by Bree Porter
"Your brother is getting on my last nerve," hissed Toto. Aisling arrived by his side, seeming unconcerned with his anger. "Kissing up to a politician?"
"Heinous," Alessandro replied.
Toto shoved his hands into his pockets, practically shaking with annoyance. "When I was a boy, politicians slavered over the Outfit. Where do they think all the fucking money comes from? Big business? Fucking, please."
"They're all corrupt bastards," Alessandro agreed. "But this one has a relationship with the FBI."
A sliver of delight passed over Toto's face. He looked over to Salvatore Jr and Mayor Ericson. "That won't end well." He seemed almost too pleased about that fact. His head snapped back to us, most of his attention falling to me. "Where did my father stash Salvatore’s girl?"
There was only one Salvatore’s girl nowadays. Adelasia di Traglia, who was currently pregnant with my brother-in-law's baby and in an undisclosed location.
We had already sent Nero to hunt for her, and though he insisted he could extend the search across the country, the results had not been very promising. Wherever Don Piero had hidden Adelasia and the newest Rocchetti had been a secret he’d taken to the grave.
"We will find her," I replied.
Toto huffed. "I doubt it. My father was good at hiding things." His eyes skittered to the roof, liking he was peering through the plaster and insulation, trying to see his mother. "What will we do with the bastard?"
Aisling looked to Toto. "Will they not be regarded the same as Beppe?"
Beppe, of course, was a Rocchetti, son of Enrico and an unnamed woman. But his lack of legitimacy meant he could never be a 'real' member of the Rocchetti family. As far as lives of bastards went, Beppe had a good life in the Outfit, but my heart did still ache for him.
"I think Salvatore might drown it," Toto said. He made an effort not to look at Aisling as he said this.
"Is that your twisted way of expressing some concern?" I inquired, not really wanting to discuss infanticide over my lasagna.
Alessandro seemed to agree with me. "It will be up to the Don what happens to the child."
Whoever took up the mantle next...
My gaze moved over the room, picking up on all the viable candidates. It would be a Rocchetti—there was no doubt about it. But who?
I felt like the host for a gameshow, lining up all the contestants and judging their strengths and weaknesses.
Carlos Sr was too old and Carlos Jr too weak. Santino was too young, and Roberto was too boring.
It would come down to four men: Toto the Terrible, firstborn and respected member of the Outfit; Enrico, charming and diplomatic; Salvatore Jr, competitive and ruthless...and Alessandro. My husband—loyal, protective and willing to go to any lengths to protect the Outfit.
We all seemed to have the same thoughts, sharing glances and looks, sizing each other up. Who would be the next don? Who would rule the Rocchetti Dynasty?
I took a bite of my bread roll.
Let the games begin.
T he piercing sound of the alarm shocked me out of sleep.
“Shit!” Alessandro rolled off the bed, landing on his feet.
“What is going on?” I asked, yawning.
“Someone tripped the alarm.”
Dante began crying not seconds after, his sobs matching the sound. I scurried over the covers, untangling the blankets from my legs.
The sound of my son’s distress had smacked me out of any grogginess.
Across the room, my husband grabbed his gun and ordered me, “Stay here!” and then he was gone.
I stumbled out of bed, going straight for my son’s bassinet. His little face was scrunched up in misery, already flushed red from wailing.
“Shh, shh.” I swept him up, holding him to my chest.
Polpetto flashed by my ankles, nearly pushing me over.
“Polpetto!”
Dante’s cries grew louder at my yell.
“Hush, my darling.” I rocked him. “Polpetto, come here! Polpetto—”
The little white Volpino Italiano disappeared under the bed. I cussed softly before hurrying to the saferoom. Hidden behind a row of clothes, the door was pressed into the closet wall—
The alarm stopped.
I paused in my closet, still rocking Dante.
What had happened? Was Alessandro okay? Was somebody in our house?
The series of panicked questions that ran through my head only made me grip my son tighter.
Seconds later, Alessandro called out, “It’s safe, Sophia. It’s Nero, and he wants to talk to you.”
Nero?
I frowned, exiting the closet. Alessandro stood by the doorway, still holding his gun—not looking as worried, but still not happy.
Dante began to quiet as he noticed the alarm was gone. As soon as I went to place him down in his crib, he let out another furious wail.
“Don’t cry, my darling.” I held him close to me. “What is Nero doing here?”
“He is here for you.”
A midnight visit from the Outfit’s assassino was a horrifying thought in itself. But a surprise visit from the Outfit’s assassino?
I swallowed. “Can you hold him?”
Alessandro took Dante carefully, holding him to his bare chest. He cupped his hand under Dante’s bum, the other pressed softly onto his little back.
I slid on my dressing gown, unable to tear my eyes away from my husband and son.
For a man that was always so rough, so restless, a sense of calm seemed to settle over him when he held his son. Alessandro made a conscious effort to speak softer, to slow his movements, when Dante was with him.
If I sharpened Alessandro, then Dante softened him.
It made my heart melt.
As I moved to the door, Alessandro passed Dante back to me. “I need both my hands,” was all he said. I didn’t need him to elaborate on why he needed full mobility, as the palming of his weapon told me all I needed to know.
All the lights in the house were on, and I could see glimpses of the soldati through the windows. They were probably in a disarray after the house alarm had been tripped. I imagined Alessandro would have words with them tomorrow. None which would be appropriate to repeat.
In the foyer, at the bottom of the stairs, the familiar face of the Outfit’s assassino stared up at me. He wore all black, face dark with irritation.
I almost asked why he was so annoyed, considering Alessandro and I were the ones who were awoken, when I spotted her.
Nero was gripping the arm of a young woman, still in nursing scrubs, with honey blonde hair scraped back into a low ponytail. She was giving Nero a furious look, tugging at her caught arm and calling him names that made me cover Dante’s little ears.
“I got your nurse,” Nero barked.
The woman snapped her head to me and paused. Her eyes darted to Alessandro, who was looming behind me, and she paled slightly.
“Nero,” I gritted out, “did you kidnap her?”
“He did!” The woman hissed, turning her anger back to Nero.
Nero looked completely unconcerned. “You asked me to fetch her—fetched her, I have.”
I started down the stairs, sighing through my nose. Nero had just needlessly complicated this entire situation with his brashness and now I had to untangle it—at midnight.
“I am disappointed that you tripped the alarms,” Alessandro said. I cut him a look, but he was frowning at Nero. “Did any of the soldiers spot you?”
“No, sir.” Nero seemed to straighten his shoulders at Alessandro’s attention. “I, uh, got caught by the alarm near the flowerpot.”
I frowned, looking at Alessandro. “The what?”
Alessandro looked pleased that his security system proved to be so successful. He jerked his chin to Nero. “Get caught again and I’ll be looking for a new assassin.” He slid his dark eyes to me, hinting toward the strange woman in our foyer.
I looked back to her. The woman, to her credit, had calmed down slightly
, though more from imitation than common sense.
“Excuse Nero,” I said, stepping down the stairs, rocking Dante. “He was sent to offer you a job.”
The woman scowled. “What sort of job?” She paled suddenly, her eyes flicking between Nero and Alessandro, who was half-naked. “I’m a nurse...I don’t know anything about—”
“Nothing like that,” I assured. “Come into the kitchen and I will make you some tea.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“Nero will leave,” I added.
That convinced her.
The woman shot Nero a fierce look—which he didn’t look bothered by—before following me into the kitchen. I wondered if she noticed the way in which his dark eyes followed her as she strode into the kitchen. The heat in his eyes was enough to make me feel warm.
I flicked on the lights in the kitchen and laid Dante down into his bouncing seat. Thankfully, he seemed happy to be put down.
“Take a seat,” I said as I bustled around the kitchen.
The woman looked around the room, eyes uncertain, but growing wider as she took in the Mediterranean style. “You have a very beautiful home,” she said, sounding half-surprised that she had said that aloud.
“Thank you. Tea?”
She nodded and carefully took a seat at the counter.
“I apologize on Nero’s behalf. He isn’t the most...”
“Sane?”
I laughed softly. In our world, Nero wasn’t considered insane, but to be fair, we also had men like Toto the Terrible in our midst.
“Something like that. Cream?”
She shook her head.
“Oh! How rude.” I stretched my hand out over the island bench. “I’m Sophia Rocchetti. I’m sorry this is so informal. Nero has forgotten about socially acceptable hours for visits.”
“I know who you are,” she pointed out, “You’re in charge of Rocchetti Alzheimer’s Support.”
“I am. And you are?” I already knew, but it was polite to ask.
“Ophelia Caprioli.” Her eyes darted toward the foyer, where Alessandro and Nero’s deep voices could still be heard. “I heard you’re also in charge of something less reputable.”
“Allegedly.” I passed her the tea.
“Nero said you had a job offer?”
“Nothing less than reputable,” I mused, taking a sip of my own tea and scratching Dante’s belly. His eyelids were drooping, but I knew he would need a feed in a few minutes, so I was trying to keep him awake. “I need a round-the-clock nurse, and you came highly recommended.”
Ophelia frowned. “I don’t know anything about babies...”
“For an Alzheimer’s patient.”
“Oh. Who?”
“You have to accept the job first,” I reminded her. After Elizabeth Speirs being such a gossip, I was handling Ophelia with much more care. Hopefully, I could trust Ophelia not to share anything about our family, under the guise of a fake cousin who was friends with Nina Genovese, as Elizabeth had.
Ophelia didn’t touch her tea. “My father warned me of mixing with your sort of people.”
“Does your father know you’re in debt?” I inquired.
She tensed, paling slightly, but didn’t look shocked. She answered, “No. No, he doesn’t.”
“Is your job at the aged care facility paying you enough to pay it off?”
Her silence answered my question.
“I am not going to strong-arm you,” I said. “You came highly recommended, and the nurse who cares for one of our beloved family members will be looked after.”
I saw the interest begin to build in her eyes.
I scooped up Dante, patting his back softly, trying to keep him awake. He tried to lift his head on my chest, annoyed I wouldn’t let him fall asleep.
“I’ll go and get the contract.”
When I returned, Ophelia hadn’t moved, but did look more tense. I smiled in greeting and passed her the contract.
“Take your time,” I said. “Think it over.”
Ophelia scanned the contract, her lips parting when she saw her annual salary. She looked back up at me, her distrust clear. “This is for real?”
Dante began to grow hungry, his mouth beginning to water. “Of course. I need a round-the-clock nurse and you are apparently the best.” And the only one who is deep in debt.
I swept to the dining table, taking a seat and preparing Dante to be fed. Ophelia watched me, but didn’t say anything.
When Dante was on my breast, I said, “It is a life-changing opportunity, Ophelia. You know that.”
She nodded. I could see the internal battle in her mind. Ophelia didn’t want to associate with the Outfit, didn’t want to be on our radar, but she also couldn’t possibly give up the chance to earn a good wage and pay back her debts.
It didn’t take long for her to sign the contract.
“Wonderful,” I said, once she had passed it to me, her name signed and neatly printed at the bottom. “I’ll introduce you to Nicoletta.”
The soft melody of the piano was the only sign Nicoletta was awake.
I often checked on her throughout the day, worried by her silence. Except for her musical talents, Nicoletta was virtually silent. She was always happy to talk to Alessandro and I—or Beppe, her most beloved visitor—but other than that, she was quiet.
Once Dante had fed, I ushered Ophelia up to Nicoletta’s room. I held Dante to my chest, patting his back softly, trying to get him to burp.
“You are more than welcome to live here,” I told her, as I led her through the house. “However, I understand wanting your own space.”
“I would prefer that,” she ventured.
“Of course. We plan to move Nicoletta to her old home once news of her...well, in due time.”
Nicoletta was still presumed dead by the Outfit. Alessandro had let me be in charge of sharing the news, and none of the other Rocchetti men had disputed that. It was not petty gossip—in fact, it was startling news. Planning when to share it had proven to be difficult.
“If you ever need anything, just let me know.” We reached Nicoletta’s bedroom door. “Now, you’re not an idiot, Ophelia, and I would not treat you as such. It goes without saying that what you hear, what you see, is nobody’s business—not even your own.”
Ophelia nodded. “I know.”
I smiled and patted her arm. “Wonderful! You’re going to be a great addition to our household.” I knocked on the door, calling to Nicoletta softly.
The piano quieted and she called back out to me.
I opened the door and was greeted with the sight of Nicoletta sitting at her instrument. She was dressed in a white nightgown, gray hair unbound and eyes glassy. When she spotted me, she smiled in greeting—a smile which widened when she noticed Dante.
“Oh, you brought the baby!” she said in Italian, clasping her hands together.
Ophelia glanced at me but didn’t say anything.
“Nicoletta, please meet Ophelia. She will be with you from now on, instead of Elizabeth.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Ophelia said politely, her Italian mixed with American dialect.
Nicoletta rose from her piano, shakily. “Let me see Alessandro,” she said. “Little baby Alessandro. Where is his brother?”
“Sleeping.” I stepped closer to her, twisting my shoulder to the side, so she could see Dante’s little face.
She completely brightened.
To Ophelia, I said, “Any questions?”
“When was she diagnosed?” Ophelia asked, no longer afraid but now clinically aware of her patient.
“It is hard to say—there are no real records and medical science is abundantly better than it was. But she was suspected to have schizophrenia very young...perhaps early thirties? However, recently it has been updated to a diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer’s.”
Ophelia nodded, expression calculating. “She seems fairly advanced.”
“There are good and bad days,” I replied. �
�I hope you’re not reconsidering your job.”
“No.” She smiled at Nicoletta. “No, I’m not.”
Nicoletta reached out and stroked Dante’s head lightly, the soft blonde hairs sticking up. She muttered something in Italian that I didn’t quite catch, but from the adoring look on her face, I couldn’t imagine it to be anything bad.
“Beppe will visit her often. But other than that, call me before letting anyone else visit her,” I said. “And if you leave the house with her, I need to know, and you will be set up with a security detail.”
“I understand.”
“What happened to the girl before me? Elizabeth, did you say her name was?”
I threw Ophelia a smile. “Elizabeth was a bit of a loudmouth.” And though Elizabeth had never shared a secret—that I knew of—it was more the principle of the act.
Plus, I was trying to gain as much control over this family as possible. And having an employee who was more loyal to Nina Genovese than I was not going to work.
“Are you not tired?” I asked Nicoletta. “It is the middle of the night.”
“No, no.” Nicoletta took sudden interest in my hand. “That is my wedding ring.”
I twisted the ring with my fingers, tucking it away. A few times she had noticed my wedding ring and seemed more perplexed than distressed by the discovery. But for hours afterward, she often kept staring down her blank fingers, at the empty strip of skin where the ring once had been.
“Won’t you play for Ophelia?” I tried to distract Nicoletta.
It worked. Nicoletta glided over to the piano, sitting down as if she was performing for an entire theater. Despite her memory slowly deteriorating, the muscle memory in her fingers had never faltered and she played the instrument with talent and perfection.
Ophelia watched this all with interest.
“Any questions?” I asked her in English.
She frowned slightly and gestured to the door. “Will that Nero be around?”
“Not often,” I replied. “I will warn him you are off limits.” Not that it would likely ever stop the assassino from claiming his prize.
But Ophelia looked slightly relieved. “Thank you,” she said. “Men like that are nothing but trouble.”
