Page 50 of The Marriage Contract

“You’ve brought it up several times now.”

“Oh, oh, no, this is all too much. Please don’t yell at me.”

“I’m not yelling.” There’s a pause. She moans some more. Guilt tugs at me. “I’m sorry, Aunt Rosa. I love you. Please, get some rest. I think you’re confused, but Giulia says you’re getting better. Just keep getting better.”

“I love you,” she murmurs. “You’re more than a Mafia man’s pawn.”

After hanging up, Dario says, “Is everything okay?”

“It’s Aunt Rosa. She keeps talking about the fire and …”

“What?” he says, taking my hand.

I move away, but a moment later, I regret it and take his hand. A battle rages inside me, punctuated with gunshots and visions of Dario becoming a monster. All to keep me safe, yet still, it’s so convoluted. “She thought you might’ve hurt me. Buried me in the woods, she said.”

“I’d die before I hurt you,” he growls. “I’d …”

“You were going to say ‘kill.’”

“Well, it’s the truth,” he snaps. “You never have to worry about that.”

“She’ll probably not want to be at the wedding.”

He grits his teeth, making his jaw look solid and sharp. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“That’s becoming a theme for us, isn’t it? Putting off the inevitable?”

“I wish I had more answers. I never expected this to be so complicated.”

“Neither did I,” I murmur. “I think that makes both of us incredibly naïve.”

He smirks, and I feel something like my old sassiness trying to resurface. It’s like there are pieces of me buried beneath the trauma, trying to break free. “I’ve never been called naïve before.”

I want to jab him in the side, laugh, and say,You have now,but I just can’t bring myself to do it.

CHAPTER TWENTY

DARIO

Ihave a Moretti man carry the dinner plates from the kitchen into the empty high-rise restaurant. Elena sits across from me, her sparkling shirt catching the light, her hair curled in a wild mass down to her shoulders, waking up parts of me I need to keep dormant. She doesn’t even want me kissing her, let alone anything else.

As I cut my steak, she says, “Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything,” I say.

“What do you want to do with your life?”

“I have to keep the Family?—”

“No,” she interrupts. “Not what youhaveto do. What do youwantto do? What would your days look like if you weren’t part of the Mafia?”

I shrug. “I’d probably work full-time at Paths of Promise. I’d spend more time fishing.”

“You like fishing?” she asks, surprised by my answer. “My dad used to take me sometimes.”

“Your father was a man of good taste. Fishing’s the most peaceful activity I know of until it isn’t. It’s like the antidote to this Mafia life. Maybe I’ll take you one day.”

“Yeah.” She looks down at her plate. “Maybe.”

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