Page 136 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

Turning on my heel, I left.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-SIX

Emma

The house was full again.

Gia was staying here along with Enzo and his brother, and Frankie had flown in from Siderno. Massimo was still in the hospital, but he was going to be released soon.

I should have been happy. I was surrounded by a big chaotic family, just like when we were growing up.

Except I was miserable. Someone was missing.

The Buscetta plane departed two days ago while I was still at the hospital. Giacomo and Zani had disappeared without a word, presumably going back to Palermo. I didn’t blame him. He’d poured his heart out and I hadn’t been able to give him an answer about how I felt. I’d asked for time, and so he left.

There hadn’t been a word since.

I stared into my mug and stirred my tea. Everyone was still asleep, and I was using the quiet time this morning to think. My sisters had avoided the topic of my marriage and my missing husband, but that wouldn’t last. There had been too much tragedy to deal with the past few days, but I knew them well. Soon they would demand to hear everything.

I wasn’t sure what to tell them.

Did I love Giacomo? Yes, unequivocally.

But love wasn’t enough to build a marriage. A real partnership depended on respect and communication, a sharing of values and goals. If I went to Palermo, I was giving up on what I’d worked for—a way out of the world in which I’d been raised. Giacomo might promise things would be different for me, but how could they be? A man in his position couldn’t make too many allowances without risking everything. And Sicily was definitely old school in its thinking.

“Ciao, bello. How is my little man this morning?”

My head snapped up at my oldest sister’s voice. Mobile at her ear, Frankie breezed into the kitchen wearing fancy red silk pajamas. She always looked beautiful, like a mini-version of our mother, who’d been a world-famous model.

Frankie went to the espresso machine and began fiddling with the controls. “Mamma loves you, Marcello. Yes, I do. Ti amo, ti amo, ti amo.”

Marcello was her two-month old son. How she stayed so gorgeous after having three kids so close in age was a mystery. I would undoubtedly be a mess 24-7.

That brought up thoughts of Giacomo and babies.

“You’re going to take my big load like a good girl, no? And I’m going to put a baby inside you.”

I flushed and shifted on my stool. Those types of memories weren’t helpful. This required logic, not emotion.

“Thank you for that,” Frankie was saying into the phone, the tone of her voice changing. “And yes, I miss you, too, Paparino.”

Whatever Fausto said in return on the other end made my sister blush, so I looked away. I couldn’t take another happy couple right now. Enzo and Gia were bad enough.

She brought a demitasse of espresso to the kitchen bar. “I have to go, you dirty old man. My sister is here and you’re embarrassing her.” She paused. “No, she’s moping.” Another pause. “I’ll tell her. Speak to you later, amore mio. Ciao.”

When she disconnected she sipped her espresso. “Fausto says you’re better off.”

“Why did you say that I’m moping?”

“Because you are. Did you sleep at all last night?”

Barely, but that wasn’t the point. “You all need to leave me alone and let me run my own life.”

Frankie snorted. “Have you met your two sisters? Have you met your brothers-in-law? Leaving you alone isn’t in the cards, Em.”

I didn’t want to talk about any of this, so I shifted topics. “I heard you sat with Papà for a long time last night.” Frankie had been distraught, to say the least, when she learned our father was dying. She was working through the stages of grief rapidly, alternating between grief, anger, and despair since she landed in Toronto.

“Yes, I did,” she answered. “And don’t change the subject. We’re talking about you.”

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