“Lily wasn’t Italian,” he said finally, as if he’d been brooding about Faith’s Irish blood since dinner. And probably he had. His quick dismissal of the Irish Problem betrayed how the thought dominated his mind. At least he was now acknowledging his own hypocrisy, given how his wife had been as fair as a Nordic princess. Maybe not Irish, but not Italian either. He’d suffered his own share of ribbing when he’d brought her home—if the family stories were to be believed.

Leo caught Lily’s reflection in the mirror as she made an annoyed look and flipped her blonde hair. “I’m still not Italian, Salvatore.” It had been a long time since her hair had naturally been that color, but she’d maintained it in the fight against the encroaching gray army with the help of a salon professional.

“Yes, dear,” he said, humoring her. The truth was, once they’d had kids, and they had come out of the womb all shiny black eyes and hair and olive complexion, her ancestry had been forgiven on the spot. Though, one of their grandchildren was fair like Lily. Surrounded by everyone else’s dark looks, Angelica looked as if she’d been kidnapped. But if the family noticed, they didn’t mind. After all, looking like Lily was far from a criminal act.

His Ma started to go on about weddings and babies and how long before she could have grandchildren. She made it a point to note that she didn’t care if they came out polka-dotted. All she wanted was babies to cuddle and coo over.

Leo winced and glanced over at Faith, who had gone stiff. He’d promised her she wouldn’t have to have children for him. And he meant it. He wasn’t about to violate her to keep up family appearances, and a turkey baster was too crude even for him. Either way, forcing her to incubate his progeny would be almost as bad as rape. In some ways perhaps worse. They’d invent a story of infertility.

This whole thing was spiraling too far out of control, far beyond the scope of his original intentions. Locking Faith in the dungeon each year for the holidays would have been less trouble. But then he came back to himself. As long as Faith was in his home, no matter where she was, he couldn’t have a normal life. These were things he hadn’t paused to consider when his concern had been keeping his brother from killing someone Leo could save.

Angelo had given Leo an obligation, not a gift. A package of guilt and frustration. All he wanted was to take Faith and fulfill his every twisted fantasy with her, but his brother had gotten all the sociopathic genes. Leo didn’t have the heart to follow through with an unwilling victim.

He parked the car on the far side of the church and growled in annoyance as he observed the bundled people rushing for the door. The Christmas Eve late-night Mass was always crowded. Although it was midnight and most people were tucked in their beds dreaming of sugarplums and fairies, for the faithful of St. Stephen’s, Christmas Eve was the longest night of the year. Even the New Year didn’t inspire staying up so late. It was countdown, kisses, champagne, and then passing out.