Principessa of Chicago, page 18
Don Piero smiled slightly. There was nothing friendly about it. “You would be able to control the territory from Milwaukee?”
“It’s not impossible.” Bad Paddy puffed out some more smoke. I eyed the smoke detectors with slight worry. “What happened with the Gallagher’s is not going to happen again. I’ve already spoken to the other mobs in Illinois.”
“Oh? You have?”
“The Gallagher’s were a once off, as I said before.”
“Perhaps for the Irish Mob they were but we still have many other mafia’s to be weary of.”
Cormac McDermott’s eyes gleamed savagely. “Who are you weary of, sir?”
Don Piero ignored the younger man, keeping his attention trained on Bad Paddy. The Irish boss met his gaze evenly, taking another drag of his cigar.
“Only a fool is not weary of the Mafia.” Don Piero said.
Bad Paddy smiled slightly. “Indeed.” He wiped at his mouth with a napkin. “I hear the Bratva has made their way to America. Particularly New York.”
“I have heard the same thing.”
“I hope...our long friendship will be able to outlast them.” Bad Paddy said carefully, his second meaning clear. I hope we will be allies against the Bratva if they try anything.
Don Piero nodded. “Indeed. One of our girls is marrying Don Falcone this November. We will offer them support if the Russians do decide they want a seat of power in New York.”
Elena, I realized quickly. He was relying on Elena’s marriage to cement power against the Russians.
“My sister is married to one of the Ó Fiaich’s.” He replied. “We, too, will offer New York support should the Russians decide they want a slice.”
Did they think that was likely? Konstantin Tarkhanov had struck me as a violent man, but to claim a seat of power in New York? It was impossible. The Five Families of New York had been ruling the city for over a century. They wouldn’t let their own be so easily destroyed. Especially against the Bratva.
“It may not come to that. But it always better to be prepared, no?” Don Piero cleaned off the last of the hors d’oeuvres.
I flickered my eyes to the clock. Dinner would be served in sixteen minutes.
That is if the two bosses don’t kill each other in a passive argument beforehand.
“I am glad we are in agreement, Piergiorgio.” Bad Paddy said. I didn’t remember them agreeing on anything–was their mutual hatred for the Bratva the foundation on which their alliance rested?
“You delivered Angus Gallagher to our doorstep. We are in your debt.”
Bad Paddy smiled, looking like a friendly old grandfather. “In that case, I have a gift for you.” He gestured over his shoulder at his guards. They disappeared into the elevator.
“For me?”
All the Outfit soldati stood up straight in attention. Alessandro tensed slightly beside me, his eyes narrowing on the mobster.
“When we crashed Angus’s entourage in Ireland, we found a rare beauty. I knew in a second she would be the perfect gift for you.” She?
“You didn’t.” Laughed Don Piero. “I am an old man, Patrick.”
“I’m sure you will find some use for her.”
The elevator door dinged and a few of Bad Paddy’s soldiers stepped out. It took me a second to notice her but once you did, there was no looking away.
The most beautiful woman I had ever laid on stepped into the room. She was in her early thirties, with freckled pearly-white skin and delicate but striking features. Her hair was long and red, resembling bottled fire. Two intelligent green eyes were resting on her face, taking in the room.
She met my eyes briefly, recognising me as the only other female in the room, before glancing down to the floor.
“Angus Gallagher’s mistress.” Bad Paddy said pleased. “Aisling Shildrick.”
“The famous Irish rose?” Cooed Don Piero, actually looking quite interested.
I turned to absorb Alessandro’s expression, but my eyes swept over Toto the Terrible and paused. My father-in-law looked...ravenous. He looked like he was about to jump out of his seat and charge at Aisling Shildrick. The lust in his expression made me blush.
This wasn’t going to be good, I understood very quickly.
Bad Paddy gestured to Don Piero. “My gift to you. A beautiful woman to keep you company in your old age.”
Don Piero chuckled. “Angus had his flaws, but he sure could pick ‘em.” To Aisling, he said, “Lovely to meet you, darling.”
Aisling curtsied. “Sir.”
I searched Aisling’s expression. She didn’t reveal anything.
“Thank you for your gift, Patrick.” Don Piero said with a cheesy smile. “I’m not sure where I’ll put her.”
“I’ll have her.”
We all turned to Toto the Terrible.
Don Piero didn’t seem concerned with his son’s outburst. Unlike, Enrico who was looking at Aisling with something akin to worry. “Very well.”
“Someone get her a chair.” Toto barked.
I signalled one of the staff. “Please lay another plate out for Miss Shildrick.”
Aisling turned her head up at the sound of my voice, interest sparking in her eyes. But she didn’t say anything. Only followed the staff obediently to one of the smaller tables, with Toto’s eyes burning into her the entire time.
Mistresses could be somewhat of a sore topic in the Outfit.
Most married men had a mistress, despite their wives’ being honoured for chastity. But mistresses were not part of the wife-club. Leaving them stuck in a strange limbo where they weren’t part of the family and yet had to behave as if they were. The only rule concerning mistresses is that they couldn’t be Italian.
My eyes went to Alessandro and his hard, handsome face. Was he planning on a mistress? The idea made my heart feel heavy.
To my sudden relief, dinner was served. We had offered five separate meals on the menu so there was enough variety but not too much that the kitchen got overwhelmed. Plus, we had to consider dietary options.
The clatter of forks and people chatting began to warm up the room. The business between Don Piero and Bad Paddy had been settled. They were allies, friends even, despite the Gallagher’s. They had shared a laugh, a gift and now a meal.
Alessandro leaned into my ear as the noise in the room rose, his hot breath tickling my cheek. “You did a good job.”
“The night’s not over yet.” I turned to him, meeting his eyes. I was so close I could see a loose eyelash caught on his cheek. “You have an eyelash.”
Alessandro cocked his head to the side, “Oh? Where?”
“Here.” I swept it gently off his cheek.
A strange expression took over his face and he moved back slightly. I ignored the strange hurt I felt and quickly moved onto another topic. “Do you really think the Bratva pose such a significant threat?” I whispered. “Maybe they would ally with Ericson.”
“A Chicagoan politician? That would be a waste of time.” Alessandro replied, voice just quiet. “I think the Bratva want a seat at the table but it’s hard to decide when and where they will make their play. And how much damage they will cause.”
I thought of Tarkhanov’s polite gentlemanly exterior. “Would it possible for the Bratva to stage a coup d’état? Aim for as little bloodshed as possible?”
Alessandro smiled slightly. “For all Tarkhanov’s appearances and manners, he is a beast.” His eyes seemed to glow as he said, “Plus, the only way to gain power in this world is through violence.”
“I disagree with that statement.”
Delight flared in his expression. Before he could say anything, a voice called out, “Alessandro, when is your son due?”
Alessandro lifted his head, irritated. “We don’t know the sex, yet.” He said.
More people came into the conversation, including Bad Paddy. The Irish boss smiled at me. I tensed. But it was to Don Piero, he said, “How nice to live to see your great-grandchild.”
“I feel very blessed.” Don Piero said. “And unkillable.”
The men laughed.
“When is the babe due?” Bad Paddy inquired. This time he was talking to me.
“October, sir.” I replied.
He nodded. “Not long now.”
The attention shifted off me quickly as shoptalk rose once more. Alessandro braced an arm on the back of my chair, his expression hungry as he leaned into the conversation and argued his points. Every now and then he would turn to me, briefly, and scanned me to make sure I was fine before turning back to his argument.
“The best offence is a good defence.” Don Piero was saying. “I have little interest in hunting down the Bratva when their crimes are only speculation as of right now.”
“So, we wait?” Seamus McDermott asked. “Like sitting ducks?”
“I agree with Piergiorgio.” Bad Paddy said. “To attack the Russians with the Feds watching so closely would be suicide. We would all be in jail before the day was up.”
Seamus McDermott scowled. “This is more about getting in trouble with the Feds. Our way of life is at risk.”
“Not yet it’s not.” His brother reminded him. “The Russians have yet to do anything.”
“Tarkhanov showed his face in Chicago. That should be warning enough.” Seamus retorted.
“It is not a crime to visit Chicago,” Alessandro cut in. If not for Seamus’s tightening grip on his fork, I would say my husband’s tone hadn’t intimidated him. “Tarkhanov is from a powerful oligarch family. Why would he bother ruling a hostile city when he could just go back home?”
“Because he’s insane.”
Don Piero rolled his eyes. “The fool’s excuse.”
Bad Paddy frowned at the insult to his son but didn’t say anything.
“Do you think he might go to Washington D.C.?” Asked someone.
The question had been light, but the reactions were not. Glares and scowls were directed at the poor man who had asked–one of the Irish mob’s lieutenants–and the poor man shrunk back into his seat.
“You had better pray–” Bad Paddy took another long drag of his cigar “–that is not the case.”
Out of all the territory ever claimed by the mafias of past and future, the capital city had somehow managed to be unattainable. It wasn’t like Las Vegas where there was no owner, just an agreement to share the city. Instead, Washington D.C. was considered No Man’s Land.
And any mafia who managed to claim it would be untouchable. So far no one had managed to lay claim to the territory.
“Tarkhanov will want a seat in New York.” Alessandro said. He didn’t sound happy or unhappy about this fact.
The rest of the dinner passed with ease. Business was not discussed any longer, instead funny stories and anecdotes were passed around. My cheeks hurt from grinning at the end of the night. We ate, laughed, drank (I drank water) until it reached early morning.
The Rocchettis lined up along the street to say goodbye to the McDermott Mob. As they left, I was kissed on the cheek multiple times, despite the smoke and wine in their breath making me feel slightly nauseous.
We all watched as the McDermott drove away, disappearing into the Chicago traffic.
As they took the corner, Don Piero turned to Alessandro and said, “That man is by far the most boring person I have ever met.”
Chapter Twenty
A few days later, I stood in the middle of the baby’s nursery, hands on hips, surveying the room.
Something was wrong.
Not in how it looked per se...or the amount of baby stuff I had. No. Something much worse was brewing in my brain when I looked at the room.
I roamed my eyes over the crib and changing table and rocking chair. The room was a blend of neutral creams and olive greens, with little wild animals decorating the surfaces. A plush elephant, a giraffe toy, a painting of a zebra.
And yet...
I sunk to the ground, knees pressed to the soft rug. Maybe from this angle I might be able to figure out why this room wasn’t right.
Was it the smell? The furniture? Was there a hazard here I couldn’t see?
Was there lead in the paint?
I looked to the walls in interest. But then dismissed the idea. We had repainted the walls, both when I moved in and when I began to decorate the nursery.
But what if...
The sound of heavy footsteps came down the hallway, passing the nursery. They paused. Then doubled back.
“Sophia, why are you on the floor?” Alessandro asked from behind me.
“I think there’s lead in the paint.”
Silence, then, “There’s not. We had it checked.”
I turned my head around. My husband leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and expression concerned. I shoved down the quickening of my heart as I took in his messy air and exposed chest and–Focus! Lead! Paint! “When was it checked?”
“When we bought the property.” He said. “There were lots of tests run to make sure the house was up to standard. The report is around here somewhere.”
I eyed the wall. “I don’t know of any report. You’re absolutely certain?”
“On my life.” Alessandro stepped into the room. “It’s 3 am. Why aren’t you asleep?”
I rested a hand over my stomach, feeling the baby twisting around in their little home. Every day I was growing bigger and bigger, going to bed one size and waking up a totally different one.
“Sleep is hard to come by.” Not only because of the pregnancy, but also my plague of nightmares. “I usually take naps throughout the day.”
He circled the room. “What are you doing in here?”
I had the sudden overwhelming urge to cry. I threw my hands up in defeat. “There is something wrong with this room!”
“What is?”
“I don’t know what it is–but I feel it–” I pressed my finger to my temple, “–I know it! Something is not right.”
“Hey, hey,” Alessandro crouched down in front of me. “The nursery is perfect, Sophia. The best money can buy. If the receipt is anything to go by.”
His attempt at humour didn’t go unnoticed. I tried to smile but felt misery grip my face. “I don’t know. There’s something...” My lip began wobbling.
“Don’t cry,” he said, sounding slightly panicked. “The room is lovely. There is no lead in the paint.”
“But something is wrong. I know it. And–and what if I bring my baby into this room? Oh my God, I was going to bring my baby into this room.” I buried my face into my hands. “I’m a terrible mother!”
I felt Alessandro’s arms come around me, holding me tight to his bare chest. “Hey, hey,” he soothed, rubbing a hand down my hair. “How about I double-check the security on the windows? I’ll even call a guy to come and get the paint again.”
My snuffling died down slightly. I peeked up at him, my eyes stinging. “Yeah?”
He looked down at me, nodding. “Of course. And we can call Dita to come and check it, yes? She has children, if I remember.”
“She has three boys.” I sniffed.
Alessandro continued to rub my back in slow repetitive moments. The anxiety clumped up in my spine began to relax. “And Sophia?”
“Mm.”
He pressed his finger under my chin, bringing my head up. I met his dark eyes and felt the air escape my lungs. “You’re not a bad mother.”
“How do you know?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“Because I know bad mothers and none of them would cry on the floor of their child’s nursery because of the possibility of lead in the paint.” Alessandro brushed down my hair. “I had a bad mother and you’re nothing like her.”
Suddenly lead was the last thing on my mind. “You mean Danta?”
A muscle in his jaw tightened but he answered me. “Yes. I do.”
“I don’t remember my mother.”
We sat together, both silently grieving our mothers, but the moment didn’t last long.
“You feel better now?” Alessandro asked.
I nodded, breathing him in. The warm skin of his chest was heating me right to the bone and I dreaded the coldness that would return to me once Alessandro drew away.
But he didn’t.
Just continued to hold me in his arms, rubbing my hair and back. I leaned in closer, resting my chin in between his neck and shoulder. Alessandro pressed his face into my hair, breathing deeply.
And for the first time in months...in years, I took an easy non-calculated breath.
Then another one, and another one.
Until I slumped in his arms, giving up control of my limbs. Heaviness weighed on my eyelids and I felt them flutter close.
Maybe just a few seconds...
“Shh,” he soothed, and I felt my weight being lifted. “Hush now, Sophia.”
I remember the soft press of the bed below me, the growing warmth of the blankets...and then darkness.
Polpetto scratching at the door woke me.
I stretched out my body, cracking and clinking my joints. Before any rational thought hit me, my bladder told me it needed to pee, and it needed to pee now.
After I had gone to the toilet, I released Polpetto from my bedroom and followed him down to the back door. It was early dawn outside, the sky a pretty purple. Dew coated the windowpanes and I could hear birds singing to each other.
Polpetto took off for his favourite piece of grass as soon as I opened the back door.
I heard a door slam and immediately went to investigate.
Alessandro was leaving his study, a bouquet of flowers in hand. He was dressed in a simple suit, the collar opened wide enough to see his olive skin beneath.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
He looked over at me. “I didn’t hear you wake up.”
My eyes fell down to the flowers. “I only just woke up.” I said. “Who are the flowers for? Are they for me?”
“No.” Alessandro huffed. His face tightened as he said, “It’s my mother’s birthday. Well, her birthday was a few days ago.”
I roamed my eyes over his face, taking note of the anxiety and restlessness cooped up in his expression. “Would you like me to come with you?”
