well today without her in my life. I doubt you boys could have turned out better if I had married for love.”
Angelo lowered his voice to a whisper. “Does mamma know?”
“No,” Guiseppe shook his head, managing a wan smile. “I think she suspected it when we walked down the aisle. She has never asked me for the truth of it, though.”
“I can’t live a lie like that,” Angelo said.
Guiseppe shifted in his bed, lowering his body into a comfortable position to sleep. “Then the business will be handed to Roberto.” Angelo opened his mouth to speak, but Guiseppe spoke over him. “Leave me now. I’m tired.”
Angelo rose from his seat, not wishing to anger his father, and left the room as quietly as he could. Back in the kitchen, he pulled the study door to until only a slip of light could push through the gap. Anna was standing over the stove, making a large batch of sauce. As he watched her, Angelo noticed piles of containers on either side of the stove. Steam h
ad gathered on the inside, obscuring the contents from him.
How much has she cooked today? Angelo moved to lean on the counter next to her and touched one of the containers. He withdrew his hand sharply. The plastic had burned his skin. “Are you stocking up for winter?”
Anna looked up to her son, tears streaking down her cheeks. “I don’t need your jokes.”
“Mamma,” Angelo touched her arm. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were upset. What’s wrong?”
Anna dropped the spoon in the sauce. Slowly it sunk to the bottom of the pot, the thick liquid creeping around to consume it. “What’s wrong? Your father is dying in there and I am helpless. My whole life he has been protecting me from everything. And now that he is in need, all I can do is cook and clean and tuck him into bed. It’s infuriating!”
Angelo tried to hug his mother but she wriggled under his arms and wrestled him off her.
“I don’t need your love now, Angelo. I need you to do as your father asks,” Anna said, her eyes sparkling and red. “Tell him you’ll marry so he can let go. End his pain and just do as he says.”
Angelo dropped his arms to his sides. “I can’t, mamma. He wants me to get married.”
“I know what he wants!” Anna’s voice was loud and shrill. “He’s told me everything. And now I’m telling you everything: he’s hanging on, enduring all this pain, to make sure you do the right thing. Stop being so stubborn and selfish. Tell him you’ll marry.”
“I’ll talk to Rosa,” Angelo said, his eyes staring at the floor below him as heat spread into his cheeks. “I’ll see if she knows anyone who is willing.”
Fresh tears spilled over Anna’s eyelids. She stood on the tips of her toes and wrapped her arms around Angelo’s shoulders, hugging him tight. “Grazie, bambino. Your sister will find you someone nice, I know she will. Grazie, grazie, grazie…” Anna carried on mumbling her thanks as she rested her head on Angelo’s broad chest and closed her eyes.
“Where is Rosa?” Angelo asked as he hugged his mother tight. “Is she home from college yet?”
“Sì,” Anna said, her voice muffled against Angelo’s chest, “She’s working at that dreadful shop again.”
“The boutique?” Angelo nodded. “I’ll go and speak with her now.”
His mother held him at arms-length, her teary eyes staring up at him. “But what about lunch?”
“I need to do as father says.”
Anna wiped away her tears and rushed to the stove. “At least take these home with you.” She held out the containers to him. “Otherwise it’ll just go to waste.”
“Sì, mamma,” Angelo took three of the pots. “I’ll take them home.”
Anna showed him to the door, thanking him while they walked. When he finally freed himself from her grasp, Angelo walked to his car as his mother watched on from the front door. His driver, Derrick, was outside the car, leaning on the hood while smoking a cigarette. Upon seeing Angelo, the rotund man donned his cap and threw his cigarette across the gravel. Angelo got into the backseat of his car, wishing he’d brought the limousine instead, as Derrick started the car.
“Where to, sir?” Derrick asked, looking in his rear-view mirror.
“Do you remember where Rosa used to work, before she went off to college?” Angelo asked. “That shitty, outrageously priced boutique?”
“Kiki Ryder?”
Angelo slapped his thigh. “That’s the one.”
“Not a problem, sir.” Derrick put the car into drive. “We’ll be there within the hour.”
Angelo watched from his window as the green world around him gradually turned to gray. Trees vanished, replaced by buildings that grew larger and shinier with every mile. Once he was back inside the city, buildings surrounding him every way he looked, Angelo allowed himself to relax into the seat. He felt safe here, despite the fact that everyone else feared Little Italy. That’s because they’re not part of the Li Fonti family, Angelo thought. If I weren’t part of the family I would fear this place as well.
Derrick parked the car on the side of the road, ignoring the honks from taxis all around them, and waited there while Angelo stepped inside the boutique. The racks of clothes were only metal poles suspended from the ceiling by fishing wire, the hangers were metal, dented, starting to rust. The clothes were shiny, furry, glittering in all shades of colors. Garish, Angelo thought. That’s what this place is.
He went to the back of the store where the cashier was stood behind the desk. The till was old and grimy. Angelo glanced down at it before looking back up to the girl behind the desk. Her olive skin looked slightly flushed and her bleached-blonde hair was wavy and dry, hanging around her shoulders.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I hope so,” Angelo said. “I’m looking for my sister, Rosa.”
The girl’s eyes widened. “Ah! Okay. She’s in back, I’ll just run and grab her.”
“Thanks,” Angelo nodded and watched the girl leave. She was taller than his sister and quite a bit chubbier, too. The girl wasn’t fat by any stretch, but she was insulated better than stick-thin Rosa.
Both girls came out of the staff door. Rosa searched the room for one of her brothers. When her eyes, coated in heavy make-up, saw Angelo she tutted and folded her arms across her chest. “What do you want?”
“I need to talk to you.”
Rosa ran her tongue across her front teeth. “Have you been to see papa yet?”
“Just left the house,” Angelo said. “That’s why I need to talk to you.”
“You’re doing as you’re told?” Rosa scowled at him. “I don’t believe you.”
“I came here to ask you if you knew anyone that needed to get married,” Angelo said. “I don’t care who it is, I just need to get married. Okay?”
“Why should I help you?” Rosa asked. “You’re the worst brother I have.”
Angelo clenched his jaw, feeling his teeth grind against each other. “Because this is what papa wants. It’s his dying wish. I know we haven’t been as close as we should be, but I really need your help to make papa happy before he dies.”
Rosa frowned. “I’ll see what I can do.” As she went to leave, to return to hiding in the back room, she pointed at her brother. “You owe me an expensive purse.” She thought a moment. “Very expensive.”
Angelo grinned. “One very expensive purse, coming up for my best sister.”
“I’m your only sister!” Rosa laughed. “Go, get out of my shop. I’ve got work to do.”
Chapter Two
The leather seat underneath Antonio squeaked as he shifted in it, uncomfortable. It was hot inside the car, and the air felt as if it was trying to suffocate him. His shaking hands reached for the tie around his neck and his index finger loosened it as he tried to take long, steady breaths. The engine rumbled as the car sat idle. Antonio listened to the soft whirring of the air conditioning, wishing it would reach him in the back seat.
To his left was the church. Through the tinted window he could see the green ribbon across the doorway, flapping gently in what little breeze there was. As he stared at it, he wondered what other traditions would be upheld. Would Italian-Americans pass by, see the ribbon, and congratulate him? Would his husband-to-be carry a small piece of iron in his pocket to ward off evil spirits? Would the church be decorated in green for good luck?
Too many questions popped into his mind, drowning out any other thought he might want to have. It had only been a month since the match was made and Antonio had not stopped panicking about it. His cousin, Stella, had managed to find his husband-to-be. She worked with a woman called Rosa in a boutique near their apartment. Rosa’s brother came to the shop, asking her to find him a spouse immediately. Antonio knew there was something amiss about the family. Why would this man, Angelo, need to be married so quickly? He was an American citizen, so he wasn’t looking for a marriage to get a green card.
And then there was the day he met Rosa—she had promised him that if he went through with the
wedding, Angelo would shower him in money and gifts. Rosa assured him that he would never have to work again and would still be able to live his life however he wanted, his freedoms intact. All parties involved knew it was a sham, and each party gained something from the marriage, but Antonio couldn’t work out what it was Angelo was gaining from it.
The question ate at him every day, gnawing at his insides until he couldn’t eat, or sleep, or do much of anything. Was this marriage worth the trouble? Would it be easier for him to return to Italy? Easier, maybe, but his life as he knew it would be over. When he left Italy, all those years ago, his father had been trying to persuade him to marry a nice, Italian girl. The only problem was that Antonio couldn’t stand the woman. She was pretty, always immaculate in her looks, but when she opened her mouth Antonio immediately changed his mind about her. A self-centered, obnoxious string of sentences had spewed out of her. After that, he questioned his father’s sanity. How could his father propose such a woman for him? Did he not know his son at all, or did he simply not care?
Even with all the woman’s problems, she was still a woman. In time he could come to care for her, possibly even love her despite all her flaws, yet what could he do with this marriage? There was no way he could learn to love another man, to share another man’s bed. Antonio had never been interested in men. How would this marriage ever work? It can’t, Antonio thought. I’m just doing this for my green card. After that, who knows what will happen. Whatever this Angelo needed from the marriage, Antonio hoped it wouldn’t have to last long.
Stella came bounding down the stairs to the church, holding the hem of her dress in one hand. She came to the car and knocked on the passenger window that Antonio was hidden behind.
Omega Wanted: Bad Boy Mpreg Romance Page 11