My eyes swung up. The EMT started frantically fooling with his machinery, and like watching the peak of a mountain break through tough ground, the lines started to go up, up, up. Her pulse was picking up. Even the cut on her head started to bleed.
She moaned, and a second later, when we hit a pothole, she cried out in pain. Then, without opening her eyes, she squeezed my hand, and like that, I lived to tell about a thousand deaths—and the one life I still had left to live. With her.
32
Capo
5 Months Later
My son was only a few hours old, but he ruled our worlds already.
He was what Tito called a miracle baby. He had survived despite the circumstances. He took after his mamma. She said he took after me, too.
He had thick black hair, brown eyes that seemed light enough to maybe turn amber someday, and almond-colored skin. His shoulders were wide, and his arms and legs long. He was a big boy.
Mariposa said he had the features of my face and my build, but he didn’t have her nose or my eyes, the two things we had both wished for him to have. But between the importance of getting certain features or having the strength to survive this cruel world, I was thankful he took the latter over the first.
A wise man once told me that we often get not what we want, but what we need.
I had once wished to be king. I had once wished to rule it all. Not wished, but demanded.
I got both of those things, but in ways that I never knew I needed. I was the king of my wife’s heart and the ruler of this world we had created together. If it were in my power, my son would have all that he ever needed.
Carrying him over to the window, opening it up, letting the Milano sun shine on his face, I allowed the world to take their first glimpse of this newly born prince.
My son.
Saverio Lupo Macchiavello.
He was the new prince, but the prince of our world. He wouldn’t have to prove his ruthlessness to rule. He just did. Regardless of his footsteps, the paths he would take, the choices he’d make, he would always have a kingdom to return to. A safe place to escape to when the devil was on his heels.
“He’s just as beautiful as his papà.”
I turned to find my wife staring at us. She had been sleeping, but for eleven hours of labor, she looked…brand new. Someone I had never met before. She was soft on the outside, pliable enough to deliver a son into the world, but her soul was a warrior queen. She was a woman who had found unbreakable faith, a strength not known to the strongest man on earth. Her flesh and bone could bend, could break, but her soul was unbendable, unbreakable.
It took this woman to show me how much of a man I was. Sweat still coated my skin and clothes from the intensity of it all.
“He’s going to be as big as his Papà, too.” She winced. “He seriously hurt my oonie.”
I laughed and my son blinked at me, yawning after. “Save the memory for later, when he’s older, when you don’t want him to do something.” I shrugged. “Guilt trip.”
She smiled a tired smile, but the sun lit up her entire face. She looked so healthy. Alive. She patted the bed and then opened her arms. “Closer. I want you both closer.”
The nurses kept coming in, wanting to take him, but we both refused to let them. After what had happened to my wife, I wanted my family as close to me as possible. The chance of letting him go for a few hours wasn’t worth it.
Mariposa took Saverio from me, bringing him close to her chest, inhaling his hair like air. He had so much of it that we could comb it. I grinned as I ran my hands through it, making it stand up.
“Capo,” she whispered.
It took me a moment to look at her. It was hard not to keep staring at him. I wondered if I’d ever be able to stop.
“Mariposa.” I leaned in and kissed her forehead. She closed her eyes, but her face wasn’t entirely at peace. She had something on her mind. “Use all of the words.”
She nodded. Opened her eyes. Fiddled with his blanket. “I was going to forgive him, you know? Bruno. Right before I went under. I felt that I should. But I couldn’t. Right before I took my last breath…I couldn’t. I could forgive him for killing me, but not him.” She pressed Saverio closer to her chest, resting her lips on his head. “I couldn’t forgive him for killing my baby.”
Her words were firm, but to my ears, eerie, as if her mother had spoken through her. Maria had forgiven me, but she wouldn’t have if I had hurt her daughter. It hadn’t been my intention to hurt Mariposa—I was determined to save her. Therefore, Maria forgave me for taking her life without a tremble in her voice.
I stroked the side of Mariposa’s face with my thumb. “You were meant for this. For him. You’d kill for him. Die for him.”
“I was meant for you, too.” Her voice was soft, and she refused to look at me. She fixed his hair. “You died for me. You killed for me. You love me, us, this, beyond what you can understand. That’s why he’s here, why he’s ours, because you loved us enough to sacrifice everything for this moment.”
She looked up at me, met my eyes, and touched my throat. “I love you, Capo. I’ll always love you. You’re stuck with me forever.”
I took her hand and brought it to my mouth, kissing her pulse longer than usual.
She grinned. “Più delle parole, mio marito,” she whispered in Italian. More than words, my husband. Then she started to hum while she stared at our son.
A knock came at the door. Mariposa didn’t even bother to look up. She was beyond tired and well past in love with the baby in her arms—she was deliriously high on life.
Not long after Saverio had been born, I sent our family out the door. Mariposa needed rest, and I wanted time to study his features without having to share him when one of the women got grabby hands. So I had no idea who it could be—maybe it was one of the nurses, but they usually knocked and then came in.
Keely, Cash Kelly, and Harry Boy stood on the other side of the door. Keely had gifts in her arms.
I narrowed my eyes at the two men after Keely barreled past me, going straight for Mariposa and Saverio.
Harry Boy nodded at me. “Do you mind if—” He nodded toward my wife.
Mariposa glanced up when he asked. Keely had already taken Saverio in her arms, making faces at him, but she looked up, too. All eyes were on me.
I nodded once but said nothing. He thought we were cool after I saved his sister, but he’d always be on thin ice with me. He was still in love with my wife, even after he showed some interest in my cousin, Gigi.
Cash stood at the door, not entering. “You got a minute to spare, Macchiavello?”
I turned to Mariposa. She was biting her lip, squeezing the blankets covering her legs, her eyes wary. She didn’t like that Cash was here.
“A minute,” I said to her.
She nodded once but said nothing. Keely said something to her, but she didn’t look away from me until she knew her point had been caught and taken to heart—don’t commit to anything that would take you away from us.
After shutting the door, we stood out in the hallway, my back to the wall. Cash stood next to me.
“Congratulations,” he said, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Your wife did a fine job. Your son is a big, healthy boy.”
He didn’t have a hard Irish accent, but the lilt was there.
I nodded. “You came all this way to chit chat about my family? Doubtful. Let’s discuss business.”
He sighed. “Tell me where I stand with the new King of New York. I’ve heard rumors. After Arturo and Achille were killed, no sons left to claim the throne, rumor has it that you’re the man who’s stepped into the role of king. We don’t usually run in the same circles.” He grinned. “But unforeseen circumstances, gravity, perhaps, has sucked us into this gray area at the same time.”
“You stand right where you are. I stand here. We’re neither friend nor foe. I did you one. You did me one. We’re square now. But I’m not taking over the Scarpone family. That
legacy has died with the men who made it into what it was. What it was? Depends on who you ask, but if you ask me, here’s my answer. It was something I want no part of. I’ve made my own life. I’ll rule it the way I see fit. I work for one family beside my own—the Faustis. Other than that….” I shrugged.
I had my investments, my businesses, plenty for me and mine to live comfortably on for the rest of our lives.
It had been my intention to be the new King of New York, the new King Wolf, but unforeseen circumstances—my wife, my son—had changed the direction of my footsteps. And those footsteps led me back to the door where, beyond it, my kingdom waited for me to return.
Epilogue
Mariposa
10 Years Later
“Peeeeeassse. Mamma, peeeassse!”
My entire body tilted to the left, my arm being yanked, my shoulder shaking up and down. “Evelina, child, calm yourself.” I smiled at my spunky five-year old. She was our third child out of four, and our only girl. To say she was the apple of her Papa’s eyes would be a lie—she was the entire pie. And the poor thing had my nose. At least she had her Papa’s eyes.
She stopped shaking me, and I saw the thoughts move behind her sapphire eyes like honey. Her black hair made them pop against her tan skin. Her lips were full and pink, and she puckered them just right. She learned early on that it took sugar to catch butterflies, not salt.
“Mamma.” Her voice was so soft, so sweet, and she put my hand to her mouth, placing a tender kiss on my finger. “Can I peeeeeeassse see dis wing?” She lifted the hand she held, showing it to me.
She wanted to try on my wedding rings. She had gotten into a stage where she loved princesses, and if it was shiny, like something they wore, she wanted it, or to at least try it on.
I rarely took my rings off. The last time was when I made meatballs, but only so the meat wouldn’t get stuck between the facets. I put it in a special place until my hands were washed. It took ten minutes, tops, and they were back on. Sometimes I even left my wedding band on and just used a brush to scrub the ring after.
For our ninth anniversary, Capo had given me a diamond band to wear on my right hand, third finger, and I never took that one off either. Four butterflies circled around my finger, as they would forever circle around my heart. Each butterfly represented one of our children.
Evelina often asked to wear that one, but this was the first time she asked to wear my wedding rings. They were symbols I’d never get tired of.
Him. Us. Spending this life together. Living it.
“I give ’em right back.” She batted her thick lashes at me. “Pweety peeeeeeassse.”
I laughed at how sweet she was being. Miss Subtle. That was our daughter—Evelina Noemi Maria. “All right.” I sighed. “But you have to sit at the kitchen table. And you can only wear them for a second. These rings are like important clothes to mamma. I need them to feel dressed and ready for the day.”
She giggled, taking my hand and leading me to the table. I picked her up before she could climb up, and she went weee! as I sat her chunky little bottom down on the chair.
We were at the villa on the outskirts of Modica. It wasn’t a large house, but we had made it comfortable for our family. We made it into a home. The kitchen was my favorite room. We spent most of our time there.
I took both rings off and slid them on her finger. They were so big that they almost slid off, but she held them together. I kissed her hand before I stood, watching her eyes shine at how pretty they were.
“Dese are so pweety, mamma,” she breathed out. “I luv dem.” Then she hugged herself, like she couldn’t get any happier than she was in that moment.
The timer went off on the oven, and I turned for a second, remembering that I had to take the red pepper tart out. Family was coming over to have dinner in our garden for our anniversary.
“Evelina.” My voice was sharp with warning. “Sit right there and don’t move. Do you hear, Mamma? I’m just going to take the tart out of the oven.”
She nodded her head frantically, excited that I was going to let her wear the rings for a second longer. I hurriedly took out the tart, placing it on the stove, mentally calculating what else I had to do.
“What dis says?” Evelina asked.
I turned to find her staring at my engagement ring. She had taken it off and was holding it up to the light.
“Here.” I held my hand out, giving her my left finger. “Time to put them back on. I can’t go without pants, can I?”
She giggled, like it was the funniest thing in the world, kissing me on the nose when I bent down for her to slide the rings back on. She put my band on first, but before she slid the engagement ring back on, she showed me the metal.
“What dis says?” she asked again. Her little eyes were narrowed on whatever she saw, her eyebrows furrowed. When she did that, I could’ve sworn Capo possessed her.
She couldn’t read, but she recognized words. I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, though. “It doesn’t say—”
Anything, I was going to say, but stopped when I noticed what she had pointed out.
For the first time in ten years, I noticed an inscription on the inside of my engagement ring.
“Fucka me,” I breathed.
“Wat that, Mamma?”
“Ah.” I realized what I’d said. “Fudge me.”
“I luv fudge!”
I gave her loud smooches on her cheeks, trying to play off my sudden mood. “I know you do, baby girl! How about this? How about we find Papà and your brothers? I bet you’ll see a butterfly in the garden!”
She had refused to stay outside with the boys because she wanted to help me cook. She loved to get her hands dirty in the kitchen, but it was more than that. She wanted the first jump on the sweets.
“Ooh!” she said excitedly, jumping down from the chair before I could stop her. She took off toward the door, only stopping when Capo opened it and lifted her up, turning her upside down, making her squeal with delight.
“Say it, Evelina. Say the magic word.”
“Boo!” This was what she said instead of blue. It was her favorite color at the moment. “Boo, Papà, boo!”
Capo righted her, and she pulled his face closer to hers, squeezing him so tight that her eyes scrunched.
Anytime I took my rings off, he made an appearance not long after. It was strange, like he was waiting for me to lose them so he could give them back.
“Where are the boys?” I asked.
Saverio was our oldest. Salvatore was our second. Evelina was our third. And coming up as the caboose was our baby, Renzo. He was three, and if anyone called him a baby out loud, he furrowed his eyebrows and pulled Capo’s I’m severely pissed face.
Capo narrowed his eyes at me, noticing how breathless I sounded, before he glanced down at my hands. “Saverio took Salvatore and Renzo to meet the Faustis. The Zie walked with them.” He watched me for a second longer before he nodded behind him, wordlessly telling me to follow him out.
Over the years, the need for words between us became less and less, because sometimes his voice became lower and lower. His actions were always louder than his words.
He took my hand when I was close enough, pulling my wrist up to his mouth, setting his lips over my pulse. He glanced down at my rings again. This time it seemed like he was checking to make sure that their positions were right. Again, strange.
“Kiss me dere, too.” Evelina gave him her wrist, more like set it against his mouth, and he planted a loud smooch over her pulse. “I your princess, Papà.”
“You are my princess. Per sempre.”
As soon as we were out in the garden, he set Evelina down, letting her run free. She went straight to one of the sugar-water stations we’d set up, watching as a few butterflies stretched their wings in the evening air, soaking up the nectar and the golden sunlight. Even though Evelina was a zealous child in general, around the butterflies, she’d been taught to be quiet, to be kind, to respect them.
I stood back and admired all that my boys had done.
Butterfly lights were strung up over the table, from lemon tree to lemon tree, set and ready for over twenty people, and soft music played in the background—what Saverio called “old people” music. How the times had changed. If I was old, my husband was ancient, and he didn’t like it any more than I did when our children called us out on it.
The garden we’d planted with Nonno was never as beautiful as it was in that moment. The colors exploded in the evening light, and butterflies were in constant motion, enjoying all of the safe places.
Roots. They had roots here. Just like I did. And whenever the chance presented itself, we told our children stories of the man who had showed us how to plant and nurture them. Each of our children knew the story of the wolf and the butterfly better than we did.
I fiddled with my wedding rings, wishing, hoping the Faustis took their time getting to our area of the land. I had a hard time focusing on anyone, anything, other than my husband.
Time had been sweet to him. He had only grown more attractive over the years. He was as fit as ever, not an ounce of fat on his body, and any lines he gained only upped his “fine-ass mature man” factor. A few lines of gray streaked the sides of his black hair, a few streaks in his stubble caught the light and sparked silver, but it only made him seem wiser.
He still had his shit together.
He still made me feel safe.
He still made me breathless.
He still made my heart do wicked things and the butterflies in my stomach flutter madly.
He still made me want him, crave him, feel starved for him—every day, every night, sometimes every second of my life. The empty space he filled was never truly filled. The space only grew to accommodate a greater hunger. Satisfied but not fully satiated.
I still loved him, but it was not the same. I loved him even more, in all the different ways. My best friend. My lover. My heart. The father of my children. My king wolf. My boss. My everything.
Machiavellian: Gangsters of New York, Book 1 Page 39
