Page 24 of Arranged Mafia Marriage

I sigh. “The doctors aren’t sure about his prognosis. There might not be much time left for you to meet him.”

She bites her lip, conflict etched across her features. She seems to be weighing the pros and cons of this decision. After a long moment, she nods. “Okay. I’ll meet him.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, wanting to give her an out if she needs it, though I’m sick to death of Santino harassing me. I’ll continue to act as a buffer between them if she needs more time though.

Felicity takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. “Yes. I need to do this. For myself, and for him, I suppose.”

I nod, impressed by her fortitude. Leaning forward, I address our driver. “Take us to the location I sent to your phone a while ago.”

As the SUV pulls away from the curb, I turn back to Felicity. She stares out the window without speaking for a long moment before she asks, “What should I expect?”

I consider her question carefully. “Santino is a complex man. He’s led a life filled with difficult choices and heavy burdens, buthe’s also a father who’s been separated from his daughter for far too long.”

Felicity nods slowly, absorbing my words. “Will you stay with me?”

The vulnerability in her voice tugs at something deep within me. “Of course. I’ll be right by your side the entire time.”

She reaches out to squeeze my hand. The warmth of her touch sends a jolt through me, and I have to resist the urge to pull her closer.

“Thank you, Kiril.” She seems sincere, and I feel terrible, like I’m forcing her into this, but the reality is, Santino might not recover. Or he could surprise us all and pull through. He’s a tough old man, and I won’t discount that possibility.

I gently squeeze her hand, offering what comfort I can. “You’re welcome, Felicity.”

As we drive through the city streets, I’m lost in thought. My wife has shown remarkable strength and adaptability in the face of extraordinary circumstances, but I wonder how this meeting with Santino will change her.

The car turns onto a quiet, tree-lined street, and we’re approaching our destination. It’s a rehabilitation home but a discreet one. It’s the kind of place where a movie star might recover from plastic surgery to look after her image, a senator might go after getting a pacemaker that he doesn’t want the world to know about, or where amafiosogoes to recover from a stroke. Felicity’s grip on my hand tightens, and I give her a reassuring nod.

“We’re almost there,” I say softly. “Are you ready?”

She takes a deep breath, gaze fixed on the approaching building. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The car slows to a stop in front of a nondescript penthouse. I step out first, scanning the area before helping her from the vehicle. She stands close to me, swaying slightly.

“This is it,” I murmur, guiding her toward the entrance. “I’ll be right here with you.”

“Right.” She straightens her shoulders as we approach the door.

I raise my hand to knock, the sound echoing in the quiet street. As we wait for a response, I glance down at Felicity. She looks at me, her expression reflecting a touch of fear and curiosity.

The door swings open, revealing a security guard wearing the facility’s uniform. It’s time for Felicity to meet her father, and I hope that this reunion brings more healing than harm.

Once we check in, including being scanned for guns that are catalogued but not taken, the guard gives us his room number. I keep a hand on her back as we walk down the corridors to find it. Once there, I open the door, revealing a gaunt man in a wheelchair. Santino DeLucci’s once-imposing frame is now diminished, but his gaze still holds sharp intelligence as it settles on her.

“Felicity. Come in, please.” His voice is hoarse, and I don’t know if it’s from emotion or his stroke. He didn’t sound so choked up the last time we spoke, so I assume he’s feeling overwhelmed at the moment.

I guide Felicity into the room, keeping my hand on the small of her back. She takes a hesitant step forward, never looking away from Santino.

“Hello Mr. DeLucci,” she says, sounding uncertain.

Santino wheels himself back, creating space for us to enter. The room is sparsely furnished, with a large desk dominating one side and a seating area on the other. There’s a hospital bed and various equipment in the far corner. It’s impossible to hide that it’s basically a hospital room, no matter how opulent the decorations.

I lead Felicity to a plush armchair, taking a position slightly behind her, offering silent support as I keep a hand on her shoulder.

“You look so much like your mother,” says Santino, clearly scrutinizing every detail of Felicity’s face. “Except for the eyes. Those are mine.”

Felicity nods, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “I can see that.”

An uncomfortable silence stretches between them, laden with years of unspoken words and separation.

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