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The drive home from the church is quiet and tense. I steal glances at Frank from the corner of my eye, trying to gauge his emotions, but his expression remains unreadable, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.
“Frank, are you okay?” I ask, breaking the silence that stretches between us like a chasm.
He starts as if pulled from a trance and turns to look at me. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, his voice tense.
I can tell something is on his mind, but he’s not saying what it is. I open my mouth to speak again, wanting to coax the truth out of him, but he’s already lost in his thoughts, his attention focused elsewhere.
Frustration bubbles up inside me, mingling with the anxiety that’s been gnawing at my insides ever since Father Carmine pulled Frank aside for a private conversation. Is he upset about what Father Carmine told him? Does he regret marrying me? Is this about the baby? The questions swirl around in my mind, but I push them aside, unwilling to dwell on them right now.
Instead, hoping to distract us both from the heaviness of the situation, I try to start a conversation about something light and trivial. But Frank’s responses are short and distracted, his mind elsewhere.
As we pull into the floral shop, I’m surprised to see my grandmother sitting outside. She rushes forward as we step out of the car, her eyes brimming with tears as she takes in the sight of me in my wedding dress, standing beside Frank.
“Oh, Lisa,” she says, her voice choked with emotion, “you look so beautiful. I never thought I’d see this day.”
I rush forward and envelop her in a tight hug, feeling the warmth of her embrace and the weight of her love. “Thank you, Grandma,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.
We invite her inside for a cup of tea, eager to share the joy of our special day with her. As we settle around the kitchen table, sipping our tea and exchanging stories, I can’t shake the unease that lingers at the back of my mind.
“I think it’s about time you tell her. She deserves that much,” Frank says to my grandma.
Do they know something I don’t? Has my grandma been hiding something from me?
There’s a way a person looks when they’re guilty. I can see how Frank makes her uncomfortable, and I see her gaze flickering away as she carefully chooses her words.
“Lisa,” she begins, her voice soft but tinged with sadness, “your parents . . . they were wonderful people. Kind, loving . . . they would have been so proud of you today.”
I nod, my heart heavy with the memory of my parents, their faces fading with each passing day. I’ve always been told that their deaths were a tragic accident, but the way my grandmother hesitates makes me wonder if there’s more to the story than she’s letting on.
“What happened to them, Grandma?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
She hesitates, her eyes clouded with sorrow. “It’s . . . complicated,” she says finally. “But at the time, the only thing I could do was to protect you, my dear.”
Protect me? The words send a shiver down my spine, a chill of unease creeping over me as I try to understand what she’s saying. Could it be that my parents’ deaths weren’t accidental after all? Could they have been . . . murdered?
I push the thought away, unwilling to entertain such a horrific possibility. But deep down, a nagging voice that I can’t ignore whispers to me, telling me there’s more to my past than I’ve been led to believe.
My grandmother reaches into her purse and pulls out a handful of faded photographs. She shows them to Frank and explains that they are pictures of my great-grandfather and mother. Curiosity is making my head spin.
I’m shocked to see the stern-faced man in the photographs, his eyes so piercing and intense. That’s my great-grandfather? Who was he?
What shocks me even more is the fact that Frank seems to already know about my family. Did he uncover this information on his own? And if so, why didn’t he tell me about it?
As I look into his eyes, searching for answers, I can’t help but wonder if his intentions were ever truly genuine. Did he marry me for love, or was it just one of his games?
Chapter 24
Frank
I stride into the dimly lit room, the air heavy with the scent of cigar smoke and the murmurs of my fellow Mafia members. The tension is palpable, a thick cloud that hangs in the air as we gather in the hall.
As I take the stand, I can feel all eyes on me, waiting for me to speak. I clear my throat and push aside the nerves that threaten to overwhelm me. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” I begin, my voice steady but excited. “I trust you all received the news about the funeral flower bomb?”
A chorus of nods and murmurs of agreement ripple through the room, confirming what I already know. The plan was a success, a devastating blow to our rivals that has left them reeling and weakened.
“The bomb went off as planned, killing most of the rival families’ top members,” one of my associates says, his voice filled with satisfaction. “Our organization is now the most powerful of all. The Viettis are now the most powerful family in the whole of New York”
