“My brother?”

“Dominic. He caught me in the hallway. Made some comment about a friend vomiting at the smell of fish and how it turned out she was pregnant.”

“He was fucking with you.” We fall silent again. Sergio’s watching me, his midnight eyes heated. “You can’t leave, Natalie. Whatever you’re thinking, get that out of your head.”

“Your father, what he said about Lucia DeMarco…”

“My father can say what he wants. Lucia isn’t for me. Period. She belongs to Salvatore and I don’t want to hear her name again. End of that discussion, understand?”

I nod.

“Where are your parents?” he asks.

“Arizona.”

“I busted the glass on the kitchen window.”

“You broke in. Of course, you did.” I feel my face darken. He’s a criminal. A mobster.

The image of him standing over the man with the gun comes again. I close my eyes against it. I don’t want to see him like that ever again. I should have listened to him when he told me there are things you can’t unsee because that I wish I’d never seen.

He touches my cheek. I open my eyes. “You know who I am. What I’m capable of. You wanted to see and you did. You saw what I’ll do to protect what’s mine. How far I’ll go when what’s mine is taken. Hurt. You and the baby are mine, Natalie. I will protect you, always. I love you and I can’t let you walk away, no matter what. No matter if it’s wrong. I won’t.”

“I don’t want to.”

26

Natalie

Two weeks later, I’m back at Franco Benedetti’s house. Already, Sergio’s mom looks worse. Feebler. Even as she tries to smile while pinning a veil to my hair.

“I wore it. My mother wore it. Her mother before her. It’s a family tradition,” Mrs. Benedetti says.

The veil is yellowing and there’s a hint of something ancient that clings to it, a scent. A feel.

“We’ll have a big ceremony in the winter. It’s so pretty here with the snow,” she prattles on, and I don’t know if it’s the thought that she won’t make it to winter or something else that sits like a stone in my belly. But I smile back at her reflection. I refuse to let anything dampen the joy of this day.

“With a huge dress,” I say.

“The biggest.”

The plan is this small wedding today. And once the baby’s born, we’ll have a proper ceremony in a nearby chapel.

“There,” she says, tucking one rebellious lock of hair behind my ear. It’s pinned up with baby’s breath tucked into it beneath the yellowing veil that reaches to the middle of my back. “You look beautiful. Glowing. My son is a lucky man.” She squeezes my shoulder.