The Rocchetti Queen (The Rocchetti Dynasty Book 3)

by Bree Porter

  “Enough,” Enrico snapped. To Alessandro, he said, “I will deal with this matter privately. Get off my property.”

  “This matter became public as soon as my wife and son were threatened, Uncle,” Alessandro warned. “I will not let such an insult go unpunished.”

  Enrico paled slightly. Which just confirmed my suspicions that he would not be strong enough to rule the Rocchettis.

  “Very well,” Enrico gritted out. Saison let out a cry of dismay.

  I squeezed Alessandro’s arm. He nodded his head. “There is a way Saison could be spared,” I called. “Alessandro and I would be prepared to forgive the insult if...if we were duly compensated.”

  Enrico caught on pretty quickly. He glanced between Alessandro and I, then at Saison. I could see him weighing his ambition up against his soft spot for Saison.

  He swallowed loudly. “I ask...I respectfully ask that you spare Saison. In exchange, I will give you my full support as Don of the Chicago Outfit.”

  Alessandro smiled slowly. “I accept your offer. Sophia? What do you think?”

  Surprise flickered in Enrico’s eyes. “I accept, as well. Let us all be family once more. And if I ever see Saison in Chicago again, I will have her killed.”

  The words fell off my tongue with a surprising amount of comfort.

  Enrico bowed his head, dragging Saison away from the front door.

  “That went well,” I mused to Alessandro.

  “It couldn’t have gone better.” Unlike me, Alessandro didn’t sound sarcastic.

  When I looked up to meet his eyes, he was already staring down at me. Pride and triumph shone in his expression.

  “One down,” he said, “two to go.”

  Two to go, I mouthed.

  “Y ou look tired,” Elena said.

  “Thanks,” I replied.

  She cringed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  Dante was down for a nap, but instead of joining him, I was entertaining Elena. Elena was leaving for New York in a few days, so she had come to say her last goodbyes.

  It felt weird to know that Elena would be miles away. We had known each other our entire lives. Been each other’s allies in high school and closest confidents. To not have her snarky remarks and intelligent honesty would be strange, but I did still have Beatrice, which was a small mercy.

  I didn’t need to perform for Elena: make tea and offer little muffins. She was comfortable sitting next to me on the couch, cross-legged and eating from her plate with her hands.

  “I heard about the car chase,” she said. Her green eyes skimmed over me. “You good?”

  “I’m alive.”

  Elena snorted. “Oh, well, now I’m relieved.” She licked some crumbs off her fingers. “How’s the charity?”

  “I haven’t been into the office yet.”

  “That’s probably for the best. You just had a baby.” Elena gave me a scrutinizing look. “You’re taking a break, aren’t you?”

  “This is not the time for breaks,” I muttered, closing my eyes. Just a few minutes...Elena might not even notice if I...

  “What is it like being married?”

  I opened my eyes, taking in Elena. She always held her head high, clung to her sarcasm and honesty like a shield. But now, her eyes were wide and face pale.

  “Being married?” I repeated.

  “Yeah...what it’s like? I mean, Pietro adores Beatrice, so they’re an anomaly. But everyone else I know, they hate each other. My mother hated my father, my aunt hates my uncle, my cousin hates her husband.” She looked thoughtful. “You and Alessandro have grown used to each other and now have a baby. The perfect couple.”

  “We’re not perfect,” I mused. “And everyone adores Beatrice. Pietro was no exception.”

  Elena didn’t smile but her eyes brightened.

  “Marriage is...” What was marriage? I supposed it meant different things to different people. In this world, marriages were arranged and viewed more as alliances than love matches. Our world was built on duty, violence and loyalty—how we viewed marriage showed that.

  Alessandro had once told me there was no such thing as a real marriage. Had his opinion on the matter changed?

  “We’re partners,” was all I could think to say. “He is my teammate. My heart. The father of my child.”

  “I remember when you were terrified of him,” Elena said. “You were so scared on your wedding day.”

  “I think most brides are.” I sighed. “I’ve meaning to ask, what do you want off the registry?”

  “To not get married.”

  “Everyone wants to get married,” I joked.

  Irritation flashed over her elfin features. “Perhaps in this world,” she retorted.

  The rebellion in her voice made me tense.

  Elena caught it immediately. “Don’t worry, Sophia,” she almost laughed. “I’m not going to pull a runner. I’m not your sister.”

  I smiled slightly, my only sign of my relief. “How temperate of you.”

  “Speaking of Cat...”

  “Were we?” I took a sip of my tea, hoping the caffeine would help my eyes stay open.

  Elena didn’t bother showing me any pity. She had grown up with Cat, too, and had taken the betrayal to heart. That was the thing about Elena; once you wronged her—no matter who you were to her—you were dead to her and she never forgave.

  What had happened to her father was proof enough of that.

  “Has she been causing problems?”

  I had told Elena about the last time my sister and I had spoken. We had said our goodbyes, both preparing to enter our new lives full force. It had been devastating at the time, and led me to crying in Alessandro’s arms, but time had begun to heal the wound.

  As had distraction—in the form of my son.

  “Not yet. But it has been a week since Don Piero was shot.”

  The FBI had been unnaturally silent. Our spies and scouts hadn’t seen anything, hadn’t heard any movement.

  “Do you think it was the FBI?” Elena asked, unable to contain her curiosity. “Or somebody else?”

  I pinched my nose. “I have no idea.”

  “Well, I guess it was lucky it wasn’t you or Dante.”

  You or Dante.

  In an unprecedented move, my entire body suddenly convulsed into a sob.

  I leaned down into my hands, shaking. Unable to speak, to think—

  “Oh my God, Sophia!” Elena’s thin arms came around me, holding me to her. “Shh, hey, it’s okay. I’m such a bitch. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. You’re fine, you’re baby’s fine...”

  Another sob crawled out of my throat.

  “Shit, Christ. Oh, uh… Your baby is safe, Sophia. Dante is fine and safe.”

  Dante is fine and safe.

  I pressed a hand to my heart. “For how long?” I hissed. “The day he was born, someone was assassinated in the same room as him! Then not even at a week old, he was involved in a deadly car chase! What’s next? Should I expect him to be kidnapped when he is a month old? Or a bomb to go off at his first birthday party?”

  Elena stroked my hair, the movement awkward but appreciated. Her eyes implored me to keep talking, to be honest. And for the first time, I was.

  “I did not expect...this, Elena. I knew I would change, knew my life would be different, but I did not expect to become unrecognisable to myself. I...I can go days without showering or sleeping. I am either ravenous or disgusted with the idea of eating. I record my body like a lab technician: how much milk am I making? How much blood am I leaking? I look in the mirror and I don't see Sophia Rocchetti, I don't see me.

  But I... I am addicted. I did not expect my brain to change like this, my psychology to be turned on its head. I think about Dante all the time. What is he doing? Is he happy? Sad? Is he comfortable? Breathing? Even when he is in my arms, I am paralysed with worry. But...I love him so much. It hurts how much I love him. Every day I don’t think I can love him more and then he loo
ks up at me and I—”

  I sucked back a sob, wiping at my eyes. Get it together, Sophia, I told myself, you are the Principessa of the Chicago Outfit.

  Once I had calmed down, I said, “I’m sorry, Elena. I shouldn’t have broken down.”

  She stared at me, green eyes slightly perplexed. “Your honesty is the greatest wedding gift you could’ve given me.”

  Out of all the things in the world I could’ve expected her to say, that certainly wasn’t on the list.

  I looked at her. Her features were open and honest, her true thoughts never hidden from the world. Had Elena just praised me for my honesty? Surely, I had heard that wrong...

  “What do you mean by that?” I asked her.

  She smiled slightly. “I mean...you’ve always had everything figured out, you know? Even in high school or on the playground, you carried yourself with a sureness that I will never have. It’s nice to know that you’re just as stressed as the rest of us.”

  A laugh bubbled its way up my throat. “Is that right?”

  “Yeah,” Elena replied. “And in exchange for your honesty—because I know how much you love deals—I will be honest with you in return.”

  I leaned closer.

  “I am terrified.” Her voice broke. “Terrified of getting married. I wake up in sweat from nightmares about Thaddeo and all the ways he could hurt me. But that’s not even the worst bit. I am petrified to leave Chicago, because I know I am never coming back.”

  I grabbed her hand, squeezing it between mine, trying to hold back my tears. “I’ll talk to Alessandro. I’ll stop the marriage.”

  “And what, Sophia? Ruin your relationship with the Falcones, jeopardize your power? Please. That’s going to happen.” Elena recounted the facts with ease and yet bitterly, “Do you really think my uncle is going to let this marriage fall through? This is the best thing to happen to him since his vasectomy.”

  “We could arrange you with someone else. Someone more powerful. Your uncle wouldn’t mind that.”

  “Does anyone like that exist?”

  I fell silent. At the current standing, no. Eligible bachelors were easy to find, but one who had a high enough standing for Elena? Higher than a Don of New York? There was no one.

  “I’m sorry,” was all I could think to say. “Perhaps...perhaps it won’t be so bad. Maybe you’ll like Thaddeo.”

  “I barely like my family. I can’t imagine I’ll have much luck with my husband,” she muttered.

  “I like my husband,” I tried. “Something neither of us suspected was ever going to happen.”

  Elena looked thoughtful. “I don’t think I need a partner,” she said, addressing my earlier comment. “I just want to be left alone. Hopefully, we’ll be like the Roosevelts and just have our own lives.”

  “Having a teammate is not so bad. Except he snores.”

  Finally, Elena cracked a grin.

  I found both my boys in Alessandro’s study.

  Alessandro leaned back in his seat, eyes on his computer and holding Dante delicately to his chest. Dante was awake, blinking slowly and trying to make sense of his surroundings, all while sucking furiously on his pacifier. They both looked relaxed, safe.

  My husband looked up at me as I entered, his dark eyes catching my puffy cheeks immediately.

  “I just had a cry,” I said before he could ask. “Nothing to worry about. I’m going to miss Elena.”

  “Is that really why you cried?” His tone implied he knew it wasn’t.

  I came around the desk, standing next to Alessandro. With delicate fingers, I swept back his hair, trying to smooth the furious strands.

  “I’m just tired. And stressed. And my boobs hurt, so I hope Dante’s hungry.”

  Alessandro’s eyes softened. “You can pump tonight, and I’ll get up with him. You’ve barely slept all week.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You have to work. This...I suppose, this is my work.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “As well as being the CEO of Rocchetti Alzheimer’s Support? You’re busier than me.”

  “You know that’s all in name. I barely passed high school; what do I know about Alzheimer’s?” But I did really want to go into the office and speak about the charity ball. I had to finalize some stuff...but I didn’t want to leave Dante. Nor did I really want to leave the house with him—not after last time.

  Alessandro saw all that in my expression and grabbed my hand, squeezing tightly. “Sophia, go take a nap. I can take care of Dante for a few hours.”

  “I know you can. But what if...”

  “If something happens, I will wake you up. Or Dante will.”

  I pressed my forehead to his, breathing in his scent. Warmth radiated from his skin, flushing my cheeks.

  “You know, Elena and I were just talking about our wedding day.”

  “You and Elena are married? I’m sad to have missed it.”

  I mocked a bite, and he leaned closer to my teeth, laughing.

  “No,” I mused. “Our wedding day. Elena’s worried about her own.”

  “Thaddeo’s alright.”

  “You know him?”

  Alessandro nodded. “We’ve met a few times. He’s young for a don, but he’ll take care of her.”

  I relaxed. “You’re certain?”

  “The Falcones have never been known to be vicious to their women.”

  “Unlike the Rocchettis?”

  My husband didn’t smile at my joke. “Unlike the Rocchettis,” he replied coolly.

  I pressed a kiss to his forehead, then eyed his computer screen. “Are you still dealing with the will?”

  “I may kill this lawyer.”

  “You can’t kill Hugo. We would crumble.” I stroked his hair and scanned over the paper.

  Don Piero had decided to leave a will that was more complicated than a Rubik’s cube. It had taken three lawyers, all of the Rocchettis and Nicoletta, to try and distinguish some meaning from it. It was written in English (with the exception of his estates back in Italy), but it was so full of legal jargon and riddles, it was basically indecipherable.

  The only part of the will we had managed to understand was the new ownership of his beloved dogs. The dogs would continue to live on Don Piero’s housing estate, under the care of his groomer, trainer and whoever else worked with the pets. However, they legally belonged to—you guessed it! —Sophia Antonia Rocchetti and Polpetto Rocchetti.

  When Salvatore Sr had seen Polpetto had something in the will, he had nearly grown a horn.

  So, on top of everything else going on, Don Piero’s will was another thing to handle.

  Alessandro was ready to go homicidal over it.

  “Even in death, he is a difficult man,” Alessandro grumbled. “When I die, you can have all my shit.”

  “Don’t say things like that.”

  He made a noncommittal noise.

  “You would think everything would go to Nicoletta. She is his wife.”

  “He was very smart about the wording,” Alessandro said. “And since Nicoletta is, technically, dead, arguing her place in the will is going to be another headache.”

  I cupped the back of his head, weaving my fingers through his hair, and smiled at him. “Speaking of Nicoletta, what do you think of Ophelia?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Are you asking as her employer or as my wife?”

  “Like you could do any better,” I reminded him. “I’m asking because Nero’s taking an interest in her.”

  “Ah, you noticed that, did you,” Alessandro muttered. “It’s enough to make me feel sorry for the poor girl.”

  “Tell Nero to back off.” My husband looked like he was going to laugh at the idea of telling Nero to do something. “He listens to you. I will not go through the process of hiring another nurse, Alessandro. Ophelia is the only one I like—and who is in enough dire straits that she needs this job. Where else am I going to find a desperate nurse?”

  He bowed his head. “As you wish. However, I must warn you, once Ne
ro puts his mind to something, very little can stop him. That’s what makes him such a great killer.”

  I stroked my son’s soft hair. He blinked sleepily at me, content just listening to our voices. All I could think to say was, “Poor Ophelia.”

  Alessandro caught my hand, holding it tightly. “I am serious about you going and getting some sleep,” he told me.

  I sighed, unable to put up a fight any longer. A nap, it would be.

  As I turned to leave, Alessandro called out.

  “You know I won’t let anything happen to you or Dante, don’t you, Sophia?” he asked.

  I looked over my shoulder at him. My beautiful husband who had forsaken God and Heaven in his quest for power, who would walk through Hell in order to protect his family.

  “I know,” I murmured. “I know.”

  I didn’t realize it was the was the last day of the month until Beatrice kindly reminded me.

  I was leaving another Historical Society meeting—my first after Dante’s birth—where, instead of discussing landmarks, everyone had been incredibly interested in photos of my son. I, of course, was always delighted to show off my baby, and I’d had a great time.

  As I went to leave, I called Beatrice for an update on her pregnancy. She wasn’t due until the beginning of next year, but it was so nice having someone to talk babies with. Whenever she moaned about a pregnancy symptom, I could coo in sympathy because I understood.

  “Pietro’s been lovely,” she said as I wrapped my scarf around my neck.

  “Pietro’s always lovely.”

  Beatrice laughed softly on the other end of the phone. “He has been very...protective lately. Is something going on?”

  Curiosity about the Outfit from Beatrice was a rare thing. Usually, she liked to go on with her life, not knowing the gritty details behind the money she used and the people she called family. It wasn’t because —of ignorance, I didn’t think. Beatrice was just aware of what she could and couldn’t handle—and the mafia had always been something she couldn’t deal with.

  “Has Pietro said anything?” I asked.