Page 108 of Nikola
Me: So how do you know it was me?
Penelope: My papa heard Marchetti raging. Nikola sent him a text with the video and specifically said it’s you with him. Fucking brilliant!
Me: Hindsight, not so much.
Amara: Want me to kill Nikola?
I sighed, unable to even imagine this world without him in it.
Me: No. He’s gone through enough.
Penelope: ???
Amara: ???
Jesus, it’d been weeks since the shooting. Hadn’t Nikola’s parents updated anyone?
Me: Long story. My great-grandma appeared from the shadows and tried to kill my papa. Nikola saved us, but she shattered his knees. He might never walk again.
Penelope: Fuck, I’m sorry.
Amara: Jesus, I take my assassination offer off the table. I’m so sorry.
Mama tapped my shoulder and I met her eyes, tabling the messages for now while my phone continued to buzz.
“It’ll be nice to be back home,” she signed nervously. “We can focus on Christmas plans and the wedding.”
“It’ll be a two-for-one,” Papa retorted wryly. “I sure hope wives’ tales of Christmas weddings are all bullshit.”
Mama slapped his forearm gently. “Christmas Day weddings are good luck.”
Papa’s eyebrows met his hairline. Clearly nobody had heard of that theory.
But instead of pointing it out, he settled for, “Well, he sure as fuck won’t ever forget his anniversary.”
“Penelope’s getting married on Christmas Day,” I signed, relating what I just learned. “So best not to go forward with plans for a Christmas wedding.”
“Ahh, maybe that’s why Vasili and Isabella are pushing for a spring wedding,” Papa stated with a hint of relief in his eyes. “Okay, no Christmas wedding. I’m sure somewhere along the way I heard it’s bad luck anyhow.” Mama stared at him, glanced at me, then back at him. “Another clusterfuck waiting to happen with Penelope DiMauro and Enzo Marchetti,” Papa continued. “Fucking disasters everywhere you turn.”
“Dante, weddings aren’t a disaster,” Mama scolded him, then turned to me. “What do you think about a spring wedding, Skye?”
“Yeah, whatever. Spring sounds just as good.”
Mama clapped her hands. “Wonderful. Aunt Reina can design your dream wedding dress. Everything will be just perfect.”
She was trying so hard to appear optimistic. So was Papa, and all I could do was grimace with the knowledge that our current situation wasn’t what I had in mind whenever I dreamed of a wedding and a future. I had to be the first woman in thisfucked-up mobster world to insist on a wedding against the groom’s wishes. Talk about role reversal.
How low could I sink?
I pressed my hand to my forehead and inhaled a deep breath. Just the way Dr. Freud, the therapist Papa insisted I talk to, had taught me. God, how could things have gotten so bad? Happiness was within reach and then…poof.
My great-grandmother, of all people, destroyed it.
That familiar rage slithered through my veins and I steeled myself to ask the unfathomable.
“Papa?”
“Yes, princess?” Mama was scurrying around, cleaning and packing, not paying us any attention.
