Page 18 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia Don

If old friends put guns to each other’s heads.

“She already told me what happened—”

Salvatore holds up a hand, cutting my brother off. He stares into me, his eyes like an X-ray, piercing down to the bone.

“No,” I answer him honestly. “It was all a coincidence. I didn’t know he was there until we were face to face.”

“Why did you come back with him?”

“Because he wanted to, and he didn’t give me much choice,” I finally admit.

“And you had no part in it?”

“Of course she didn’t, Sal,” Marcel says, stunned that I’m even being questioned, but no one acknowledges him. I feel a little more respected. At least someone thinks I’m capable of something—even if that something is just shooting myself in the foot.

“Marcel, step outside.”

“What?” he asks, shocked. All Salvatore has to do is raise his eyes, meet him gaze for gaze, and Marcel has no choice but to obey. He stands up, gives me a long, searching look, andthen leaves the room. His footsteps are heavier than usual, the door snapping shut a little too quick. My brother isn’t one for tantrums, but even he can’t hide how pissed off this makes him.

“You really think I had something to do with Nico coming back?” I ask.

“No,” Sal admits, almost smiling. “But I am going to make you an offer, and I don’t want you to be influenced. The offer is for you and you alone. Marcel would interfere when it’s not his place.”

I sit a little straighter in my seat.

“What’s the offer?”

“Don’t look so eager,” he grumbles. “You’re not going to like it, and I hate myself for making it. But Nico only has a strong claim to Marcel’s position because he’s my brother. When people refer tothe family, it has two meanings. The first category is the direct descendants of the Moris from Sicily, my own ancestors, and their relatives by blood and law. The second is those who work for the family in a close capacity. Like you and Marcel. If we could move you from the second category and into the first, then Nico’s claim about Marcel not being real family would be worthless.”

He makes it sound simple, but he’s right—I don’t like where this is going.

“If you were married to someone in the Mori family, someone close to me, it could save Marcel’s position as my right-hand man.”

I stare at him, a tiny black hole opening up in my chest and swallowing everything inside me. I was so close to already being related to Salvatore. If Vinny and I had gotten married...

I shut down the thought, shove it back in its coffin where it belongs.

“You don’t have to agree, Ava,” Salvatore says when I don’t answer. “It’s just an option. We can find another way. If I had someone to offer Marcel, I would—”

“I’ll do it.”

The words are abrupt. They burst from my lips before I’ve fully come to terms with the idea.

Salvatore studies me closely, that searching look reading me deep. “Why?” he demands.

“For Marcel. He’s only indebted to the family because he wanted to protect me when I was little. You know what he’s done for me, even better than I do. This is the first chance I’ve ever had to pay off that debt,” I reason. “It’s my turn to make a sacrifice for once.”

The chair creaks as he leans back, considering my reasoning. I continue, trying to keep the bitterness from my voice.

“And besides…I was never going to get married anyway. So it might as well serve a purpose.”

It sounds too cold, too practical. I see it in Salvatore’s eyes.

I should be kicking and screaming at the thought of an arranged marriage. Being sold off to some half-stranger that happens toshare Salvatore’s last name. But I have felt this debt looming over me my whole life. Marcel never talks about it, never complains, but it has weighed on me since I was old enough to comprehend it. I wanted to pay it back somehow. Good grades, always listening, never causing trouble. Tiny little ways to show him that I was appreciative. Maybe this way, I won’t have to be in debt anymore. Maybe we will finally be even.

“You understand what would be expected of you,” Salvatore adds carefully. “The role you’ll have to play.”

“I know what wives do,” I say hollowly.

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