The look Marco gave me was full of doubt. “You know how easily rumors spread in our circles.”
“I wasn’t talking about the deal when I asked for your opinion,” I clarified. “I’m talking about Sofia. I don’t know how I feel about marrying her. What do you think?”
“You won’t marry her for another six years. Until then, even you, stubborn bastard that you are, will have gotten over losing Serafina. You get a Cavallaro niece, that’s what matters, right?”
It should have. From a tactical standpoint, my position hadn’t been weakened. And yet, it felt like I’d taken a deep fall. “She’s too young.”
“Of course, she is, but it’s not like you’re marrying her any time soon. Trust me, in ten or fifteen years, you’ll thank your lucky stars that you have a young wife.”
“We’ll see.” I motioned at the dart board again. “Another round.”
Marco grabbed the darts without protest and began throwing. “What about Emma?”
“What about her?”
“She was supposed to live with you so your mother can focus on caring for your dad. But now that Serafina won’t be moving in, that’s not going to work out, right?”
“Emma’s been getting more independent these last few months. She doesn’t need as much support as she used to. I’ll employ a nanny who specializes in children with disabilities. The maids can take care of the rest.”
“You realize that you work a lot and are barely home? It’s not like you’ll have a ton of time to spend with her.”
“I’ll make time,” I muttered.
“It wasn’t your fault, Danilo. You have to stop blaming yourself for the accident.”
I glared at him. “This discussion is over.”
Marco sighed but finally shut up and continued to play darts.
Emma’s accident wasn’t something I wanted to think about, much less discuss with him. It was bad enough that it haunted my dreams.
The next day, I visited my parents. Emma still lived with them, but I’d promised her that she could move in with me today.
When I stepped into the house I’d grown up in, my chest tightened like it always did on my visits lately. The soft whir of Emma’s wheelchair sounded, and she appeared in the doorway of the living room, worry reflected in her brown eyes. Her still-wet hair was piled atop her head in a messy bun. I’d tried to protect her from the darkness of the last few months, but Serafina’s kidnapping had been the trending topic in our circles, even among the children. Emma had witnessed the tumultuous events at my canceled wedding. She knew more than she should.
I headed over to her and hugged her, kissing her forehead before I straightened. She felt frail in my arms, as if a strong gust of wind could break her. “How are you?”
In the first months after the accident, she’d often felt an almost stabbing pain in her legs—not to mention the emotional turmoil she’d been experiencing when she realized she wouldn’t be able to use her legs like she used to, would never dance ballet again.
“I’m fine, but what about you? Mom told me that you can’t marry Serafina anymore and have to marry Sofia instead.” She and Sofia were the same age, and both had already suffered the cruel side effects of being raised in the mafia. Occasionally, they had played together at gatherings. Now, Emma could only sit on the sidelines while the other kids ran around. All the anger and resentment of the past mixed with the new rage I felt, but I swallowed it.
“I don’t mind. I’ll marry Sofia in six years. That’s a good thing.” It was a lie I’d have to use a lot in the future.
Emma tilted her head as if she wasn’t sure what to believe. Suddenly, harsh coughing flooded down the stairs from the second floor.
Emma winced. “Dad’s been worse these last few days. I’m scared for him.”
I squeezed her shoulder. She had her own future to worry about, and yet fate had cruelly added Father’s deteriorating health to her plate of worries. The coughing continued, and Mom’s voice rang out.
“Let me check on them,” I said. I hurried up the stairs and found my parents in the bathroom of their master suite. Dad perched on the bathtub, bent over, his body shaking as he coughed. Splatters of blood dotted the tiles at his feet and his mouth was covered with it as well. My mother was rubbing his back, her face ashen as she whispered words of reassurance.
They were lies. One look at Dad was enough to tell anyone that the coming Christmas would be his last—if he even made it that far.
I didn’t allow the dreaded sadness to take root in me.
Dad looked up and slowly straightened from his hunched position. His struggle to contain more coughs showed on his pasty skin. He wiped the blood off his lips with the back of his hand, and Mom quickly handed him a washcloth. While he cleaned his face, she came over to me and kissed my cheek. Her eyes swam with fear. “I don’t know what we did to deserve this,” she whispered.
I did. Maybe Mom preferred to pretend my father and I were normal businessmen, but we all knew that wasn’t true. Dad staggered to his feet and gave me a weak smile. “The deal with Pietro stands?”
I’d reported back to him right after my meeting with Samuel, Pietro, and Dante. I wasn’t sure if he just wanted me to confirm it again or if his memory was starting to get spotty due to his sickness. “Everything’s settled, but like I said, Emma’s engagement to Samuel stays a secret for the time being.”
“I think it’s a mistake to wait to announce the bond,” Mom said. “Maybe people would stop pitying her if they knew she’s going to marry a
