Page 43 of Married to the Mafia Devil

“Maybe they both are. Have you considered that? None of us are just one thing.” She squeezes my hand, her voice earnest. “Just make sure whatever decision you make, it's for your happiness, not because you feel obligated or scared. You deserve to be happy. You’re an amazing sister and an amazing person.”

Her words resonate with me, echoing the internal debate I've been having since I met him. “My heart says one thing, but my head says another.”

“Mom used to say you should listen to both, heart and head,” Amelia advises gently. “They have your best interests at heart when they work together.” She glances at the time. “Weren’t you seeing Pamela at twelve?”

“Oh, shit,” I say, getting to my feet. “I lost track of time. You want me to walk you home?”

She shakes her head with a smile. “Going to stay here for a while. Catch some sun. I’ll be all right, trust me. And maybe Pamela can help you decide.”

“Maybe. See you soon.”

Pamela is at the register when I enter the Book Nook. It’s like I’ve never been away, the familiar scent of old pages reminding me of Matteo’s library. The golden sunlight filters through the windows, casting a warm glow over the shelves packed with stories.

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t read trash,” she’s saying to a customer while handing over his paper bag. “Just consider better trash next time.” She sees me and comes straight over, ignoring the protest from the customer.

“You’re late,” she says. “You are officially no longer my friend.”

“Oh, well. It was fun while it lasted.”

Pamela leans against a bookshelf, her gaze intense and focused. “Has my ex-best friend made a decision?”

“Not yet.” I sigh, looking down at my feet. “I love him, Pamela. I really do. But there’s so much about his world that scares me. The violence, the control. It's overwhelming.”

She nods slowly, understanding flickering in her eyes. “But Em, don't let fear steal your future. You're in love with him—that means there's something there worth fighting for. The rest is bullshit. You’ll work it out.”

“It’s not just the fear,” I confess, the words tumbling out. “It’s what he’s capable of. He told me about his past, how he dealt with the man who hurt his parents. It was coldblooded, Pamela.”

Her face softens, her voice lowering to a soothing murmur. “Everyone has demons, Em. Maybe he's telling you about his darkest parts because he trusts you to see beyond them.”

“But can I?” I ask, the doubt clear in my voice. “Can I live with that and not lose myself?”

“You’ve changed since you’ve been with him, haven’t you? For the better, mostly?” Pamela asks, prompting me to reflect.

“I guess,” I acknowledge. “He’s made me feel stronger, more alive for sure. But at what cost?”

“Life's about taking risks, Em,” Pamela says, her hand resting on my shoulder. “If you love him, and he loves you, then together, you can face anything. Don't cower in fear of what might happen. Face it head-on, and remember, you're not alone. You’ve got me, got your sister. Got a pile of books to guide you.”

Her words, meant to encourage, do bolster my spirits a bit. “Mind if I sit here for a while?” I ask.

“Sure. I’ll leave you to it. These people all need help.” She motions at the customers browsing the shelves. “Lucky I’m here to guide them along the right path.”

I sit on the familiar couch in the corner, thinking of the first time I saw Matteo, when he walked past and stopped to stare in at me.

Back then, I had no idea who he was, what he represented. Now, I know too much. He’s everything I want and everything I fear. He’s said he can’t give up control. Neither can I. What power does love have to work out a solution to that intractable problem?

My cellphone buzzes suddenly, piercing the quiet. I reach for it, heart pounding, and see his name on the screen. Taking a deep breath, I answer.

“Hello?” My voice is cautious, uncertain.

“Hey,” his voice comes through, deep and somehow reassuring even over the phone. “I'm on my way back. We need to talk tomorrow.”

I sit up, clutching the phone a little tighter. “Is everything all right?” I ask, trying to gauge his mood.

“It's fine,” he replies, though his voice is terse, hinting at dark secrets. “But, Emma, it's time. Six weeks are up. You need to decide.”

The finality in his tone makes my heart sink. “I know. I've been thinking about it a lot.”

“Good.” There's a pause, and I can almost picture him running a hand through his hair in frustration. “If you stay, you know what that means. We'll start a family, build a life together. Is that what you really want?”

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