The waiter gave in and set a plate in front of me.
I popped one into my mouth.
Gabe groaned, sank back into his chair, and covered his face with his arm.
I froze mid-chew.
“This isn’t how tonight was supposed to go.”
“While we’re on the subject of your father, I need to ask you—” I glanced at the dessert plate and blinked. Nestled between the truffles was the biggest diamond I’d ever seen. My world tilted. “Gabe?”
“Yeah. I know.”
The courtyard, the new dress, the music, the private dinner. His speech! I’d ruined his proposal. “Oh my God.”
Gabe dropped his hand from his eyes and smiled.
“This is for real? You’re asking me for real?” Feeling lightheaded, I pushed my chair back and bent forward. It may not have been ladylike to put my head between my knees, but I did it anyway.
Gabe knelt in front of me. “Mary Margaret Guthrie, I’ve been in love with you from the moment I first saw you. I love your smile, your laugh, your goofy glasses and ratty pajamas.”
Please stop talking. “I don’t…” I shook my head.
“I haven’t asked yet.” He curled his finger under my chin and lifted until I met his gaze. “Will you marry me?”
I wanted to say yes more than anything, but it wasn’t just me. I had children to consider. I had to know the truth. “Are the Marchionnis a mafia family?”
His expression darkened. “Does it matter?”
“It doesn’t change the fact that I love you, but I can’t accept your proposal until I know what you’re asking me to marry into.”
He turned his head, nodded, and looked back to me. “We are part of the Cosa Nostra, but I’m working on changing that, and your article has complicated things tremendously.”
A million questions danced through my head. Was he a criminal? What kind? Could he quit? Would it put him, or our family, in danger? “Could we go home and talk about this?”
“Sweetheart, there are things I can never share with you, but I will tell you as much as I can.”
Would that be enough for me? “Did Rebecca know?”
“Yes.”
I ran through everything I knew about my sister, her marriage, her husband, their life and came up with even more questions. “I need time to sort this out.”
“I understand.” He kissed my cheek, stood, and walked toward the gate.
“Wait.” I shot to my feet but had to grab the table to stay upright. “Where are you going?”
“I need to take a walk. The driver will take you home when you’re ready.” Shoulders slumped and head down, he looked defeated.
I wanted to go to him, to apologize, to tell him I’d marry him tonight, but I couldn’t do any of those things. “Wait. Please, come home with me.”
He stopped walking but kept his back to me. “Mags, I’m not giving up on us, but right now… I need to handle the situation with the article before my father finds out you wrote it.”
“If you both would read it—”
“He won’t care what it says. The fact you wrote it is a betrayal.”
To him or to you? “You forgot the ring.” My voice trembled.
“Keep it until you decide.” Gabe slipped through the gate, leaving me alone with the wait staff and the weight of the world.
I knew what I had to do.
I slipped the ring on my finger, wrapped the remainder of the truffles in a napkin, and headed for the limo. After giving the driver the address to the Marchionni mansion in the Garden District, I sent Evelyn an email with my article attached.
Gabe’s mother had been a pain in my butt since my sister died, but no one could accuse her of not wanting the best for her sons.
The car came to a stop in front of the imposing Greek revival house, and my nerves kicked into high gear. What if she hadn’t received the email? Should I have sent a text? Called?
Deciding to wait until morning, I knocked on the glass to get the driver’s attention. Unfortunately, the front door opened before he lowered the glass.
Evelyn Marchionni stood on the front steps with several sheets of paper clenched in her hand. Even from the distance, I could tell the woman glared.
I opened the door but hesitated.
“Stay in the car.”
For a split second, I thought she’d refused to see me, but rather than going back inside, she joined me in the limo.
“This will never see the light of day.” She shook the copy of my article at me. “Do you understand?”
“I do.” Journalistic integrity, paychecks, and my pride be damned. I would have done anything to take it back if that meant I didn’t have to see the hurt and disappointment in Gabe’s eyes.
Her expression softened a smidge. “Is it true? They don’t want the life we’ve made for them?”
“I can’t presume to speak for the others, but Gabe is struggling.” I lowered my voice in hopes of keeping the tension in the car to a minimum. We were two women having a conversation about a man we loved.
Evelyn glanced out the window and drew a deep breath. “My parents held the deed to our house until they died. Joe’s father left the business to him in his will. This is how things have always been done.”
“Your sons know this and respect you and Mr. Marchionni too much to put up a fuss about it, but—”
“They don’t like it.”
“No, they don’t.” I took a moment to gather my thoughts. “The guys were raised in the States. They have the best of both worlds. Sicilian values and American work ethics. Gabe busted his butt to make his bar successful. Handing it over to Leo…”
“He will make the Marchionni Corporation just as successful.” She raised her chin.
“You’re right. He will.” I chose my next words carefully. “He will do what’s asked of him. He’ll live where you tell him to live. Work where you tell him to work, and marry who you tell him to marry, but at what cost?”
She stared as if daring me to say more.
Rather than go at her with both barrels, I went for a softer approach. “What was Mr. Marchionni like when he was young?”
Evelyn cracked a half-smile. “A lot like Gabe. Handsome, driven, and tender-hearted.”
Her candor surprised me to the point I pushed the subject-that-shall-not-be-mentioned. “I don’t want the family business to harden Gabe the way it did Papa Joe.”
Her eyes widened before she could smooth her expression. “Boys grow up and become men. It is a fact of life.”
“Gabe is a man. A successful man in his own right, as are Enzo, Leo, and the rest.” I drew a deep breath. “As I wrote in the article, Gabe has one foot in the old world and one in the modern world. It’s tearing him apart.”
She sighed. “I see.”
“Your sons should be allowed to run their own lives. Own their homes. Choose their careers, even if that means they don’t want to be a part of the family business.”
She straightened her spine and folded the papers in half—a sure sign the conversation had come to an end. “You are a naïve girl who doesn’t understand the world.”
“Maybe, but I know you don’t want to bury another son. Can you honestly tell me Gabe will be safe?”
She dipped her chin and made the sign of the cross. “It won’t come to that.”
“Even if it doesn’t, do you want to visit your sons in prison? It’s not like it used to be. Everything we do leaves a digital footprint. Law enforcement already suspects they’re involved in organized crime. How long until one of them is caught?”
Tears filled her eyes.
I reached for her hand. “He’ll honor his father’s wishes to take over the company, but he will run it the way he sees fit, including breaking ties with organized crime.”
Evelyn’s shoulders slumped, and for the first time since I’d met her, she looked her age. “I pray we will all live to see the day.”
“I have faith in your son.”
33
Maggie
Dalia and I sat at Shanna’s kitchen table, which had been turned into a makeshift salon. Piles of makeup, hair accessories and styling tools lay in disarray on every level surface in the small space.
“Let me get this straight. He hired a wait staff, took you to a private courtyard, wined and dined you, then you went home alone?” Dahlia shook her head.
“Pretty much.” I sighed, trying to be still while Stephen pinned a curl in place.
“Forget that. I’m pissed Papa Joe killed your article. What ever happened to free speech?” Shanna’s mouth moved, but the rest of her remained still as her stylist glued a thick row of false lashes in place.
I had mixed feelings about the violation of my constitutional rights. In truth, I’d written the article for an audience of two, Evelyn and Joe Marchionni. “I don’t care about the article. I need to set things right with Gabe.”
Dahlia sighed. “I still don’t understand what happened. What did you argue about?”
I couldn’t exactly tell them the details of the conversation, and I had to give them something or Shanna would keep digging. I went with the next obvious explanation. “I told him I had Chantal investigated.”
“This Chantal woman had a husband who killed himself because the Marchionni Corporation took his business out from under him?” Stephen made a clucking sound with his tongue, as he wound a chunk of my hair around the curling iron.
“Pretty much, though we don’t know for sure why he killed himself.” I turned my head a fraction, and Stephen yanked my hair. “Ouch.”
“Beauty is pain. Be still.” He jabbed a bobby pin into my scalp.
“So what? He slept with a married woman?” Stephen took a step back admiring his work.
“Not unless the relationship lasted longer than he says.” Shanna sprayed enough hair spray to mortar a brick wall.
“I don’t care if he slept with a married woman. I mean, he isn’t the one who broke a vow, right?” I glanced between them.
“Right.” Stephen grinned and moved in front of me to put the finishing touches on my makeup. “Spoken like a woman in love defending her man.”
“Wrong,” Shanna added.
“You’re actually going to marry him?” Shanna asked, incredulously.
“Of course she is,” Dalia said, opening her eyes wide to free her natural lashes from the glue.
“If he’ll have me.” I glanced at the diamond on my finger.
“Honey, stop worrying about it. You’re going to kiss and have hot, make up sex.” Stephen grinned.
“Easier said than done.” I surveyed my reflection, hardly recognizing myself. The new shade of blonde and a heavy amount of makeup made my eyes look bluer. Stephen had darkened my eyebrows and used a pale pink shimmer on my lips. I held the silver mask in place, surprised that it didn’t get in the way of my mile-long lashes.
Looking rather proud of himself, he folded his arms. “Time to get dressed, princess. We can’t have you late to the ball.”
The limo inched up the street leading to the Marchionni’s mansion. Unlike the last time I’d visited, this time I had an invitation.
I’d spoken to Evelyn several times since our chat in the limo. While she still insisted the old-world ways were best, she conceded on several points, including allowing her sons to handle their finances.
I wasn’t naïve enough to believe she could talk Papa Joe into renouncing his ties to the mafia, but I trusted her to do what was right for family—and that gave me hope.
I peeked out the window at the costumed people milling about the portico. It reminded me of a scene straight out of Venice, minus the canals, of course.
My throat tightened, and my vision blurred at the thought of Gabe. I hadn’t seen him or Ella in several days, not since the night I’d ruined his proposal. I missed him more with each passing second.
Shanna gave my hand a squeeze. “If I can do this, so can you. You know how much I hate these society things.”
Dahlia rolled her eyes. “You always say that, but I didn’t hear you complaining when I got your ticket, or when we were getting dressed.
“Fine. I like the events, but I could do without the people…except you two. Maggie is as poor as I am, and you can’t help it your father is an oilman turned governor.” Shanna turned from Dahlia to me. “You got this.”
I nodded.
“Cheer up, Mags. A lot of women cry their first time,” Dahlia whispered, and the two traitors burst out laughing.
“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
“Not a chance.” Dahlia snickered.
“Let’s put our masks on and pretend we’re movie stars.” Shanna winked and tied her mask behind her head.
Dahlia stared out the window, likely searching for Leo. “Ready, ladies?”
“As I’m ever going to be.” I twisted the engagement ring.
Dahlia climbed from the limo as if she rode in limos every day. Her easy grace made me feel even more awkward.
For the umpteenth time that day, I wished Gabe was by my side. He had a way of calming my nerves and making me feel beautiful.
Shanna stepped from the limo and joined Dahlia beside the car.
I drew a quick breath and set one foot on the driveway. Taking my time, I arranged the layers of silk chiffon before I stood. “Here goes nothing.”
The breeze picked up sending my hair and soft blue and white fabric swirling around me. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Gabe. He stared but I couldn’t decipher his expression.
I took a step forward and stumbled on the uneven cobble stone.
Shanna caught my elbow before I embarrassed myself. “Did you see him?”
“Yes, but he disappeared again.”
“He might have been called away. Leo swears he isn’t angry with you.” Dahlia moved to my other side.
We walked into the large courtyard behind the portico. A band played in the distance, and waiters with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres milled among the new arrivals.
“There’s Leo. I’ll get the scoop.” Dahlia lifted her skirts and hurried off.
“One down, one to go,” Shanna said under her breath.
I motioned to the couple, who were whispering like schoolgirls. “I don’t know why they don’t admit they’re in love and put each other out of their misery.”
“Pot, kettle.” Shanna smirked.
“That’s what I’m here to do.” I hooked my arm in Shanna’s and walked through the crowd toward the sound of music.
The first Marchionni to approach was Enzo. Dressed in a dark tux, white shirt and deep green tie, he looked like he belonged with Shanna. Even the blues and greens in his mask complemented her peacock feathers. He nodded in my direction, but his eyes remained focused on my bestie.
He leaned close and whispered, “Would you care to dance?”
“Oh, I see how it is. Not even a hello, Enzo?” I lifted my mask.
He did a double take. “Maggie? Wow. I didn’t recognize you. You look fabulous.”
I twirled, showing off the costume. “Thanks. So do you. Have you met Shanna?”
Enzo smiled behind his half mask. “I have now.”
“Shanna, this is Enzo Marchionni. Be careful. He’s almost as smooth as his brother.”
“Please, dance with me, bella.” He offered his hand.
And just like that, Shanna seemed to fall under his spell. “I’d love to.”
I couldn’t help but smile as they walked to the dance floor. In all the years we’d been friends, I’d never seen Shanna blush—until now.
Once the crowd swallowed the couple, I turned and almost toppled over a waiter carrying a single glass of champagne. “Excuse me.”
“This is for you from the gentleman.” He nodded toward the drink.
“Thank you. Which gentleman?”
The waiter gazed over the crowd. “My apologies, miss, but I don’t see him.”
“Thank you.” I took the glass and walked away.<
br />
Sipping champagne, I glanced over the crowd and met Gabe’s father’s gaze. Crap. The last person I want to speak to.
I made my way toward the dessert table to avoid the elder Marchionni. A couple of chocolate treats would ease my nerves.
“Maggie?” Papa Joe kissed my hand. “You’re a vision tonight.”
All of the Marchionni men were handsome, including Papa Joe. He had the same green eyes as the boys, but his hair had turned silver.
“Thank you, Mr. Marchionni.” I took a large gulp of champagne and made a show of looking around. I had no idea if Evelyn had told him I’d written the article, or about our conversation.
“Please, call me Joe. It’s almost time for Chloe to perform. You’re seated with the family.”
“Of course.” I knew that she and Gabe had been planning a private recital, but I had no idea what they had in store. I couldn’t imagine putting Chloe on stage in front of so many people. My stomach knotted with worry at the thought.
Papa Joe led me to a table front and center of the stage. A half a second later, Gabe and Zach walked toward the stairs, carrying guitars.
Nadine and Evelyn joined us, both women staring at me openmouthed. I probably wore the same expression. As far as I knew, they couldn’t stand each other, but to see them now, you’d think they were old friends.
My mother nodded to me. “Mary Margaret, you look…”
“Gorgeous. You look absolutely gorgeous.” Evelyn patted my hand.
I might have been petty, but I reveled in my mother’s stunned-stupid reaction. The makeover had done wonders for my confidence—not even Nadine could ruin it.
My mother leaned close and whispered, “I’m hurt I had to read about your engagement in the paper.”
I cringed. She deserved to have heard it from me, but things had gone sideways after the announcement was published. Not to mention, I didn’t want her negativity muddying the already dirty water. “I should have called, but I wasn’t sure you’d approve.”
She managed to frown without actually moving her lips. “Why would you think that?”
“Men like Gabe marry girls that look like Rebecca.”
Absinthe Minded: A Mafia Romantic Comedy (Bourbon Street Bad Boys' Club Book 1) Page 21
