Page 4 of The Godfather’s Christmas Twins

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GIA - ELEVEN MONTHS LATER

The crisp November wind whips around me as I navigate the busy Manhattan streets. Between the twins' school schedules and my own responsibilities, these rare moments alone are highly valued, even if my forays through the city are errands, not a day of fun. I love my kids more than anything, but I have to admit, since they started kindergarten in September, I’ve enjoyed having more time to myself.

I duck into a small café I frequent now on my outings to order a cappuccino and a croissant.

“Good morning, Mrs. Cantore,” the barista greets me. I've kept my husband Aldo's name for the twins' sake, even though I hate the name nearly as much as I hated Aldo. Worse, it bothers me that my children are forced to carry the Cantore name to protect them from the stigma of illegitimacy and my disgrace of having cheated on my fiancé. There was a time I was willing to risk it. If Max wanted to stand for us, I’d have taken the chance to admit my indiscretion to give my children the Giraldi name. But for reasons I don’t understand, Max wants nothing to do with me. Perhaps it’s because I’d thrown myself at him all those years ago and he’s worried I’ll do it again. Whatever the reason,the decisions have been made. The kids will remain Cantores and will never know their real father.

"Your usual?" the barista asks.

"Please."

A few moments later, I’m at a table near the window, cradling the warm cup of coffee in my hands as the world passes by. I’m quite content. Maybe not blissfully happy, as Nic is. I’m not sure anyone is as happy as Nic, except maybe Bella. My lips twitch upward as I think about the two of them. I’ll be honest, I never pegged my older brother as the settling down type. At forty, his life was all about the business and protecting me and the kids.

Now, he’s got a lovely wife and three kids. THREE! I guess having multiples runs in the family. They have little Brandon, and then Marianne and Eleanor, whom they call Ellie. To be honest, I thought the girls' names were a little old-fashioned, but Bella said the names paid tribute to when they were snowed in on the run and she readSense and Sensibilityto Nic while he recovered from a gunshot wound. That’s when I knew for sure Nic was in a forever relationship. My badass brother sat and listened to a Jane Austen book? Only love would have him doing that.

But even with his new wife and six-month-old triplets, Nic has never abandoned his sense of duty to me. He made a promise to my mother before she vanished, and he’s never gone back on it. Max made the same promise, going so far as to become my godfather, but his commitment isn’t the same. I don’t blame him. I’m a grown woman now, and I guess I made him uncomfortable when I’d so blatantly asked him to have sex with me all those years ago.

Thinking of Nic brings warm feelings. Whereas we’d never been a close family when my father was alive, today, Nic insists on weekly family meals, no matter how chaotic his schedule gets. Last week, he sat on the floor with Daniella and Dario,helping them build a fortress of blocks while sending his men out to “take care” of an associate discovered skimming from the business. The image of New York's most powerful Don wearing a paper crown my daughter made still makes me smile.

A text buzzes my phone. Speak of the devil.

Poppers? Do you know anything about that?Nic’s message reads.

I laugh.

I assume you mean for Thanksgiving and not in the line of your work. They’re tubes with a prize in them. When you pull the ends, they pop.

Bella says we need them for Thanksgiving.

I smile. When I first met Bella, I immediately liked her. She was young, yes, but she wasn’t afraid to put my brother in his place when necessary. I suppose what I love most about her is how happy she’s made my brother. And I find it amusing how much he indulges her, including learning about poppers. I text back.

Bella is right.

I’m pretty certain he’s not really asking me about poppers and instead is checking up on me as part of that oath to my mother. Sometimes, I feel he’s overprotective, but it’s not like he’s never had cause to worry. Not long after Aldo died, Benny Cantore, his grown son from his first marriage, tried to contest the twins’ inheritance. I was ready to give him the money because the truth is that the twins aren’t Aldo’s kids. But no one but me knows that, so it was difficult for me to simply hand over the money.

Nic argued that Benny was just going to snort it or gamble it away. The money was better off invested for the twins. I’m sure he threatened Benny, who backed off and left town.

The kids are making place cards.Dario insists on drawing pirates on all of them.

That kid is a future Don.

I’m not sure how I feel about that. I want my kids to become whatever they want to be, even if it’s outside the Mafia life. Even Nic, as powerful as he is, is forced to live with constraints on his behavior, concerns about his and his family’s safety, and the possibility of prison.

"More coffee, Mrs. Cantore?"

"Yes, please." Because I can. Because for these few hours between school drop-off and pickup, I'm not just Daniella and Dario's mother. I'm Gia. Just Gia.

I settle back to savor my second cappuccino when my phone beeps again. I wonder what Nic needs now.

Green looks good on you, Gia.

My insides go cold. I gaze down at my emerald sweater and around the café. The morning crowd has thinned. There’s the barista, a college-aged woman hunched over a laptop, and an elderly man with a newspaper.

Another buzz.

Have you read my letters? You shouldn’t ignore me.

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