Machiavellian: Gangsters of New York, Book 1

by Di Corte, Bella

  “Capo,” she whispered, not looking at me. “That was a nice thing you did for me tonight. Switching my dinner.”

  Before she had the steak at Macchiavello’s, she had told the planner to serve it for dinner that night. After she ate there, she had fallen in love with the pasta and crab dish. I had the planner switch her order at the last minute, after I’d found out that she’d ordered the steak before she knew what the pasta tasted like. She wanted to thank me for it, but we had a deal and it wasn’t necessary. We both did for each other.

  I nodded. “You’ve been great with my grandfather. He really enjoys spending time with you.”

  She stiffened. “My arrangement is with you,” she said, keeping her face straight. “Not with anyone else. I enjoy spending time with him. Because I want to.”

  I hadn’t meant to offend her, but I did.

  “Tell me, Mariposa, if you were to ever fall in love, would love cancel out your kindness law?”

  “Law?” She almost scoffed, but she took a moment to answer. “I’m not sure. I’d need time to think about it.”

  Or feel it.

  I sighed, pointing to two overturned crates. “Here we are.” I motioned for her to take a seat and I took the one next to her.

  The silence was welcome after being surrounded by family since we arrived. When I had come to live here, sometimes I’d walk the groves to be alone. I’d sit on a crate and clear my mind from all thoughts. After, I did my best scheming.

  “Is something wrong, Capo?”

  I realized she’d been talking. She was looking at me, waiting for me to reply.

  “No. It’s peaceful here. I’m content.”

  “Okay,” she whispered. She looked down at her hands, and I set mine over hers, making her look at me again.

  “I didn’t want to do this in front of everyone. I wanted to give you this in private.” I dug in my pocket and pulled out a rosary made from real pearls. The spacers were made with sapphires. The cross was gold. I opened her palm and set it in the center, closing her hand around it. “That was your mother’s. I thought you’d like to have it. You can carry it tomorrow, if you want. Something old.”

  “My mother’s.” Her voice was soft as she opened her palm, as though I had given her an invaluable treasure. “Where did you get it?” Her fingers gently caressed the beads, maybe trying to find a connection, trying to remember something. When she came across a blood spot, she tried to wipe it clean but it was stained for good.

  “You,” I said. “Your mom prayed with you every night before bed. You’d recite the rosary with her in Italian. The night I took you with me, it was near your coloring books, and you handed it to me.”

  “You kept it.”

  “Close,” I said.

  After a few minutes, she placed the rosary down on her legs, putting a hand behind her back. She lifted a small box toward me. “When you told me we were taking a walk, I decided to give you what I had, too. If not, I would’ve had to send it with someone tomorrow. Tonight feels right.”

  I grinned at the fact that she had tucked the box in the soft wraps of her dress without me noticing. This small girl could’ve brought a knife and stabbed me in the back with it and I wouldn’t have had a clue until it stuck in my flesh. I realized in that moment how much I trusted her. It might have been foolish, but since I was running a race on uncharacteristic decisions when it came to Mariposa, why not add one more to the list?

  The grin slipped from my face when I opened her gift.

  “Your family jeweler probably hates me because I didn’t think of it until we got here, and he had to rush the order again. I thought…I thought you’d like to carry a piece of your mom on…our wedding day. This felt like a clever way to do it. You have so many of them at home.”

  She had given me cufflinks, cufflinks that had a picture of my mother on each one.

  “Mariposa—” I started but couldn’t finish.

  “Remember our deal,” she whispered. “I do for you. You do for me. You do for me. I do for you. We’re even.”

  Far from it, but I didn’t respond.

  “She’s so beautiful,” she said, looking over at the cufflinks. “You look a lot like her, just a manly version.”

  I grinned. “My grandfather,” I said. “She looked like him, just more feminine. She had his features, but the blue eyes are from my grandmother’s side. So technically I look like him when he was younger.”

  “Either way,” she said. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman.”

  I thought so too, until I looked at you, I went to say, but then stopped myself. I cleared my throat, closed the box, and then stood. I gave her my hand. “Time to go, Butterfly. We have a long day tomorrow.”

  17

  Mariposa

  “Stop fidgeting.” I repeated the words like a mantra. Over and over and over. The words were almost a chant underneath my breath. I peeked inside of the church for the tenth time. It was filled to capacity. All of the voices were at low volume, but it almost sounded like the hum of bees, and it made goosebumps rise on my arms.

  I took a step back. “Agitarsi. Stop fidgeting, Mari.” I couldn’t shake my nerves today. They clung to me. The New York wedding seemed simple, over and done, final in minutes, but this one? This one had meaning.

  Nonno sat at the front of the church, talking to friends and family, and the day was doing him good. He looked…healthy. He kept smiling, laughing, and he waved everyone off when they went to help him. He wasn’t just surviving; he was living. It gave me hope for the future. If he could keep having days like this one, maybe they could do something to help him.

  Happiness was the best medicine, right?

  Therefore, the day needed to be perfect for him. I wanted to walk down the aisle with my head held high, my strides perfect, and a wide smile on my face. But I kept having visions of exploding laughter shooting out of my mouth, or tripping over my own two feet, or my veil. All seven feet of it.

  I looked down at my gown. My hands were splayed against my waist to try to stop the fidgeting, and they were trembling.

  The dress. I sighed. I was in love with it. It was form-fitting with long sleeves, a low-cut back, and a train that flared out, but not too much. But what I loved most about it was what the designer called “geometric patterns” that ran through the soft fabric.

  I had told her that I wanted something inspired by the butterfly, but nothing too frou-frou. Like my engagement ring, I wanted something artsy, a subtle nod to the name he had given me. Mariposa. But the dress shouldn’t make the connection too obvious. It was something between us that we could share, like a private joke that no one else would get.

  When I stepped into the evening light, candles burning all around me, the details of the dress came alive. The sheer detailing on the train and the deep geometric patterns gave the impression of a white butterfly when it stretches its wings during sunset. All of the lines across its wings, the ones that made it look like it was made of silk, were on display.

  Mariposa. The way he said my name, his voice deep and throaty, made me shiver just thinking about it. I had connected the rasp in his voice to the scar around his throat. Sometimes he drank water to try and ease the strain.

  Thinking about the sound of his voice made me even more nervous. “You’re so going to trip, Mari.” I had almost bit it the night before when he had looked at me and the lights in the trees made the color of his eyes do this…hypnotic, shimmering thing. Like when the moon touches the dark ocean and paints the surface silver.

  “You’re going to be fine, bella,” a soft voice said, and I almost collapsed in relief.

  Scarlett. She and the other women from girl’s night had become family to me. They were with me all day, normalizing the moments but also making them special. They treated me like family, as one of their own. Right before we left for the church, I’d showed her my mother’s rosary, not sure where to put it but wanting to carry it with me.

  She took it from me, along with m
y bouquet, and told me she’d give it back to me before the ceremony.

  “I hope you like it.” She held out the hundreds of orange blossoms for me to see. She had wrapped the rosary around the bottom, around the white silk that held the flowers together, and the cross dangled in the front.

  “It’s…” I couldn’t even find the words.

  She smiled at me. “You don’t have to say anything. We’re family, and that’s what we do. We’re here for each other through thick and thin.”

  I looked up at her and we both smiled.

  Scarlett reached out and grabbed my hand. She held it tight. “I wanted to tell you this the day I met you at Home Run, but I didn’t really know you then. Now that I do…” She sighed. “It’s hard to imagine a night that we wish would never end, especially when all we know are nightmares, but trust me, some nights are worth wishing they could go on forever. Amadeo—”

  “Mari.”

  At the sound of the voice, Scarlett and I turned to look.

  Keely slipped through the doors separating us from the church. She looked between us. “I’ll wait—”

  “No.” Scarlett squeezed my hand again. “I was just going back.” She hugged me and whispered in my ear, “This. This was meant to be.” Then she left us.

  Keely watched Scarlett shut the door before she said, “I can’t help but think about gangs when I see them—the Faustis and their wives. The dynamics. They take people in who have no one and treat them like family. Make them feel accepted because there was no one there to accept them before.”

  I squeezed the bouquet, my nerves getting even worse. “Is that what you came to talk to me about right before my wedding? Scarlett’s different. She’s a good person. And so is Capo’s family. It’s okay that I have more people to add to my family now. You’re still my family, Kee.”

  She waved a hand. “I know. Maybe I’m a little jealous.”

  “You don’t have to be. I’ll always be your sister. Scarlett and the other girls, they’re cousins.”

  Keely turned to me and looked me over from head to toe. She smiled, her eyes getting watery. “Mari, I know I told you this already, but you look…so beautiful. Really. And you smell so good, too.”

  I smiled. “It’s all of the orange blossoms.”

  “You’re just like a butterfly, always attracted to the sweet.” Then she looked away from me. “I know I should wait to tell you this, but I want to tell you now. I’m sorry, Mari. I’m so sorry for the way Mam treated you.”

  I blew out a trembling breath, trying to keep it together. Keely meant well, but I didn’t want to talk about what her Mam did. Since I had no father to walk me down the aisle, I stupidly asked Keely’s dad if he would at our rehearsal dinner. His face lit up, and he was about to answer when Catriona had spoken up.

  “Nay,” she had said. “It’s nice of you to ask, but he can’t accept. He only has but the one daughter, and he needs to walk her first. It would take away from Keely.”

  I wasn’t sure why it had hurt me as much as it did. Maybe because I’d always considered them my family, and I thought it would be nice to have someone familiar walk me down the aisle. Someone who had known me as a child.

  All I could do was nod, more like bob my head uncontrollably, before I left and buried my hurt feelings. I refused to let Capo see it. After what he had basically admitted to doing to Merv, I was afraid to let him see how emotional Catriona had made me in fear of what he’d to do to her or her family.

  Asking Harrison was out of the question, too, considering how he felt about me. It would’ve been a raunchy thing to do.

  It didn’t matter. I didn’t even want to think of it again.

  “Keely,” I said. “Don’t apologize for something you didn’t do. And I understand why she feels that way.”

  “Not entirely, but still. It’s not right. You have to know that I would never feel that way.”

  “I do.” I stood taller and kissed her cheek. “Now go take your seat. I think we’re about to start.”

  Stop fidgeting. Stop fidgeting. Stop fidgeting. Stop fidgeting.

  After Keely had gone, it was all I could do. I kept fidgeting with the cross in front of the bouquet.

  Uncle Tito came out of the doors, and when he saw me, he stopped. He placed a hand over his heart and mimicked the beating. Fast. I had fallen in love with him just as much as I had fallen in love with Nonno.

  After Capo and I had returned from our walk in the groves, he said he had business to attend to and that I should get a good night’s sleep. I couldn’t. So I sat around with the family and enjoyed another hour or so with them.

  Before I got up to leave, Uncle Tito had taken a seat next to me. He took my hand, held it close to his heart, and asked if I would give him the honor of allowing him to walk me down the aisle.

  My mouth had fallen open.

  How had he known?

  I caught Capo’s shape in the distance. It almost seemed blue from all of the torches surrounding us. He had been watching us.

  “It would be my honor, farfalla,” Uncle Tito had said, calling me butterfly in Italian. “Because my wife and I were not gifted with the ability to have children, I will never have the chance to walk a daughter down the aisle. This would mean a great deal to me.”

  My answer came in the form of the bone-crushing hug I’d given him. He was an angel disguised as a doctor.

  “Farfalla,” he breathed, bringing me back to the moment. “I am thankful to God for one blessing on this day. That I have eyes that see you in this moment.” He took my hand and kissed my knuckles softly. “It is a great honor to be at your side.”

  No one had ever touched me deep enough to make me cry out of happiness. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was because this one, small man had touched me that deep, or if I was starting to soften because my feelings were not buried as deep as they once were. I wasn’t as afraid of them getting bruised and battered, used and tattered, twisted into something nasty and horrible. Something owed.

  My time in Italy had changed me.

  My time with him had changed me.

  A soft voice in the church began to sing.

  It was time.

  I took a deep breath in and sighed it out.

  Uncle Tito lowered my veil before he offered me his arm. I looped mine with his, using his strength to keep me upright.

  Hundreds of people.

  Hundreds.

  All watching.

  Waiting.

  To see me.

  The doors to the church opened, and hundreds of people stood. When we took a step forward, a collective, soft gasp seemed to fill the air.

  All eyes were on me.

  But there was only one set that I looked for.

  His.

  Candles lit the way, the evening sun giving way to darkness, and the soft light went straight through the material of my gown, like candlelight goes through a mosaic in church. It highlighted all of the lines on the fabric. All of the struggles the butterfly goes through to reach a state of living.

  Capo met us before we made it to the altar. He shook Uncle Tito’s hand, but before Uncle Tito let go, he told him, “I have taken responsibility for this beautiful girl; you will take responsibility for this beautiful woman for the rest of your life.” Capo grinned at him and patted him on the back. Uncle Tito lifted my veil and placed a soft kiss on my cheek before he sat with his wife, Aunt Lola.

  Capo offered me his hand and I took it, never gladder to be physically connected to him. His confidence fed mine, keeping my steps steady. I kept my head up, but I wanted more than anything to wipe the tear away from my cheek. I had no idea when it happened, but it had. I didn’t want anyone to see.

  Glancing up at Capo, I thought, let him see.

  Let him see the good and the bad, the dirty and the clean, the ugly and the beautiful, the happy and the sad.

  Let him see me. All of me.

  Dare to live.

  This was me daring to live, to show someone who I
really was. To allow them past the surface and into the secret depths that used to be mine alone.

  “Bocelli,” Capo whispered as we made our way to the waiting priest.

  “And Pausini.” I grinned, squeezing his hand. “I wanted to keep my head on straight. Get my mind right.”

  When we stopped in front of the priest, I turned to Capo and he turned to me. He took both of my hands in his.

  All the words were spoken. All the promises were made.

  He slipped a new ring on my finger, a diamond and sapphire band. I slipped his wedding ring back on, the one I had given him in New York. Il mio capo.

  Before the priest announced us as husband and wife, Capo leaned in and used his lips to collect another tear that had fallen from my eye, and as the priest said the final words, he reached my mouth and kissed my lips, sealing the everlasting deal.

  Tutto suo. Tutto mio. Per sempre.

  All his. All mine. Forever.

  * * *

  Thousands of butterflies fluttered around us, small bursts of color exploding in the night air. All of the flower arrangements, thousands of orange blossoms, were misted with butterfly nectar. Maybe they’d all have a drink before they flexed their wings and took off for wherever they were headed. A blue butterfly landed on my shoulder before it flew to another spot.

  It was a surprise from Capo. So was what we were doing in that moment.

  “I didn’t realize we were doing this,” I said.

  My husband moved me on the dance floor that had been set up behind the property of his grandfather’s villa. Hundreds of people watched as we enjoyed our first dance as marito e moglie.

  His eyes were steady on mine even though we swayed. “You do for me. I do for you.”

  “Ah.” I smiled. “Bocelli for this chick.” Capo never referred to the singer by her name, only this chick.

  He had requested the song we’d listened to in the car on our way to Harrison’s as our “first song.” When it first started playing, I’d exploded with laughter, thinking he was playing a joke on me. With his hand held out, he gave me a narrow look, so I took it, and there we were. Moving to the tune he’d once said should be on a Tim Burton soundtrack.