Page 67 of Arranged Mafia Marriage

Kiril leads us to the living room, where Isabella and Tony are waiting. The moment Damiano sees them, his entire demeanor changes. His face softens, and a genuine smile spreads across his lips.

“Papa?” Tony is clearly surprised as he races toward Damiano.

Damiano scoops him up, hugging him tightly. “Hey, little man. I’ve missed you.”

Isabella approaches more cautiously, but her body language radiates welcome. “Damiano,” she says softly.

He sets down Tony and pulls Isabella into an embrace. “You look beautiful,” he whispers just loudly enough for me to hear.

The tension in the room dissipates slightly, replaced by an awkward silence. Kiril clears his throat.

“Shall we move to the dining room? Dinner is ready.”

We file into the elegant dining room, where the table is set with fine china and crystal glasses. Kiril takes his place at the head of the table, with me to his right. Damiano sits across from me, with Isabella beside him and Tony beside me.

As we begin to eat, the conversation is stilted and formal. We discuss neutral topics like the weather, and Tony’s latest adventures in preschool. Gradually, the atmosphere starts to thaw.

“So, Felicity,” says Damiano, his fork pausing halfway to his mouth. “How are you finding life in New York?”

I take a sip of water before answering. “It’s been an adjustment, but I’m getting used to it. The city has its own rhythm, you know?”

He nods. “It does, and how abouteverything else?” His looks at Kiril, then back at me.

I understand what he’s really asking. “How am I handling life in the mafia world? It’s challenging, but I’m learning. Kiril has been a great teacher.”

Damiano’s eyebrows raise slightly. “I’m sure he has.” He sounds only slightly doubtful.

The undercurrent of tension returns, but Kiril smoothly intervenes. “Felicity has shown remarkable adaptability. She’s a quick study.”

“I bet she is,” Damiano mutters, but there’s less hostility in his tone than I expected. “You seem a lot like Papa,” he says, and it’s hard to tell if he means that as an insult or a compliment.

I’m uncomfortable with the thought, so I don’t expound on it. I’ve accepted in an intellectual way that Santino is my biological father, and Damiano is my half-brother, but the emotional connections that make it feel real are more tenuous and take a long time to build.

The conversation shifts to business matters, and I observe the dynamics between Kiril and Damiano. There’s still an edge of rivalry, but also a grudging respect. They discuss territory and operations with the ease of long-time adversaries, who know each other’s moves.

As the main course is cleared away and dessert is served, Tony asks, “Papa, are you coming to live with us?”

The table falls silent. Damiano looks pained as he glances at Isabella across the table. “Not right now, buddy,” he says gently, “But I promise I’ll visit more often.”

Tony’s lower lip trembles. “But why can’t you stay? We got lots of room in our soot.”

Isabella intervenes. “Suite, not soot. Remember what we talked about? Papa has his own house, but he loves us very much.”

Damiano reaches out, ruffling Tony’s hair. “That’s right, and no matter where I am, I’m always thinking about you.”

The moment is tender, and I blink back unexpected tears. Despite everything, it’s clear Damiano adores his son and Isabella.

As we finish dessert, Kiril stands. “Damiano, would you care to join me for a drink in the study?”

Damiano nods, rising as well. “Lead the way.”

As the men leave, Isabella turns to me. “Felicity, could we talk privately for a moment?”

“Of course,” I say, curious.

She looks at her son. “Tony, why don’t you go play in your room for a bit?” Once Tony is out of earshot, Isabella sways closer, her voice low and excited. “Damiano is planning to buy us an apartment here in the city.”

I let out a small sound of excitement for her. “Really? That’s... wow. How do you feel about that?”

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