Liam says, “Two days old and she hasn’t cried at all yet, but she definitely lets you know when she’s unhappy.” Looking proudly down at his daughter, he smiles. “She could melt paint right off the walls with nothing more than a glance.”
Tru says innocently, “Gee, I wonder where she gets that from?”
I glance at Killian. “It’s a family trait, I think.”
He grabs me around the waist, grinning, and we all go inside.
“So are you and Killian staying in Boston permanently?”
Tru and I are sitting in the living room having tea. The boys disappeared a few minutes ago into the kitchen, probably for a scotch and some guy talk. The countryside beyond the windows is turning bronze and gold as the sun sets over the distant hills.
“I don’t know. He said he was going to retire from the gangster gig, but not when.” I shrug, trusting that he’ll let me know when he’s out. “He might be wrapping up loose ends. I’m sure it’s complicated.”
“I ask because we’d love it if you moved down here with us.”
When I look at her, startled, she smiles. “There’s a reason it’s called Two Brothers’ Ranch. It’s just as much Killian’s as it is Liam’s. They bought it together.”
“But this is your place. You’ve been living here. Wouldn’t you feel…you know. Crowded?”
She laughs softly, rocking in her chair. Maribel is asleep in her arms. “I grew up with seven sisters and brothers in a house with one bathroom. Four adults and a baby in a ten-thousand square foot hacienda would not be crowded.”
I think about it. The ranch itself is spectacular. And spacious, like she said.
But I think I’m a city girl at heart.
“We’ll see. Thank you for the offer.”
Tru smiles. “That’s a no. But you have to promise you’ll come visit a lot.”
Making a small disgruntled noise, Maribel shifts in her arms. Tru leans closer to her and whispers, “Hush, little bee. Mommy and Auntie Juliet are talking.”
Maribel makes a face like she just took a big poop in her diaper.
I drop my face into my hands and laugh, careful to do it silently so the baby doesn’t wake up and kick my ass.
Liam strolls into the room, leans down, and kisses Tru on the forehead. He glances at me, smiling. “Your man’s asking for you in the kitchen.”
“Oh? Does he need help loading the dishwasher? Because he recently tried to tell me how I was doing it all wrong and demonstrate the proper technique, and I almost broke a plate over his head.”
Shaking his head, Liam presses his lips together to hold in a laugh.
I rise and head to the kitchen, where I find Killian standing at the sink with a newspaper in his hands. He glances up when I enter and looks at me with guarded eyes, his expression somber.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, instantly worried.
Setting the paper on the counter, he holds out an arm. I tuck myself under it and against his big body, wrapping my arms around his waist and staring up into his face.
“Nothing,” he murmurs, cupping my jaw in his hand. He sweeps his thumb over my cheekbone. “Everything is about as right as it could be.”
“Then why do you have a face like someone died?”
“Someone did die.”
My heart skips a beat. “Who?”
“Me.”
I blink an unnecessary amount of times. “Is that code for something?”
He turns to the newspaper and slides it across the counter with one finger until it’s in front of me. It’s the Sunday edition of The New York Times.
The headline reads: “Is This the New Face of the Mafia?”
Below it is a picture of a handsome young dark-haired man. It’s taken from the side as he’s getting into a big black SUV. He’s looking into the distance with a secretive smile, buttoning his black Armani suit jacket.
“Wait,” I say, looking closer. “Is that…?”
“Diego,” Killian says, nodding.
“He was the one who brought the roses and necklace to me at work. Your delivery boy.”
Killian chuckles. “Not any longer. Read the article.”
My heart beating faster, I snatch up the paper and start to read.
Made infamous by movies that glamorized their violent lifestyle, the gangsters of yesteryear are all but extinct. From crackdowns at the federal level to dissent within their ranks leading to a string of murders that wiped out the main bosses, the mafia in America has lost much of its power.
But not all.
The Sicilian mafia, La Cosa Nostra, still operates within the shadows, as does the Irish mob, its main rival in the United States. According to reliable sources, the two fractured groups have recently reached an agreement to join forces to reclaim what they’ve lost.
And a twenty-seven-year-old Latino man is their new leader.
I read on until the article ends, then look up at Killian. He’s watching every nuance of expression that crosses my face.
“It says that the assumed head of the Irish mafia, Liam Black, is rumored to be dead.”
“Aye.”
“Killed by the assumed head of the Italian mafia, Antonio Moretti.”
“Aye.”
“Who is also rumored to have died of his injuries during the same gun battle that killed Liam Black.”
“Aye.”
“So…you and my father killed each other in a shootout. Allegedly.”
“Aye. It had to be rumor and conjecture, otherwise there would have to be bodies to identify.”
After a moment, I say, “Does my father know he’s supposed to be dead?”
“He’s the one who suggested it.”
After another moment, I say, “I feel like I’m missing some important information here.”
“Well, you remember that I said I met with him.”
“Yes. You said it was cordial. That he only tried to shoot you three times.”
“And that I asked him permission to marry you.”
“And he told you to go take a flying leap off the nearest tall building.”
“And that I showed him all the evidence I had of his criminal activities and told him I’d give him a choice of going directly to prison or stepping down from his position as capo and retiring from the mobster life.”
I wrinkle my forehead. “Step down? No. You left that part out.”
“Did I? Hmm.”
I push at his chest. “That was on purpose!”
He grins. “I wanted it to be a surprise. Your father said the only way he’d agree to retirement is if he got to kill me. I said I’d be happy to let him shoot me. On paper, you know, not literally. Then we negotiated some more, and we decided the only real way it would work is if we were both dead.”
“The only way what would work?”
“Diego taking over the entire operation. Both his and mine.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “And he agreed to that?”
When he hesitates, I demand, “What?”
When he makes a face, I groan. “Oh god. Oh no. What did you promise him?”
“That he could call you on your birthday.”
“What?”