Page 96 of Convenient Mafia Vows

I don’t know what to say. Olivia was governed by her misguided desire to be married to Caleb. But she abducted my brother and my best friend to get to me, and although I might be able to forgive her, I will never forget what she did.

“You said that you hoped we might be friends, Olivia and I.” Pause.

I don’t know how far I can go without being disrespectful to the mafia boss. Caleb has a lot of respect for the older man, and I’ve learned enough to know that respect is key in their line of business. Without it, they might as well pack their bags and relocate to the other side of the world.

“That was then, and this is now,” he says before I pluck up the courage to continue. “My daughter fired the first shot.” At my gasp of surprise, he adds, “Fortunately for all concerned, my daughter was more proficient at applying makeup than she was at wielding a firearm.”

My eyes instinctively drift across the room to Ivan Petrov. It must’ve been a surface wound; he doesn’t appear to be in any pain, and when our eyes meet, he raises his glass to toast me.

“Did Ivan try to stop her?”

“He didn’t need to.” Don Dragonetti has been acknowledging other guests throughout our conversation, but now he turns to face me, creating a tiny bubble in which only the two of us exist. “I fired the second shot.”

I blink furiously. I’m not sure I heard him correctly with the ringing in my ears as I relive those terrible moments in the warehouse.

“I… I mean, you…” I swallow a mouthful of champagne too quickly and feel it bubble and fizz as it goes down.

“I was aware of a mole within my organization. Agreements were broken. Pressure was being put on my business by the police commissioner. The casinos were losing money. I suspected of course, but I didn’t quite believe it until Lev Petrov informed me of my daughter’s antics with his son.” He drains the liquid in his glass and sighs heavily.

“Is she…?” I can’t bring myself to finish the question.

“She has been taken care of. So, you see, you have nothing to worry about on that score.”

I swallow, tears inexplicably welling in my eyes. “What about you? Will you be alright?”

He smiles, and his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Yes, my dear. Thank you for asking.” He places his empty glass onto a tray as a server walks past, leans in, and kisses my cheeks. “Enjoy your honeymoon. We will meet again when you get back.”

“Thank you.” Although he is smiling, I sense the heavy sadness resting on his shoulders. I throw my arms around him and hug him closely. “Please take care.”

I release him to find Caleb watching us with a curious half-smile. “Don Dragonetti, I’m so glad that you could make it.” He shakes the older man’s hand.

“I can’t stay. But I wanted to offer my congratulations to the happy couple.”

I watch him navigate the small groups of people in the ballroom with handshakes for the men and kisses for the women. His spine is straight. He knows everyone, and everyone greets him with respect, and I can’t help feeling that an alliance with the Murrays means more to him than he lets on. Maybe he looks upon Caleb as the son he never had. I only hope that we never let him down.

“Happy?” Caleb pulls me into his arms and kisses me on the lips.

“Always.”

EPILOGUE

VICTORIA

Abigail comes runningover to us as we climb out of the car.

“Auntie Vicky, Uncle Caleb, come and meet my friend, Resh.” She grabs our hands and leads us into the extensive gardens of Sudbury Valley.

A boy is sitting high up in a grand old oak tree, tossing leaves down to a girl who is making patterns with them across a boulder. Other children are laying belly-down in the grass reading books. Some are deadheading the flowers in the borders; some are simply running around; a boy is sitting by himself playing guitar, oblivious to the other children around him, while another is performing somersaults.

Resh, when we find him, is sitting in the dappled shade of an apple tree with a tablet on his lap. He’s a couple of years older than Abigail with long jet-black hair that flops over his eyes, and a narrow serious face. When he spots us, he stands up, wipes his hands on his slacks and greets Caleb with a handshake. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Nice to meet you too, Resh.” Caleb smiles. “Abigail talks about you a lot.”

“She talks about you too. She said that you ride a Harley Davidson, but she didn’t say which model.”

Caleb hesitates, and I can see it in his profile that he isn’t accustomed to discussing motorcycles with an eight-year-old. “It’s a limited-edition Anniversary Road Glide.” He glances at me, the brief look asking if this is too much information.

“Does it still have the eagle?” The kid’s expression is still perfectly serious.

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