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Marku stiffens. “Those are nothing but rumors. The truth is much more complicated. He was young and hotheaded, but he did not do the sick things people murmur about him behind his back. He may not be a good man, but he’s no monster when it comes to his clan. Una was clan.”
Turning our conversation away from Cristo and his blemished past, I push at Marku’s shoulder and say, “He might become a good man, a man like you.” I wink. “Who knows, love might change him.”
Marku barks out a laugh. “That’s the least likely scenario.”
“It’s changed you,” I point out, testing him.
“Baby girl, you’re mistaken if you think love changed me.” I place my hand on my chest and mock gasp, but he continues, “Because I’ve always loved you.”
“So what changed? At one point, we couldn’t stand being in the same room together.”
“Knowing you were in danger,” he replied solemnly. “I had to step up and recognize that you are my life. Nothing matters more than you. So if you want to go to college, go to college. If you want to have a kid, don’t worry, I’m ready to breed you nice and good. Almost losing you—then losing your father—taught me that nothing matters as much as wife, family, and clan.” He leans forward and kisses me deeply. “So do whatever makes you happy. Making you happy makes me happy, Chuckie.”
I unhook my bra, pull it off, and fling my arms around his neck. I tug at the buttons of his shirt until they’re undone. Between kisses, we struggle to get it off him. I caress his bare torso, from the bulging muscles of his shoulders down his inked and burned chest.
He grasps my shoulders and stops me. “You sure about this?”
I straddle his lap and kiss him deeply. “More than sure. So you want to breed me, huh?”
He flips me onto my back. I laugh aloud, feeling free to feel, to live, to love. And, oh, how I love him. We may have been through hell and back, but Marku is my man, my husband, and nothing is going to stop me from shouting my love from the rooftops. By the end of the day, everyone will know we are married.
And after that?
After that we have the rest of our lives together.
EPILOGUE
CRINA
In the end, Marku and I both went to Cooper Union. Me, for writing. Him, for engineering.
Lucian settled in asconsilierand Star went to New York University, practically in the same neighborhood.
Star and Lucian bought a nifty renovated carriage house near Washington Square Park when she started college. With a little conniving, and a lot of money, we bought a townhouse on the same street. Washington Mews is a lovely, pedestrian-only street, tucked away from the busy city and only a short walk from campus.
My mother visits regularly. Ever since I moved out—and, of course, with my father’s dying wish playing in the background—we’ve come to a truce of sorts. We will never be friends or confidants, but now that I have my own life with Marku, she respects me as a married woman. Honestly, she was particularly taken with the fact that I announced my marriage to the world without waiting for the big Romanian wedding. From comments she’s made here and there, she’s surprised by my choice to go to school, but I suspect that she may even be a little proud of me for it. Right or wrong, she raised me to be a strong, respectedmafiewoman, and that’s what I’ve become, in my own way.
I’m on the lookout for another building on our street to go on sale. Gabby started taking classes along with Star, but she’s stuck in Queens. Star and I have decided that we need her here with us. We figure if we buy her a place, Soren will have no choice but to move in with her. Thinking of her makes me think of…
Anton.
I grimace. If I ever get my hands on him, I will rip him apart into a million little pieces. I stop my train of thought. No, I refuse to let anything ruin this day.
It’sMar?i?or, the first of March, which marks the arrival of spring for Romanians. Girls and women receivemar?i?ors, small jewel-like ornaments tied with a entwined red and white string.
I woke up to one such ornament by my bedside. A golden fountain pen.
Marku hasn’t given me one of these since I was twelve. There’s a twinge in my heart because my father gave me one every year. And Marku, knowing this, likely wanted to continue the tradition.
I turn over on my back, holding the little ornament from its tassels and swinging the pretty pen back and forth, back and forth. I’ll wear it pinned to my heart today, and toward the end of the month, I will go to Sunnyside Park and tie themar?i?orto the branch of a tree. Every year,mar?i?orsare tied to tree branches throughout the park.
My grandmother once told me the custom began in Roman times. That the red and white string represents the duality of life and death, two sides of the same coin. That spirits and fairies pitter-patter between the living and the dead, that they hang out in the in-between spaces, like shady corners of large, drafty old houses or long, waving blades of grass in an open meadow. And right now, right this moment, I’m in one of those in-between spaces. Dan is here. I felt him slipping in between the rays of sunlight coming through the window, landing on the gold pen, making it shimmer extra bright for me, like a drop of pure sunshine.
He’s with me.
My eyes tear up and my nostrils burn. He chose to visit on the day when Romanians honor spring and womanhood. Even though he’s gone, probably having the time of his life as an angel or a leprechaun or something magical, for sure—he likes to pop in every now and then to remind me that he’s still with me.
The shower in the en suite bathroom turns off. Seconds later, Marku strolls through our bedroom wearing nothing but a towel around his waist and rubbing his hair dry. My heart stutters for a moment. His hair is a beautiful mess of dark curls, his eyes sparkling at finding me awake with mymar?i?or.
