Convenient Mafia Vows (Ruthless Billionaire Mafia Kings)

Epilogue

VICTORIA

Abigail comes running over to us as we climb out of the car.

“Auntie Vicky, Uncle Caleb, come and meet my friend, Resh.” She grabs our hands and leads us into the extensive gardens of Sudbury Valley.

A boy is sitting high up in a grand old oak tree, tossing leaves down to a girl who is making patterns with them across a boulder. Other children are laying belly-down in the grass reading books. Some are deadheading the flowers in the borders; some are simply running around; a boy is sitting by himself playing guitar, oblivious to the other children around him, while another is performing somersaults.

Resh, when we find him, is sitting in the dappled shade of an apple tree with a tablet on his lap. He’s a couple of years older than Abigail with long jet-black hair that flops over his eyes, and a narrow serious face. When he spots us, he stands up, wipes his hands on his slacks and greets Caleb with a handshake. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Nice to meet you too, Resh.” Caleb smiles. “Abigail talks about you a lot.”

“She talks about you too. She said that you ride a Harley Davidson, but she didn’t say which model.”

Caleb hesitates, and I can see it in his profile that he isn’t accustomed to discussing motorcycles with an eight-year-old. “It’s a limited-edition Anniversary Road Glide.” He glances at me, the brief look asking if this is too much information.

“Does it still have the eagle?” The kid’s expression is still perfectly serious.

“It sure does.”

“I want to own a Harley Davidson when I’m older.”

Abigail joins in, “Maybe you could bring it next time, Uncle Caleb, and take Resh out for a ride.”

Caleb’s expression is like a plea for help. Stick him in a boardroom filled with mafia mobsters and he’ll wrap them around his little finger and tie them in knots. But faced with a genius child with a commendable knowledge of Harley Davidson’s back catalogue of models, and he clams up like an oyster.

“I don’t think that will be allowed.” I step into the rescue. “For safety reasons. We would need to get your parents’ permission, Resh.”

“They won’t mind. I’ve been on a motorcycle before.”

Abigail grins at him like he’s the only person in the world who exists for her right now. I recognize that gleam in her eye. It’s the same gleam I see in my own reflection in the mirror every day since I met Caleb.

She has been attending Sudbury Valley for six months, and she is thriving. We already knew that Abigail was bright beyond her years when we first visited the school, back when Caleb’s expectations were low at best. Now, she can hold a conversation about climate change and democracy and The Jonas Brothers like an adult. Her confidence has grown. She doesn’t worry about voicing an opinion at home or in school, and she and Resh have been creating their own video game.

An adult approaches us—there are no teachers at Sudbury Valley, only adults who supervise and enhance the children’s learning—a young woman with cropped pink hair and a nose piercing. She’s wearing red Doc Martens with a kilt and a red sweater, and when she smiles, I notice that her top teeth are a little crooked.

“Hi, I’m Nina. Abigail has been so excited to show you the video game they’ve been working on. But she has another surprise for you too.” She winks conspiratorially at Abigail.

We follow Nina, Abigail, and Resh into the main building.

When we first considered Sudbury Valley for Abigail, Caleb was skeptical. No learning structure, no teachers, no exams, no classrooms, he said it was a recipe for disaster. But when we spoke to some of the older children attending the school, we realized that they were still learning all that they needed to be mature, confident, and well-rounded adults when they graduated.

Emily had been right. A generic one-system-fits-all education couldn’t possibly work for every child, and Abigail’s needs and strengths didn’t lie in a classroom where she would’ve been expected to complete tasks beneath her capabilities, five days a week. At Sudbury Valley, if she wants to spend a semester designing computer games, then that’s what she does. She’s still learning, but she’s learning the subjects that interest her, the stuff that she is passionate about, and will take with her through to adulthood.

Now, Caleb’s eyes and mind are open, and when he and Abigail are together, she surprises him with the questions that she asks about the Wraith. They have the kind of father-daughter bond that I wished she had with Mason, but that I’m starting to realize now might never happen. Mason has the same addictive personality as our mother. If he isn’t gambling, he’s drinking or experimenting with drugs, and even though Caleb paid to put him through rehab, he checked himself out after a week and disappeared again.

It was Caleb’s idea for Abigail to stay with us between semesters. I hadn’t believed it possible to love him more than I already did, but when he told me that’s what he wanted, my heart was so full I thought it would burst.

The rooms inside the building are painted in bold, bright colors. The children smile at us and say hello to Abigail and Resh as we pass through. They’re happy. No one is struggling with Math or reading or science. Every child here is confident that they can achieve whatever target they set themselves.

In what must be the closest the school has to a computer room, Abigail and Resh sit down and demonstrate the video game they designed. Their thumbs fly across the controls, and I can barely keep up with the characters on the screen.

Abigail did this, I tell myself when they complete the first level. But none of this would’ve been possible if I hadn’t met Caleb.

“Are you ready for your surprise?” Nina asks.

“We’re ready.” Caleb squeezes my hand and answers for me.

I’m more emotional than ever these days, and he is always on hand with a hug and a tissue, and a hot dog smothered in mustard and ketchup. Sometimes I wonder if he hired a hot dog chef just to satisfy my weird cravings during this pregnancy.

In another room, some children are already sitting in bean bag chairs staring at the wooden stage. Caleb steers me away from the squashy cushions and helps me into a seat at the back of the room, his hand caressing my swollen stomach.

“I don’t want you getting stuck in a beanbag.” His lips brush my ear and send shivers down my spine.

When we first met, I wondered if this passion would be tempered over time, but it shows no signs of abating yet. If anything, being pregnant has made me insatiable. I can’t get enough of Caleb. I’ve even started visiting him in his office at lunchtimes, locking the door, and begging him to lick me until I explode, and Lauren has now added flushed cheeks to the pursed lips and suspicious eyes with which she always greets me.

Maybe one day, Miss Ingram will accept that I’m in Caleb’s life to stay.

Abigail disappears behind the stage with Nina and Resh. When she comes back out, she is wearing a blonde wig, a white dress, and a sunny yellow cardigan thrown over her shoulders. Resh follows her in black pants and a black T-shirt, his hair gelled back away from his forehead.

“Danny!” I squeal in Caleb’s ear.

“Sandy!”

I don’t know how Abigail knew about the first time Caleb and I met, but I watch her and Resh’s performance of Grease with tears streaming from my eyes.

On our way back to the city, we detour along the Upper Delaware Scenic Byway. We stop at a heritage café in a small town and drink hot chocolate, not coffee—too much caffeine is bad for the baby—from mismatched porcelain cups, our fingers entwined on top of the table.

We talk about the refurbishments currently happening to the Dragon’s Den, and my vision for how it will look when works are completed. It was Don Dragonetti’s idea for me to get involved in his casino’s renovation plans after the wedding reception. Surprised, I’d felt out of my depth. I had no formal qualifications or experience, but he said he had complete faith in me, and Caleb encouraged me to try.

I’m glad he did. I’m decorating the nursery in our apartment now. I wake early every morning, drag on paint-splattered overalls , and spend my days blissfully hand-painting fairy tale scenes around the walls. I’ve finished Cinderella’s castle. Now, I’m working on an underwater scene with Ariel, Sebastien, and King Triton, and when that’s finished, I’m going to paint the house and characters from Encanto .

Driving back along the Byway, Caleb leans forward and asks Kev to pull over on the side of the road.

We climb out, and I can’t believe that we’re standing in the exact same spot where we stopped the first time Caleb took me out on his Harley.

“How did you remember this spot?” I lean against him and admire the spectacular view. Caleb’s breath is warm on my cheek, and his hands are resting on my pregnant belly.

The last time we were here, I didn’t even know how Caleb felt about me. I had hope, but I also had the end of our fake marriage contract looming over my head. Now… I inhale deeply and relax against my husband’s chest. Now, I literally have everything that I could ever possibly want, and I still pinch myself frequently to remind me that it is real.

“How could I forget?”

I turn around in his arms and kiss him on the lips as our baby girl kicks him for getting too close. His face breaks into a wide smile that sets him aglow. He has been glowing since the day that I announced the pregnancy, and I can’t wait for him to meet our baby. I already know that he will be the best daddy in the world.

“Do you remember what you asked me that night?”

“Uh-huh. I asked you what you wanted.”

“And I didn’t answer because I received the phone call about Don Mateo’s heart attack.”

Mateo Dragonetti. Who’d have thought that the mafia boss would’ve become such a huge part of our lives when his daughter was the reason Caleb married me. “I remember.”

“Ask me again.”

I smile. “What do you want, Caleb?”

“It’s easy. It’s the easiest question I’ve ever had to answer. I want this. All of this, mo chroi. I want our daughter, and all the other children that will follow her. Sometimes, I wonder what I ever did to get so lucky.”

He lowers his head to my belly and kisses it tenderly, and the baby responds with a gentle kick.

He straightens, cups my face in his hands, and peers into my eyes. “But most of all, I want you, Victoria.”

Thank you for reading my book, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did creating it. Please leave a review to help me grow.

If you enjoyed Victoria and Caleb’s story, you will adore Brandon and Rose in Fake Dar Vows.

Here is a sneak peak.

Brandon

My phone vibrates on my desk, my mom’s face smiling at me like a cameo portrait inside a precious locket. She’s wearing her favorite pearls in the image, her hair swept back Audrey-Hepburn style, her smile revealing perfect white teeth. I can almost imagine her hissing under her breath, “ Answer the damn phone, Brandon ,” while the photographer catches her still sharp cheekbones in exactly the right light.

I reject the call.

Again.

I hit redial on the landline telephone on my desk and get straight through to Julia, my personal assistant. “Has my mother tried calling today?”

“Wrong question.”

“How many times?” I try.

“Ooh, at least a dozen, maybe more. I lost count shortly after I arrived.” I can hear her chuckling to herself as I cut her off.

I swivel my leather seat and stare out of the penthouse window at the winking glass of the Chrysler Building in the sunlight. My mother wants to discuss my father’s birthday arrangements even though she’ll already have everything in hand with zero input from either me or my brother. It will be the same scenario as last year, and every other birthday before that: she’ll run through the itinerary that she emailed to me a week ago, and wait for me to say, “I’ll be there, Mom.”

She knows I can’t refuse. It’s the big seven-oh, and she’ll want everything to be perfect, because there’s no room for anything less in Ruby Weiss’s life. The decorations will be themed, the food will be gourmet, and the games will be competitive—just how my father likes it—and we’ll all be expected to perform like circus animals, raising the bar a little higher with each turn.

I skim-read the email. A week on Ruby Island, the private island in the Keys my father bought for my mom to celebrate their fortieth wedding anniversary, dress casual, cocktails served at six, all arguments to be conducted behind closed doors.

Centuries ago, they’d have given me and my brother Damon pistols, instructed us to choose our seconds and meet at dawn to settle it like men. Winner takes all. Quicker and easier than the relentless tournaments we’ve been forced to endure all our lives in the name of competitiveness.

When my phone vibrates again, I close my eyes and inhale deeply. I stand, slide my suit jacket from the concealed closet in my office, and shrug it on, retrieving my phone as I pass my desk. Might as well take advantage of the fine spring weather and walk to my next meeting while I avoid her calls.

A glance at the Caller ID tells me that my mom has been shunted down the line—this is not a regular occurrence in Ruby Weiss’s life. No doubt it will be noted in her silk-covered journal to be discussed with me when I finally pick up.

I hit the green button. “Sam.”

I’m already exiting my office. Julia, my PA, glances up from her own conversation, eyes wide. She covers her cell phone with her hand, too late to hide the personal call.

“Eleven-thirty meeting,” I say.

“Will you be back?”

I can’t avoid my mother all day, and the anticipated conversation is already causing a headache to brew behind my eyes like I’ve been reading small print for hours. “Depends.”

Julia’s smile is fleeting and doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She’s immaculate in a dark-gray shift dress, her hair tied back on top in a coordinating bow, the kind a child of kindergarten age might wear. We’ve worked together for five years and in all that time, I’ve never seen her make a personal call, even discreetly, during office hours.

Her gaze drifts to the phone in my hand. Sam is still hanging on, but he can wait.

“My mother,” I say, the lie slipping off my tongue easily. “I’ll keep you posted.”

My office is on the top floor of the tower that my father had commissioned when he made his first billion. I step into the elevator and glance back at Julia as the doors glide silently closed. She has her back to me, cell raised to her ear.

I follow suit. “You’ve got thirty seconds,” I say to Sam.

“There might be a problem at the source.”

I follow the levels on the display in front of me. “What kind of problem?”

“SEC is paying a little too much attention for my liking,” Sam says.

“Do I need to step back?”

“No.” Pause. “No, I can sort it.”

“That’s what I pay you for.”

I end the call. The elevator stops smoothly, and the doors swish open.

One of my father’s old associates is waiting to ride it back up, and I greet him with a wide smile and well-practiced handshake, firm enough to project confidence and control of the situation. Too limp, and you can kiss goodbye to any future business transactions; too heavy-handed and it implies a level of intimidation. It isn’t something they teach at Harvard—it’s a Weiss family thing. My father is a pro.

“Brandon, you’ll be at the family celebrations.”

“Of course.” I incline my head and keep the smile fixed in place like the dutiful eldest son.

“See you there. My wife and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Of course they wouldn’t. It will provide a conversation starter for weeks after the event. “ Did you hear about Harry Weiss’s birthday festivities? We were there by personal invitation .”

I turn away to cross the sleek marble-floored lobby and collide with a child.

The infant barely reaches my thighs—I know this because as she lands on her backside, her sticky fingerprints are left behind as evidence on my suit pants. The mouth opens, the chubby cheeks grow pink, and siren-strength wails fill the otherwise silent lobby.

A young woman comes running over clutching a plastic container filled with sandwiches, sliced salad vegetables, and a rosy, red apple. She hoists the child onto her hip, dropping the container in the process.