Page 9 of Till Death Do Us Part

I paused at the second-floor landing, enamored by the vision. The setting sun shone through the high transom, drenching the chandelier with golden rays and sending cascades of color dancing over the marble foyer. Down below, Catalina’s bodyguard stood near the front doors. Mother hugged Catalina as I made my way down the staircase. By Mother’s exuberance, you’d never suspect the unkind things she said about Dario’s wife in private.

My gaze went to my brother.

Nearly half a year of ruling the famiglia showed in the tenseness of his jawline and the tiny lines spidering from the sides of his eyes. The pressure was evident, making him even less stoic than before. Nevertheless, as Mom released Catalina, Dario went to his wife’s side, wrapping his arm protectively around her waist.

Mother turned to me with a quick scan, her expression voicelessly objecting to my attire. Of course, everyone else was dressed more formally. It was as I neared the last step that I heard my sister-in-law’s news.

Baby.

Catalina is pregnant.

The information caused my steps to stutter.

How old is she?

Twenty-four or twenty-five.

She and Dario had been married for eight months, and she was already carrying his child. A child who would be both Mafia and cartel. The news hit a nerve I wasn’t expecting.

I’d yet to acknowledge that deep inside me, I grieved my lack of children.

As long as Rocco was alive, I’d told myself our childless status was his failure. It gave me another reason to detest him. It also made it easier for me to deal with the reality that deep down, I wanted children. After his death, I’d come to terms with the idea of never having a child of my own.

At Catalina’s joyous news, I was unable to squelch the green ink of jealousy seeping into my bloodstream and coursing throughout my body. With monumental effort, I feigned a smile as my tone jumped an octave. “Did I hear you’re pregnant?” I reached for Catalina’s hands. “So soon.”

A rose hue filled her cheeks, giving her a radiant sheen as she leaned into Dario and kept her green stare on me. “We wanted to tell you in person.”

Catalina was no longer the terrified new bride from her wedding night. The way she sought Dario for support was but another reason for me to be resentful. Had I ever sought support from Rocco?

“When are you due?” Mom asked.

“July.”

Five months away and yet, there was no visual sign of a baby growing within her. Under Catalina’s slacks and blouse, her frame was as trim and slender as it had been on her wedding day. The only possible difference may be that her breasts were bigger. To be candid, I never before fully assessed Catalina’s breasts.

“Congratulations,” I said. I turned my attention to Dario. “So, this happy news is the reason for your visit.”

“One of them,” Dario said.

“Oh, I can’t believe you haven’t told me before now…” Mom continued her gushing as she led the four of us into the front parlor. “Your father would be so happy. Have you considered naming your son Vincent? It’s a tradition…” Her words, phrases, and questions came a mile a minute as she asked about the baby and Catalina’s health. “Are you going to learn the baby’s gender?”

Catalina deferred to Dario, like the disgustingly submissive wife she was.

The answer to Mom’s question was no—they didn’t want to know the gender before birth. Despite Mom’s desire for grandsons, Dario said they’d be happy with a boy or girl. Interestingly, no one had addressed Mom’s question about using Father’s name.

My own thoughts blared in my head, stifling the conversation around me. If I was going to enlist my sister-in-law’s aid in stopping my marriage, I needed to pay closer attention to what they were saying. Yet with each passing minute, my mind was onmyfuture or lack thereof, not on the upcoming bundle of joy.

When Rosa arrived with a bottle of prosecco, our mother’s favorite before-dinner sparkling wine, and four glasses, Mom sent her away. “No alcohol. My daughter-in-law is expecting.”

Rosa’s eyes opened wide. “Congratulations, Mrs. Luciano.” She was speaking to Catalina. “Would lemonade be appropriate? Or water?”

“Yes, lemonade,” Mom said. “Good idea.”

“Water for me,” Catalina replied. “Acidic drinks and I are still not getting along.”

“Of course.”

“Rosa,” I said as I tried to maintain a smile. “I’m not pregnant. Leave the prosecco.”

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