Page 99 of Forever Fake

“I choose you,” she says against my mouth. “All I’ve been waiting for, is for you to choose me, too.”

“You have that. You have me, all of me. My body, my heart, my soul.” I deepen our kiss, unable to get enough of her sweet honey scent and decadent taste. Pulling back a little, I confess, “Our wedding was the most real experience of my life. That’s the day I realized I was in love with you, though I couldn’t admit it to myself yet.”

“I was terrified to walk down that aisle because I knew I’d fallen for you, but was afraid you’d never feel the same,” she says so quietly, I hardly hear her.

I thread my fingers gently through her hair. “How could I not? You’re my perfect match, magpie.” My attention drifts to her blond locks. “Has anyone seen to your injuries? Nurse!” I shout, pressing the button for assistance.

“Stop. I’m fine. Yes, I got checked out. Just some lost hair and bruises.” She pats her cheek. “I think I did an okay job covering them up.”

Rage hits me like a sledgehammer and my grip on her tightens. “I swear to you that you’ll never have to cover your bruises with concealer again. No one will ever hurt you again. I’ll make sure of that, or die trying.“

“I love you.”

Her beautiful words calm my raging temper. “I love you too. Say it again, Mrs. Baron.”

“I love you, husband. Now and forever.”

CHAPTER 48

Ginevra

The news called what happened at my parents’ home a burglary gone wrong. Their recounting of the situation makes it sound so simple, instead of the convoluted mess that it actually was with Oliver holding us hostage in his twisted game of heroics.

The worst part is that the man is still at large. Oliver is out there, somewhere, watching and waiting. Because of that, I haven’t gone anywhere without multiple bodyguards.

After reading that article, and several nights of waking up in a cold sweat, I signed myself up for therapy. Honestly, it’s something I’ve needed for a long time. I found a brilliant therapist who works specifically with women who’ve been through what I have. It’s such a relief to be able to talk to someone, to have them listen, and the hope of healing myself with effort and time.

Blake stayed in the hospital for several days. He was discharged yesterday, just in time to attend my father’s funeral this morning.

I stand beside my family in the graveyard on a bright, sunny late summer day. Birds chirp in the trees above us, it’s a harsh contrast to the priest's solemn prayers over Papa’s coffin. Thedeep hole in the earth is surrounded by our extended family, as well as the other mafia Italians: Casella, Rizzo, and Valente. My family, the Pontrellis, are the fourth pillar of power in this world. Today, we not only mourn his tragic passing, but also anticipate the upheaval brought on by the loss of a don.

Who will succeed him?

After the burial, we all make our way to Mama’s house, which is open for visitors throughout the day so they may pay their respects and offer us condolences.

I drift aimlessly through my childhood home, feeling so detached from what happened here. So many secrets, lies, and bloodshed. Papa wasn’t the best of dons, but he was far better than his older brother.

As I enter one of the rooms, I spot the aunties gathered around a table playing cards. Not once in my life have I ever grown tired of listening to them gossip. Most people avoid the meddling women, but I’ve always found comfort in their company—as long as I’m not the subject of the hour.

“With Davide gone, who is going to be the new don? He doesn’t have any more brothers.”

I lean closer to better eavesdrop. I’m curious about that too.

“Don’t you know? I do.”

“Then tell us, you old tease.”

“I’ll give you a hint. His last name is Pontrelli. He’s young and handsome and… broody. I’ve already come up with a list of seven eligible young ladies for him to court.”

“You’re still being a tease. The Pontrelli men are all dead.”

“Not the ones in Italy.”

“But—”

I feel a presence behind me right before an accented voice speaks, “My condolences, Mrs. Baron.”

I turn, finding a distant relative that I never thought to see in New York. “Maximo Pontrelli.”

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