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“Won’t he mind?”
Maria laughs. “Dear, if you’re going to be the Mafia queen, you can’t worry endlessly about whether or not your king will mind you doing something. A queen acts. She doesn’t hesitate.”
I can’t tell if she’s making fun of me, but her words bolster me nonetheless, making me want to sit up straighter and assert myself with more confidence.
“Fine. Where are Luca’s parents?”
“Dead.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
She shrugs and lets out a mournful sigh. “His poor mother died when he was twelve. Cancer. And his father – my dear older brother – was killed in a mafia war when he was a young man.”
My heart aches for Luca, my mind throwing up images of twelve year old Luca weeping over his mother’s death.
“A mafia war?” I say.
“It was between Franco’s Family and ours, and Franco’s almost won, but after Luca’s father was assassinated and Luca took control, he and his cousin – Aldo – they beat back Franco with weapons and treaties. We’re lucky Aldo was there to reign Luca in even at such a young age.”
My body swarms with unbidden heat, my mind flooded with the sight of Luca rage-filled and ready to protect his family.
“Wait, so Aldo’s his cousin?”
“You want to know who his parents are, if not me,” she says.
“Yes,” I say, my mind swimming with all this new information.
“I was married when I was younger, and Aldo was my husband’s son from a previous marriage. My husband passed and I raised Aldo. But he spent much of his time here, with my sister-in-law, and after that, he fell right into the life with Luca. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I was never built for parenthood. But it worked out in the end.”
“You sound like you did your best,” I say quickly, anxiety pricking me at the notion I’ve offended her.
She reaches over and touches my hand. “Thank you for saying that.”
We watch the estate for a time, the verdant sun-kissed lawns and the glittering of the pond. It’s like we’re in paradise.
“Maria, I want to ask you something, but I don’t want to offend you.”
The words cost me a great effort as I force them out, pushing them past my clawing self-consciousness.
“You want to know if Luca has killed anyone.”
I glance at her reflexively, shocked at the smile touching her lips, her wide friendly eyes. Silly thoughts invade my mind that Maria could become the mentor figure I’ve always craved, but I have to fight them back. I have to live in reality, not the way I wish the world was.
“It’s an honest question,” she says.
“Has he?” I ask.
“Luca has killed people.” She nods. “But only when he absolutely has to and only if they’ve broken one of his rules.”
“What rules?”
“Never hurt a child, a woman, an innocent, or civilian. He will kill men in Mafia wars, but everybody knows what they’re signing up for. They’re like soldiers. Everybody else is off-limits… and even in wars, it’s rare if Luca has his way. He’s not a killer.”
“Unless he has to be,” I whisper, passion flaring into my voice, perhaps misplaced.
My thoughts flash to our future family, to how far he’ll go to keep us safe.
“Unless he has to be,” she repeats. “And he is intelligent. He makes it so it hardly ever needs to happen. Most of his businesses are legitimate now. He keeps the drugs off the streets. It’s Franco and the other criminal organizations that mess everything up.”
“Is he a good man?” I blurt.
I didn’t plan on throwing the question out there so bluntly. It rose up from some deep place inside of me, as though my womb has taken control of my lips and is forcing me to toss it out there. It’s like a primal piece of me needs to know if this man is trustworthy, protective, intense, and capable like my instincts are telling me.
And maybe Maria won’t be the most reliable source.
Maybe his aunt will tell me a skewed version of events.
But as crazy as it is, I trust Maria, even if I know I shouldn’t.
“Yes,” she says, without a hint of doubt in her voice. “Luca is the best man I have ever known. He is honest when he can afford to be. He is good to his men. He protects life at all costs. This city would have turned into a bloodbath long ago without Luca pulling the strings.”
A smile spreads across my face, unbidden but intensely welcome like a cool salve rubbed over my rawest and most emotional parts.
Chapter Nine
Luca
“Time’s up, Ottavio,” I tell him, drumming my fingers against the table.
When he said he wanted to think about it, I didn’t think he’d sit in a chair with his head in his hands, posing like some Roman statue deep in thought. He’s been sitting like that ever since we came into the small office, lost in thought, his fingernails clawing against his bald head.
