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By important, I now understand what she’s saying. She’s from a crime family. It suddenly makes sense to me that she talked about being expected to marry and produce heirs. It’s not part of her culture, in general. It’s part of her family’s culture because they are, whatever she says, organized crime.
She’s here because of money that’s been earned by illegal means—drugs, maybe, or people smuggling. My head spins. So that means Dom, and Kirill, and Tino are the same. Their families are also big crime families.
Another part of the puzzle clicks into place. If Dom is part of a crime family, and he’s Nataniele’s son, then it means Nataniele must be at the head of it. If Nataniele is at the head of a crime family, then my mother is about to marry us right into one.
Fuck.
I need to talk to my mom.
“Excuse me,” I say and push past Camile.
I’ve got a lot to process. My sweet, fun-loving new friend isn’t who I thought she was, but right now she’s at the bottom of the pile when it comes to things to worry about.
I slam out of the restroom, and, keeping my head down so I don’t have to make contact with anyone, I rush through the building. I take the seemingly endless corridors and stairwells until I reach our living quarters. I assume my mom is going to be here—it’s not as though she really has anywhere else she’s going to be. I hadn’t considered that Nataniele might be here too, but right now, I don’t even care. If he is, I’ll confront him as well.
I reach their apartment and hammer on the door. “Mom?” There’s no instant reply, so I bang my fists against the wood again. “Mom? Open up. Now!”
The door opens, and my mother’s surprised expression greets me on the other side.
“Christ, Mackenzie, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”
I shove past her and stride into the middle of the living room, then spin to face her. I’ve not seen any sign of Nataniele yet, which I take to be a good thing. Still, I don’t want to talk about this if he’s here somewhere.
“Where’s your husband-to-be?” I ask coldly.
“He’s at a faculty meeting.”
Faculty meeting. I snort.
She puts her hands on her hips. “Mackenzie, what is going on with you?”
“Did you know?” I demand.
Something crosses her face, but she continues to play the game, blinking too rapidly for someone telling the truth. “Know what?”
“About what these people are? About the kind of place we’re living in?”
“It’s a university, Mackenzie. You know that.”
I slam my fist against the surface of a small table beside me, and she jumps, her eyes widening. It’s not often I lose my temper with her.
“Bullshit. We’re surrounded by criminals. Nataniele is a criminal.”
She blinks but doesn’t respond.
“What?” I say. “You think it doesn’t count if they drive nice cars, and wear tailored suits, and eat fancy food? You think it doesn’t count if they own somewhere like this?” I gesture around me.
She lets out a sigh. “Mackenzie…”
“How the hell did you get caught up with someone like Nataniele, Mom? Did he have some kind of online dating profile that caught your eye?” I hold up both hands as though outlining a box. “Crazy mafia guy seeks heartbroken widow for rushed wedding. No questions allowed.”
She shakes her head. “It wasn’t like that.”
I race on, all my thoughts spilling from my mouth. “I know our life wasn’t perfect before, but at least we were honest. The things we owned, we came about honestly. Dad worked hard for us. He didn’t get involved with shit like this.”
She shakes her head and turns her face from me. Why isn’t she fighting me on this? Why isn’t she telling me that I’m right and she’s sorry and she should never have gotten us involved in all this shit?
“Mom?” I say, and now there’s a pleading tone to my voice.
