Page 116 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia King

Our wedding is so perfect, I could have dreamed it.

Every color, dress, and song is all just the way I imagined it. And after all that planning and nitpicking, the only part of it that really matters is the man who takes me into his arms at the end of the aisle and doesn’t let me go.

But there is one extra surprise that Ren has for me on our day. He does the impossible, the thing he said he couldn’t do, putting the broken glass of the past back together one grueling sliver at a time, just for me.

It stops the ceremony for a full ten minutes when I realize who is sitting in the front row, with tears running down her face. I runto her like a child, throw my arms around her, and I cry into my mother’s arms.

***

Ren had already delayed our honeymoon by a week. The evening is already settling in, draped like a big purple shawl on the shoulders of the hillsides as we approach the house. It’s remote and beautiful, with miles of countryside around it.

“It’s gorgeous,” I say, craning for a look down into the valley we just drove up. The road bumps gently under the tires. When I turn back, a sedan parked in the driveway slides into our view.

“Is someone here?” I ask.

Ren stares ahead. I note his lack of surprise or confusion as we pull our rental up beside the strange car.

“Nadia, I have something for you,” he says. “A wedding present of sorts.” I snap my gaze back to him. His voice sounds different—steely and nervous for some reason. He kills the engine, sitting stoically in the driver’s seat while I try to press him.

“Okay. What is it…? Ren?” I try, as he stares through the windshield, his hand clutched as though he’s still driving.

“…Ren, what’s wrong?”

His mouth opens, then shuts again.

“Just…come on,” he finally says. It sounds as though he’s second-guessing, and my giddy nerves start to tense up.

“Ren—”

He closes the door and makes me chase him to the front door, where he punches in the security pin.

“Hey, come on. What’s the matter…?” I ask, my stomach twisted into a tight knot as he won’t look at me. I barely see the lovely house we’re supposed to be enjoying as he walks straight through the cavernous foyer, the sleek kitchen, marches right past the bedroom where we are supposed to be spending our night.

I am not swept over the threshold like a blushing bride, or carried in the nearest soft surface and drowned in kisses. My imagination starts to wither up, fear tugging at the back of my throat the farther into the house we proceed.

He pushes open the last door and steps back.

He won’t look at me.

I step inside. The last light of the day falls through the windows of a narrow laundry room, landing upon the figure there on the floor. Hunched over, hands bound, eyes glittering all black and reptilian with hatred.

Marlow.

I draw a stunned breath. The last I heard of him, he had fled the country upon hearing of Ren coming after him. No one had ever mentioned him again. I assumed he was gone for good.

I back out of the room, my uncle’s curses or pleas muffled by the gag in his mouth.

I look at Ren, stunned. This time, he meets my gaze.

“You asked me to kill him. I refused. And I shouldn’t have. Nothing you ask for will ever be refused again. But this one, I had to make up for. He framed your father. Killed my parents. Told your mother that I’d killed you, so she wouldn’t return. He stole everything from you.” His eyes slide toward the dark doorway, the sun creeping farther down the windowsill and making the shadows harsh. “This is what I wanted to give you.”

He looks at me warily, as if wondering if I’ve changed my mind, if I’m going to condemn him or be angry and disgusted that he’s done it on the night of our wedding. But the truth is that no matter what Ren might do—retire and leave the mob and put this life behind him—this will always be a part of who is. And I love it right along with the rest of him.

I look at Marlow again. Mypresent.

And I smile.

***

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