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Sabina lifted her arms and let them fall in defeat. Her opinion was obviously not needed.
She tried to remind herself of how lovely she’d felt that morning, but holding onto it proved impossible as the weight of her family settled on her shoulders again. When Mama positioned her in front of the full-length mirror in the master bedroom at home an hour later, her wedding gown felt far heavier than it had the last time she tried it on.
Still, the image brought a smile to her lips. The silk had been imported from Italy, trimmed with Spanish lace, and beaded with pearls. Cut in the latest fashion, the waist was low, nearly to the hip, and made her look even more slender. The skirt almost reached her ankle—longer than she would have liked, but necessary to appease the older generation. Lorenzo would love it. She could imagine the look on his face when Papa walked her down the aisle, the way his eyes would light up, maybe even go misty. He would take her hand, kiss it, and murmur something soft and sweet about how much he loved her.
Mama drew Fran’s pearls out of a box and fiddled with the clasp. A second later, the sound of beads hitting the floor mixed with an exasperated exclamation. “Worthless things! They weren’t even knotted between the beads. I told her they needed to be restrung. The thread just frayed and snapped! Here.”
Sabina accepted the new string of pearls Papa had bought and watched while Mama collected those from the broken one. She held the necklace up to her throat but lowered it again. Much as she didn’t want to point out the obvious, Mama would see it for herself in another moment. “The whites don’t match, Mama. Why can’t I just wear the pendant Enzo gave me for my birthday?”
“Because it’s gold. You know you can’t wear gold on your wedding day until he puts the band on your finger.”
“That’s just a superstition. I—”
“Sabina.” Mama raised herself up and huffed out a breath. “Humor me. You are the first ones in our families to get married in America, which means we are all used to the Sicilian customs. They’re what we know, what we love, what we’re looking forward to. We’ve humored you with your insistence that it be in August, with your desire for two bridesmaids, with countless other things. Grant us the rest of our traditions.”
It felt like she’d done nothing but grant them their traditions. She bit her tongue—but she also held up Mama’s pearls to show her how they looked against the silk.
Mama’s wince said it all. “We’ll find something else, then. I don’t know what, but if we need to go shopping again, we will. Take off the gown, cara.”
She obeyed, folding it carefully back around the tissue paper and into its box, since all the beading made it far too heavy to hang. She smiled as she closed the lid and her ring caught the light from the window, flashing a dozen rainbows over the wall. Immortal diamond.
She glanced at her mother. “Do you mind if I run over to the church for a little while? I can light a candle for Nonna’s safe journey.” And try to reclaim a bit of last night’s peace.
Mama looked about to object, but then her face cleared. She drew in a deep breath. She nodded, even managing a smile. “Say a prayer for your mother’s patience while you’re at it too, would you?”
Sabina grinned and moved to kiss Mama on the cheek. “The wedding is going to be beautiful. You’re a wonder, Mama. I’m so grateful to have you.”
Mama’s eyes went as misty as she’d imagined Lorenzo’s, and she reached over to pat Sabina’s cheek. “I’m so proud of you, Sabina Maria. The way you raised your brother and sister when I could not—the way you held this family together. I know you will be a good wife. A good mother to your own children. And I am so proud. So proud of the heart I see inside you.”
If she tried to say anything to that she’d probably start crying, so Sabina just gave her mother a hug and then dashed down the stairs, out the door, down the street. She didn’t slow until she was climbing the church stairs and slipping into the cool, shaded interior, out of August’s sticky heat.
“Sabina. I prayed you would come.”
She froze at the feminine voice, her eyes blinking against the sudden blindness after being in the sun.
Ava stood just inside the sanctuary, in the last pew. She wore a modest black dress, clutched a handbag in front of her. She looked for all the world like any other woman seeking solace in the quiet church.
Sabina very nearly spun back to the door and ran home again. But she felt the encouragement of the diamond on her finger. If God listened to a mafioso’s daughter, if He heard her, saw her, answered her prayers, who was she to say He didn’t also hear the prayer of a mafioso’s mistress?
She forced a swallow, drew in a breath, and took one step at a time until she was looking Ava straight in the eye. No one else was in the pews or praying at the altar, and though she could see Father Russo’s feet in the confessional, he wouldn’t hear them from here unless they shouted.
She didn’t intend to shout. Mostly she intended to listen. But first she had to ask the question that had been niggling at her since she saw Ava in Papa’s office and realized who she was. She asked it softly, in a whisper that she hoped didn’t sound like an accusation. “Does Papa know you come here?”
Ava shook her head, her gaze darting past Sabina, to the corner where she’d noticed the guards before. Sabina hadn’t even seen them this time, but there they were. “The boys just tell him I go to church. They don’t tell him where. Will you…will you sit with me? Just for a minute?”
Though it still took a heartbeat to gather the courage, Sabina nodded and slid around the end of the pew. Ava slid over to make room for her, and they both sat on the polished wood. The kneeler was out, lending credence to Ava’s claim to have been praying. About what, she had to wonder. Them? Papa? That they’d somehow be able to wiggle out of the murder charges?
Sabina smoothed a hand over her skirt. She didn’t know what to say now, so she just sat there, looking from the familiar, graceful arches of the building to the not as familiar, graceful face of the woman beside her.
Ava’s smile wobbled. “I’m so sorry you heard what you did at your father’s office. I’m so sorry I…I’ve stayed away from here since then. I didn’t want to hurt you any more. But—you’re getting married so soon, and I…” She trembled to a halt.
Sabina still had no words. But she had patience. She offered a small smile and stayed still.
Ava dashed a tear away from the corner of her eye. “I was twelve. When my father sold me. My first pimp, he—he made sure I could never have children. And I didn’t want to, didn’t want to bring any innocent lives into this ugly world. But then…” She looked forward, toward the crucifix at the front of the church, then over to Sabina. “I know you hate what your father’s done, what he’s put your mother through. But he saved me, Sabina. Maybe he shouldn’t have. I know the pain I’ve caused you and your mother. But he saved me, he gave me safety. He gave me a better life than anyone else ever would have. And when I cried to him about my empty arms, he…he told me about you. Little G. Serafina, God rest her soul.” She crossed herself.
Sabina did too.
Ava’s eyes slid closed. “You won’t remember it, but there was a time—your mother was with child, between you and Little G. Something went wrong, wrong enough that Vanni and Fran rushed her to the hospital. Franco came to find your father, and he didn’t have time to take me home first, so…I don’t even know how it happened, but I ended up at your house, staying with you while you slept.” She squeezed her eyes tight. “If your mother ever found out that I’d stepped foot in her house, watched over her daughter, I can’t imagine how upset she would be.”
