24. Matilde
Matilde
I’m presented with a glass of champagne as the receiving line forms. “This is a small wedding?”
“For a Capo, yes, but I would’ve preferred smaller,” Nico says. “Perhaps the trellis wasn’t such a bad idea.”
His dry delivery makes me snicker into my champagne. Our eyes meet, and the fizzy bubbles in my glass mirror the way his kiss made me feel. Suddenly, I’m not as anxious about being alone with him later. I’d like to be kissed again when we’re not being watched by others.
“That was my first kiss,” I blurt out, my mouth incapable of containing the very obvious fact.
“Hmm, yes. It was my second.”
My eyebrows draw together in confusion. He must mean because this is his second wedding.
“Just one glass, Matilde,” he adds, nodding at the drink. “You need to be sharp as a blade around these people.”
His clipped words pop those bubbles inside me, making me wonder if he thinks I’m incapable or stupid, but I force a smile as Don Vicini and Francesca approach.
While the men are busy discussing business, Frankie whispers in my ear. “Are you prepared for tonight? Do you have questions? Tell him you need to pee if you want to talk, woman to woman.”
Gratitude over the offer is mixed with trepidation, and this is an awkward time for a hushed discussion. “I grew up on a farm.” Frankie’s expression reflects horror on my behalf, and I feel like a silly goose for pretending it’s the same for people as animals. “I am prepared,” I amend.
Frankie doesn’t appear convinced, but her husband steps forward to kiss my hand and offer his congratulations. “Auguri, bedda signura.”
“You speak Sicilian, Don Vicini?” I ask, surprised.
“Se, la me famigghia è di Sicilia.”
I can’t help smiling when he continues stumbling through as best he can, asking about my home and such. But Nico is displeased for some reason. He probably still hates it when I speak anything but English.
“And I thought it was sexy when you spoke Italian, Carlo,” Frankie teases. “But it’s not fair of you to speak another language when I’m just getting decent at that one.” She’s barely older than me, but she’ll make the Don an excellent wife, easing the silent tension between the men so naturally.
“What did he say?” Nico asks curtly as soon as they move away.
“He asked about my family farm, that is all. Are you angry?”
“No, I… I don’t speak Sicilian. I didn’t like not knowing what he said to you.”
My lips twitch. He sounded almost jealous.
His frown deepens as Antonio and Cosima Barzetti arrive. “Giacomo has the flu, or he’d be here,” Antonio explains.
“Your son wasn’t invited,” Nico replies, his chilly tone hanging icicles in the room.
I may be young and less experienced in mafia politics, but it feels like Nico's pulling the cat's tail with these two when he's usually so contained from what I've witnessed. "We are happy you could be here," I offer, trying to sound like a gracious bride.
Cosima leans in to kiss my cheek. “I imagine your mother would be amazed at how high you’ve climbed, my dear.” Giacomo knows Maddalena and I are sisters which means many more now know who and what our mother was. I don’t want to feel shame over that.
“I hope she would be happy for me,” I reply.
“I’m sure. I was good friends with the previous Mrs. Morelli. Perhaps we should have tea sometime.”
I nod even if that sounds horrible to me. I don’t like tea, but I am curious what Nico's first marriage was like.
"Are you ready for tonight, sweetling?" she whispers next. What is it with women asking me that during our reception line? "Based on what Margareta shared with me, tonight may be rough for you."
I stagger back from her words, and Nico's head whips 'round, ignoring whatever Antonio is saying. He gives me one of those looks like an x-ray machine, but the thought of admitting what she said, and possibly having him shrug it off, has me plastering a fake smile back on my lips.
“Mrs. Barzetti was dressed in black,” I muse once they’ve moved on. “My stepmother always said it was bad luck to wear black to a wedding unless you are in mourning.”
“Maybe Cosima is mourning her son’s finger.”
I stare at my husband’s harsh expression, reminding myself of the sort of man I married.
Another set of well-wishers has passed when Nico speaks again, out of the corner of his mouth. “I like your dress. I like that Lucia’s dress matches it. The ivy. I should’ve got you a ring. An engagement ring. I was…”
“You are a busy man, and this happened fast.”
Our eyes meet once more, and the fizziness inside me returns when he gives me a guarded smile, more special for its rarity.
“Thank you. For agreeing.” His hand brushes mine, and despite Cosima's dire words, it’s like a spark catching kindling, burning me up in an instant.
I don't know how tonight will go, but I can be brave.
Nico's even said he admires that about me.
***
After Nico and I share the traditional first dance, he spends time with several other Trio men, mostly his uncles and cousins, many of them underbosses or captains in other important cities.
It’s clear they respect him, but there are a few men from Chicago who seem a little less enthralled with their Capo, not that it deters Nico’s iron will.
When I’m not dancing with the men brave enough to ask me, I stand by my husband, struggling to remember all the new names and wishing I possessed the unflappable aura generally associated with a Capo’s wife.
Paola and I are forced to interact at one point, and she takes the opportunity to wish me joy in her own special way. "I'd say good luck, but you obviously have plenty of that. I guess you learned all about seducing powerful men from your mother."
I refuse to let her pettiness get the better of me. I simply crack my knuckles and give her a frosty smile that has her quickly backing away. Dark chuckles erupt behind me – Dante. "From Nanny Knuckles to Capo's Wife, they'd be smarter to bow down now."
"I don't want them to bow. I want them to not speak ill of my mother or sister."
"Oh, they'll learn, or your husband and I will enjoy teaching them. Come back to the table with me. It's time for me to make my toast."
After Dante makes his toast as Best Man, and the meal has been served, Maddalena is glued to my side, whispering advice about my wedding night. As she is a virgin, too, it’s not exactly helpful or encouraging.
“I’m going to check on Giacomo in a few days after school by the way.”
My eyes widen. “Nico won’t like that.”
“I don’t care what he likes.”
“I don’t like that, Mad. And he warned Giacomo to stay away from us. You will get him killed.”
“He’s too important for Nico to kill.” I open my mouth to protest, but she cuts me off. “I just want to know he’s okay. Please don’t say anything to him, Mat. I still want to pursue my modeling plans.”
My further attempts to dissuade my sister from seeing that snake are put on hold when Francesca joins us after dancing with the Don.
“I have always hated high heels,” she mutters, but her husband whispers something in her ear, making her giggle and nod.
They’re not indiscrete, but it’s obvious they adore each other.
A sliver of envy shoots through me. Nico doesn’t want love. He wants a permanent nanny.
“I will be back,” I whisper, wanting a moment alone with the disappointing thought. Maddelena and Frankie offer to join me, but I decline. I don’t want to spend my wedding day arguing with my sister or envying another woman for her happiness.
The wine has been flowing and tongues are growing looser. Near the guest bathroom, I overhear two men who are smoking on the patio discussing the wedding. And me.
“No surprise considering how lovely Elena was. Did you ever enjoy her?” I recognize this man. He's Paola's father. The apple didn't fall far from the mean tree.
“A few times.” The image of either of these men having sex with my mother has the wedding feast crawling back up my throat. “I’m sure Nico has already had the girl, but I still can’t believe he didn’t choose another sophisticated lady like Margareta for marriage.”
“Well, she’ll make a lovely bedwarmer and replacement mother for his children even if she's some whore's bastard."
They move out of earshot as my blood boils, but what can I even say? Everyone will think the same.
“Matilde?”
I jump, spinning to find Nico looming behind me. Did he hear them?
“Don’t wander off alone with so many men here. Are you alright?” He places his hand at the small of my back, tugging me close as he studies my face. My heart starts galloping at the closeness.
“Bathroom,” I squeak, not wanting to discuss what I overheard.
His eyes narrow, but he jerks his chin toward the door. “Go on. I’ll wait here for you. I don’t want you out of my sight again today.”
He gives me a light push and then folds his arms over his chest. I’m puzzled by his insistence as I head inside, wondering if he thinks I’ll be looking for another trellis to climb down… until I recall his first wife died after she went to the ladies' room at a wedding reception.
***
An hour later, I’m sitting next to Dante. Nico disappeared a while ago. He said he didn't want me out of his sight, and then he took off without warning. What am I to make of that?
He finally returns while I'm watching Maddalena dance with Primo. “Where did you go?"
"I had to do a little downsizing."
Dante purses his lips, looking annoyed. "How could you leave me out of the fun?"
"You had to guard Matilde for me."
It's obvious their conversation means more than I'm understanding. Part of me worries about the Seconda tradition and the Trio men's track record with infidelity. But we haven't even had our wedding night yet, and he promised earlier to be faithful.
Across the room, I notice Paola and her mother worriedly looking around. Her father seems to have snuck off without them.
"They make a cute couple." Dante nods toward my sister and Primo. "Are you jealous?”
I cough, trying to swallow my last bite of wedding cake, knowing my sister still fancies a snake instead. “Why would I be jealous?” I ask, reaching for some water to wash the rest down.
“Poor Primo wanted to be your boyfriend according to our mother. Switching from one girl to her twin, it’s very flighty behavior.”
I snort back laughter, and Nico drawls, “Maybe you should find a girl to dance with, Dante, and leave my wife alone.”
“I had a girl,” Dante growls, going from friendly to scary in the blink of an eye and causing me to choke on my sip. “You should learn how to swallow.”
“Oh, she’ll learn.”
Nico’s odd interjection has his brother laughing heartily, back to friendly again, while I stare at them both, confused.
My face warms once I comprehend Nico's innuendo. “Your mother would fetch soap for your mouth if I told her,” I warn him, and Nico shoots a sexy smirk my way.
“I would pay you to tell her, Matilde. Thanks for finally giving me a fun sister-in-law,” Dante adds, still chuckling.
He stands, leaving us alone, but Nico is frowning now. I wish the specter of Margareta hadn’t been raised. I’m nervous enough, and his smiles, or smirks, are so rare.
Nico’s frown deepens when his father stands at the far end of the table, clinking loudly on his glass with a fork. The room falls silent, preparing for the sick old man to make a toast.
“I will keep this short. My first-born has married today, a good thing for a Capo to have a lovely bride by his side.”
He grasps Zeta’s hand, and I feel myself growing emotional, seeing her beatific smile. It’s hard to picture being older, married for as many years as them. But when I glance at Nico seated beside me, I do not hate the notion.
My groom, however, looks tense. Maybe he’s worried his father will start coughing and be unable to finish his speech.
I soon realize that’s not the case.
“But a ring on her finger is not all that makes her yours.” Zeta’s smile dies, and she looks down at her lap when several of the men laugh in a derisive manner. “You are the best with a knife in all the Trio. Sink your blade in deep tonight, son, and seal this marriage with blood.”
Raucous male laughter follows, and I feel faint. The old Capo starts coughing, incapable of saying more, but the cry is taken up by others – “A wedding requires a bedding! Bed her! Bed her!”
Nico touches my lower back, startling me so I nearly fall off my chair until he picks me up and carries me away from the table.
Frankie and Zeta give me sympathetic looks as we pass them while Maddalena has turned pale as a sheet on the dance floor.
The men’s shouts grow louder and bawdier.
I couldn’t walk out of here on my own right now if my life depended on it.
“Ignore them. We’re leaving.” Nico’s expression is inscrutable, but I can feel his thumb softly caressing my exposed back.
Between that and his familiar scent, I find some comfort despite this mortifying situation.
I circle his neck with my arms as he walks, burying my face in his chest and grateful when the distance between us and the leering crowd grows.
“Fucking Father.” I gasp at the annoyed voice behind us before realizing it’s just Dante that followed us. “Your car is waiting.”
Nico thanks his brother, asking him to ensure his children and Maddalena are well-guarded tonight, but he never stops walking.
Soon the December evening cools my burning cheeks, and we reach his Mercedes. I manage not to collapse as he helps me in, but I’m still reeling from his father’s words, so I keep my face turned toward the window as the city streets whirl past.
He doesn’t live far away, but the silence is deafening inside the SUV even with my heart hammering inside my chest. Once we stop, he’s still quiet beside me and doesn’t get out right away.
Curiosity prompts me to glance at him. He’s still clutching the steering wheel, staring straight ahead.
“I want you to understand we’re not doing anything tonight. ”
My mouth falls open in surprise. “Your father-”
“Fuck my father.”
“You said we would sleep together when-”
“I’m not saying never. I’m saying… we’ll wait.”
“You do not want to?” He buried his first wife six months ago. Is that why?
“Oh, I want to, but I know you don’t. You’re very young. Probably too young for married life and definitely too young for me. However long you need, I’ll wait.”
My stomach swoops, and I lick my dry lips, wishing he would face me. “You think you know everything, always so bossy, but you are wrong. Did you ever think what if I do not want to wait?”
His entire body jerks when he turns toward me. The guarded look in his eyes lingers, but something else does, too - surprise. He expected me to be happy with his decision.
I offer him a shy smile instead. “We are married, and, as you know, I am curious. You will need to carry me inside though. My legs are jelly. Is that okay?”
A smile, the most genuine smile I've ever seen from him, appears. “Honey, I’ll carry you up the fucking trellis if that’s what it takes.”