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And then…his secret life exploded.

The mechanic shop he worked for was a front for the mob. It wasn’t something we talked about, because Andy didn’t think a woman should be exposed to those kinds of things. I tried to tell him to be careful or not take too big of risks. He would just gaslight me. When the shop had been attacked, when he’d chosen to fight for some stupid code of honor, instead of staying alive for us, he fulfilled his oath with his life. The kicker was that he never bought life insurance like he said he did.

I could have helped him. My mother had been born into a mafia family for crying out loud. Though her and my father had lived a quiet, modest life, I wasn’t some stupid woman only good for house-wifeing. But Andy never wanted to share that part of his life. His macho heroism and old-fashioned ideas were the part of our marriage I regretted the most.

And where did we end up?

In a mob city. San Pietro Cove had her secrets. Hell, most of the locals were connected to the criminal underworld in some way, shape, or form. But what choice did I have? My grandmother was the only family member who offered to take us in. So here we were. Penniless and alone. If we’d stayed in the city, I would have had to find a full-time job and give up my time with my sons.

I chose them.

And I’d sworn to myself that I would never date a mobster again. No alpha male was going to domesticate me and keep me out of his life. I was free…so long as I stayed single.

The best part of San Pietro Cove was that it was mob run. It was safe. The mob took pride in their schools and the community. They didn’t need some distant government telling them what they should do. They were the ruling force. And the small-town life was proving to be good for us. The week we’d already spent here was refreshing. I was content to live in a mob town if it meant we were safe, fed, and together.

The coffee sang in the Bialetti. I poured into a tiny espresso mug, blowing on the steaming liquid. Nonna wouldn’t listen if I suggested getting a proper, American coffee pot. Hell, she would probably die if she knew I was a two pot a day kind of girl with a penchant for flavored creamers and syrups. It was just another sacrifice I had to make living here.

I flicked on the light over the kitchen table, ready to read and journal, but stopped short.

“What. The. Heck.” Seriously? That wasn’t what I thought it was. Was it? “No…just….NO!”

My grandmother had done it now. That stupid, child tradition was every parent’s worst nightmare. Setting up a creepy, manic looking doll every freaking night was something most parents thought was cute but quickly turned from a chore into a nightmare. Already exhausted from the holiday season, making sure to stage the toy, come up with a new setting every night, and get extra gifts added unnecessary stress.

Furthermore, Nonna hadn’t asked me.

Just like she hadn’t asked me about serving biscotti to nine-year-olds with espresso. For breakfast. Or giving them a dollop of wine with dinner on Thanksgiving last Thursday. Those might be Old World customs, but I certainly didn’t approve.

And now she brought an elf into the house?

While my own faith was fragile given the horrible twists life threw at me, I was deeply religious. We attended Mass regularly, even though I sat there wondering how a just deity could take my husband and secretly wondering if his criminal activities sent his unrepentant soul to a fiery pit instead of the pearly gates.

Because I practiced religion despite my doubts, I didn’t bring my sons up with the false belief in a jolly fat man who lived at the North Pole. They knew there was no Santa Claus, which meant I never bothered stressing myself out with a dumb little Elf on the Shelf.

The last thing I wanted to do was bite the hand that was feeding us, but I needed to sit my grandmother down and tell her that the boys were mine to raise, and I had criteria on how I parented.

I shook myself, marching around the kitchen table to the elf. I would just make the little creep disappear, then have a chat with Nonna when she was awake.

“Mom! NOOO!” Oli yelled.

“You can’t touch him!” Mat chimed in. “He’ll lose his magic!”

The sound of their voices was a sack of bricks smacking into my chest. They were never up this early. Ever. And the one morning I needed them to sleep until eight, this. This! Today was the day when they chose to scamper out of bed and catch me desecrating the stupid child toy.

“We finally have an elf!” Mat raced around me, taking the sheet of paper from the bottom of the mini tree.

The state of sleep deprivation and the shock of seeing the wretched elf meant I hadn’t properly looked at the setup. Nonna had gone all out. There was a mini tree, strung with battery operated lights and decorated with red and gold baubles. Two packages were wrapped under it, and the elf looked like he was climbing the darn tree.

“There’s two of them!” Oli cheered, pointing.

I lifted my eyes and groaned. A second demonic doll swung from a strand of lights draped over the chandelier.

Oh, dio mio. Noooo….

But of course, I had twins so why not have twin creepy dolls?

“’Greetings, Matteo and Oliverio! We’ve come to spend a few weeks with you. I’m Basil, and my dumbass brother—'”

“Hey!” I snapped. “Language.”