Two months later
“Come away from the window. You’ve been standing there for almost an hour.”
“I want to see them as soon as they drive up.”
Chuckling, Killian wraps his arms around my waist and kisses the side of my neck. “You just can’t wait to meet that baby, can you?”
Peering out the big living room window of Estancia Los Dos Hermanos, Liam and Tru’s ranch in the countryside near Buenos Aires, I’m all nervous excitement. I don’t know exactly why, because I’m not one of those girls who go gaga over babies. Maybe I’m getting soft in my old age.
Or maybe it’s because Tru and Liam gave little Maribel the middle name Elizabeth. The first name after Tru’s mother, the middle name after mine.
When Tru told me that’s what they wanted to do and asked if it was okay with me, I ugly cried. I can’t think of anything sweeter or more thoughtful than that. But that’s Tru in a nutshell: sweet and thoughtful.
When she’s not being feisty, that is. She comes off as reserved and ladylike at first, but she can give me a run for my money in the sass department, that’s for sure.
A black limo crests the hill of the long gravel driveway and drives toward the house.
“Oh! Here they come!” I jump a little, clapping.
Killian gives me a squeeze. “C’mon. Let’s meet them on the porch.”
He takes me by the hand and leads me to the front door. When I run out onto the porch in front of him, he laughs. I stand on the top step, waving madly at the approaching limo. He stands beside me, slings an arm around my shoulders, and kisses me on top of my head.
He loves it that Tru and I have grown so close. In the three weeks we’ve been staying with them, Tru and I have been inseparable. She’s the only pregnant girlfriend I’ve ever had. I bombarded her with questions as her due date grew nearer.
Not that I’m ready for my own babies yet. I’ve still got sticky fingers. As soon as Killian and I get back to Boston, the girls and I are going to start planning our next job.
With the help of Mr. Superspy, maybe we’ll even have a backup plan for if something goes wrong.
When something goes wrong. Let’s be realistic.
The limo pulls to a stop. Liam bounds out one of the back doors, grinning like a lunatic. He rounds the trunk and pulls open the other back door. Leaning inside, he gathers Tru into his arms and walks toward us.
He’s carrying her, and she’s carrying the baby. A tiny bundle of pink blankets with a pink knitted hat and a pink face scrunched into a fierce scowl.
Killian snorts. “Looks like little Maribel takes after her daddy.”
I whisper, “Oh, stop! She was recently squeezed out of an opening that’s normally the size of a dime. She probably has a headache, the poor thing.”
Then they’re on the porch with us and everyone’s smiling. Not the baby, though. She looks like she thinks this is a bunch of shit.
“You guys, she’s so beautiful!”
Tru smiles at me. She looks tired, but happy. Very, very happy. “Isn’t she, though? I know I’m partial, but I think she’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Gazing down at his wife, Liam says softly, “Next to her mother.”
Killian pounds Liam on the back. “Congratulations, brother.”
“Thank you.” They grin at each other. I jump a little and clap again, because if there’s any time to be ridiculous, it’s now.
The sound of my clapping makes Maribel open her eyes. She looks right at me, her focus startling for such a tiny little thing. The color of her eyes is startling, too. It’s a pale, clear shade of sea glass green, just like Tru’s.
She has Tru’s rosebud lips, also. And they’ve pursed into a small, disapproving pink pucker as she stares at me. I can almost hear her telling me that if I make that noise again, I’ll get a smack.
I put my hand over my mouth and start laughing.
“What?” says Liam.
“This is a terrible thing to say, but I think Maribel wants to clobber me.”
“Oh, for sure,” says Tru, nodding. “You should’ve seen her at the hospital. She came out swinging. She absolutely terrorized the doctor. I think she gave him a black eye.”
Liam says, “Two days old and she hasn’t cried at all yet, but she definitely lets you know when she’s unhappy.” Looking proudly down at his daughter, he smiles. “She could melt paint right off the walls with nothing more than a glance.”
Tru says innocently, “Gee, I wonder where she gets that from?”
I glance at Killian. “It’s a family trait, I think.”
He grabs me around the waist, grinning, and we all go inside.
“So are you and Killian staying in Boston permanently?”
Tru and I are sitting in the living room having tea. The boys disappeared a few minutes ago into the kitchen, probably for a scotch and some guy talk. The countryside beyond the windows is turning bronze and gold as the sun sets over the distant hills.
“I don’t know. He said he was going to retire from the gangster gig, but not when.” I shrug, trusting that he’ll let me know when he’s out. “He might be wrapping up loose ends. I’m sure it’s complicated.”
“I ask because we’d love it if you moved down here with us.”
When I look at her, startled, she smiles. “There’s a reason it’s called Two Brothers’ Ranch. It’s just as much Killian’s as it is Liam’s. They bought it together.”
“But this is your place. You’ve been living here. Wouldn’t you feel…you know. Crowded?”
She laughs softly, rocking in her chair. Maribel is asleep in her arms. “I grew up with seven sisters and brothers in a house with one bathroom. Four adults and a baby in a ten-thousand square foot hacienda would not be crowded.”
I think about it. The ranch itself is spectacular. And spacious, like she said.
But I think I’m a city girl at heart.
“We’ll see. Thank you for the offer.”
Tru smiles. “That’s a no. But you have to promise you’ll come visit a lot.”
Making a small disgruntled noise, Maribel shifts in her arms. Tru leans closer to her and whispers, “Hush, little bee. Mommy and Auntie Juliet are talking.”
Maribel makes a face like she just took a big poop in her diaper.
I drop my face into my hands and laugh, careful to do it silently so the baby doesn’t wake up and kick my ass.
Liam strolls into the room, leans down, and kisses Tru on the forehead. He glances at me, smiling. “Your man’s asking for you in the kitchen.”
“Oh? Does he need help loading the dishwasher? Because he recently tried to tell me how I was doing it all wrong and demonstrate the proper technique, and I almost broke a plate over his head.”
Shaking his head, Liam presses his lips together to hold in a laugh.
I rise and head to the kitchen, where I find Killian standing at the sink with a newspaper in his hands. He glances up when I enter and looks at me with guarded eyes, his expression somber.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, instantly worried.
Setting the paper on the counter, he holds out an arm. I tuck myself under it and against his big body, wrapping my arms around his waist and staring up into his face.
“Nothing,” he murmurs, cupping my jaw in his hand. He sweeps his thumb over my cheekbone. “Everything is about as right as it could be.”
“Then why do you have a face like someone died?”
“Someone did die.”
My heart skips a beat. “Who?”
“Me.”
I blink an unnecessary amount of times. “Is that code for something?”
He turns to the newspaper and slides it across the counter with one finger until it’s in front of me. It’s the Sunday edition of The New York Times.
The headline reads: “Is This the New Face of the Mafia?”
Below it is a picture of a handsome young dark-haired man. It’s taken from the side as he’s getting into a big black SUV. He’s looking into the distance with a secretive smile, buttoning his black Armani suit jacket.
“Wait,” I say, looking closer. “Is that…?”
“Diego,” Killian says, nodding.
“He was the one who brought the roses and necklace to me at work. Your delivery boy.”
Killian chuckles. “Not any longer. Read the article.”
My heart beating faster, I snatch up the paper and start to read.
Made infamous by movies that glamorized their violent lifestyle, the gangsters of yesteryear are all but extinct. From crackdowns at the federal level to dissent within their ranks leading to a string of murders that wiped out the main bosses, the mafia in America has lost much of its power.
But not all.
The Sicilian mafia, La Cosa Nostra, still operates within the shadows, as does the Irish mob, its main rival in the United States. According to reliable sources, the two fractured groups have recently reached an agreement to join forces to reclaim what they’ve lost.
And a twenty-seven-year-old Latino man is their new leader.
I read on until the article ends, then look up at Killian. He’s watching every nuance of expression that crosses my face.
“It says that the assumed head of the Irish mafia, Liam Black, is rumored to be dead.”
“Aye.”
“Killed by the assumed head of the Italian mafia, Antonio Moretti.”
“Aye.”
“Who is also rumored to have died of his injuries during the same gun battle that killed Liam Black.”
“Aye.”
“So…you and my father killed each other in a shootout. Allegedly.”
“Aye. It had to be rumor and conjecture, otherwise there would have to be bodies to identify.”
After a moment, I say, “Does my father know he’s supposed to be dead?”
“He’s the one who suggested it.”
After another moment, I say, “I feel like I’m missing some important information here.”
“Well, you remember that I said I met with him.”
“Yes. You said it was cordial. That he only tried to shoot you three times.”
“And that I asked him permission to marry you.”
“And he told you to go take a flying leap off the nearest tall building.”
“And that I showed him all the evidence I had of his criminal activities and told him I’d give him a choice of going directly to prison or stepping down from his position as capo and retiring from the mobster life.”
I wrinkle my forehead. “Step down? No. You left that part out.”
“Did I? Hmm.”
I push at his chest. “That was on purpose!”
He grins. “I wanted it to be a surprise. Your father said the only way he’d agree to retirement is if he got to kill me. I said I’d be happy to let him shoot me. On paper, you know, not literally. Then we negotiated some more, and we decided the only real way it would work is if we were both dead.”
“The only way what would work?”
“Diego taking over the entire operation. Both his and mine.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “And he agreed to that?”
When he hesitates, I demand, “What?”
When he makes a face, I groan. “Oh god. Oh no. What did you promise him?”
“That he could call you on your birthday.”
“What?”
“He misses you. He wants to apologize. He said he has many regrets.”
I stare at him. My eyes couldn’t blink, even if they wanted to.
“And I mean, if the cost of replacing the head of the New York mafia with someone who’s going to be subverting the entire organization is one short yearly phone call—”
“Yearly?”
He studies my face. “Is this going well? I can’t tell.”
I’m about to search for something to smash over his skull, but he sidetracks me by saying, “Because if not, maybe this will help.”
He takes the paper from me, flips it a few pages forward, folds it in half, and holds it out.
I snatch it from his hands and look at the headline of the article he gestures to.
“An Anonymous Donor Gifted the Red Cross One Hundred Million Dollars.”
My heart stops. Then a line in the article jumps out at me and my heart starts to pound.
An unsigned note included with the donation contained four lines from Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare:
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee
The more I have, for both are infinite.
Killian murmurs, “I know you said one million, but I wanted your engagement gift to be special.”
He holds out his hand. In his palm sits a ring.
It’s an eternity band composed entirely of diamonds.
The newspaper flutters to the floor. I clap my hands over my mouth. Tears instantly spring into my eyes and begin to slide down my cheeks.
His voice husky, he says, “Since I’m dead, we won’t be able to live in Boston anymore. I’m thinking Paris. You and your merry band of thieves can take your operation international.”
I sob, looking up at him. His eyes burn with a dark, beautiful fire.
The most beautiful fire I’ve ever seen.
