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One day, she called me repeatedly but left no message. I finally picked up on her fifth attempt to reach me. Having just finished interrogating a man who had been skimming at one of our casinos, I wasn't in a great mood.
She didn't ask what was wrong, like she usually would do. Not that I could tell her ninety percent of the time, but the question soothed me all the same.
This time, she asked why I had not picked up before.
Like a fool, I told her I had more important things to do than answer personal phone calls throughout the day.
She apologized for bothering me and said it wouldn't happen again.
It took me until later that evening to wonder why she had called me to begin with, much less so many times. But I didn't get a chance to ask her because it was three weeks before I saw my wife anywhere but in our bed at night.
And when we are in bed, talking is not what I want to be doing.
Four Years Before
I am disappointed to see Giulia dressed to go out when I come to the breakfast table. The last three weeks have been hell.
It all started with that miscreant, Paolo. He was the manager of one of our small, out of town, casinos and he stole over three-hundred-thousand dollars before our redundancy accounting caught him.
My father was so infuriated, he demanded an immediate in-person audit of all of our businesses, not just the casinos. I was busy from morning to late into the night, but it's finally done.
We found three more casino employees that had to be dealt with and cremated afterward. Two dealers and one croupier were on the take.
"Do you have plans this morning?" I ask my wife.
"I'm meeting with the director for the shelter benefitting from the upcoming casino night."
It was Giulia's idea to make it a 1920s themed evening with famous mobster impersonators hired to mingle among the guests. She's laundering more money for us than ever before with these charity events and manages to make a large donation to the benefitting charity too.
When my aunt ran the events, most of the time the charity was just a shell organization for the Mancini mafia. Giulia agreed to take over the events only if she could donate 75% of the legitimate proceeds to actual charities.
Since legitimate business is always a better cover for mob business, even my father agreed.
"Do you have time for lunch later?" I ask her.
I've missed my wife, which is not something I ever expected to feel when we got married two years ago.
We're not in love. We married to cement ties between the Mancini mafia with one of the Five Families in New York. They have port access on the east coast that we need, and we control necessary shipping routes through Nevada.
She looks surprised by the question, but her expression tells me her answer before she shakes her head. "I'm sorry, but I don't."
I don't ask about dinner. We're scheduled to eat with a group of our top lieutenants and their wives to celebrate the promotion of our newest capo. He's replacing the man who should have been aware of the crooked casino employees.
The former capo isn't dead, but he probably wishes he was.
Giulia shuffles her silverware around her plate and then looks up. "I have something to tell you."
"What?" I ask, but my attention is on the way her fitted dress shows off her delectable breasts.
Is this shelter director a man, or a woman?
"I'm pregnant."
She says it so calmly, that it takes a few seconds for her words to register. I jump up and grab her from her chair, kissing her until she's breathless and smiling.
"When are you due?"
"In the fall. I'll be pregnant over the summer." She pretends to pout, but the twinkle in her beautiful brown eyes belies the complaint.
