Epilogue
Cinder
“Maria! Maria, come downstairs right now! We’ll be late for your competition.”
Watching my adopted daughter bound down the steps reminds me of a day when I was younger and more flexible, when I could take out men twice my size with ease.
I still have the knowledge and the skills, but my body’s slowly getting worn out.
I wouldn’t give up a second I’ve spent with Maria, though.
Motherhood may have made me soft, but seeing the smile on her face every day is enough.
My wife, Gia, hands Maria her bag, which I know is already packed with everything she needs. Gia never misses a thing, whether it’s scanning a crowd for threats or stuffing a duffel bag full of dance gear and warm-up clothes.
Maria tucks a loose lock of dark brown hair behind her ear with a grin. “Thanks, Momma Gia.” She grabs the bag and hefts it. “Is my water bottle in here? It feels light.” Her sapphire blue eyes sparkle, highlighted by the silvery makeup, glitter, and sequins she’s already applied around them.
I, for one, think the makeup is a waste given her naturally long, dark lashes and plump red lips, but the dance academy she enrolled in requires it for all performances.
“Water bottle’s in the car,” Gia says with a laugh. “Now get out there, load your bag in the trunk, and buckle up.”
Our daughter gives Gia a mock salute and skips out to the driveway.
“She’s growing up to be such a stunner.”
“Yeah,” Gia says, “and I’ve already had to terrify three potential boyfriends just this week. She needs to slow down.”
I pat Gia on the shoulder. “She’s sixteen. Boyfriends come with the territory.”
“They didn’t for us.”
“Have you seen her look at any girls the way we did at that age? Try as we might, I think we’ve raised a straight girl.
” I laugh at the irony. “Given who her father is, her uncle … if her genetics didn’t make her queer and being around us didn’t, then I hate to say it, but she’s not meant to be. And that’s okay, too.”
Gia sighs and shakes her head as we head out the door. “Maybe she’s bi?” she says hopefully.
“Honey, give it up.” I lock the door behind us and pocket my keys.
“Does this mean I’m driving?”
“Look at the time, Gia. The only way we’ll make it there before rehearsal starts is if you drive. You’ve got a sixth sense when it comes to traffic patterns and shortcuts.”
“You mean I speed and weave in and out.”
“Yes. And you somehow never get caught.” I plant a kiss on Gia’s soft lips. “Now let’s go. This is the finals, you know. If she wins here, she’s going on to State. Maybe even Nationals. It’s a big day for her.”
I don’t finish my thought: If only her father could see her.
Maria’s pretty well-adjusted for the child of a mafioso and his psychopathic half-sister, but I think a large part of that adjustment comes from being raised away from all that.
At first, Gia and I had to move around a lot to avoid discovery.
We worried that Emily would eventually come searching for her daughter, or that maybe Aron would change his mind about giving her up.
After the first ten years, though, we finally relaxed enough to settle down.
No one came for Maria. No sign of Syndicate or Empire activity anywhere nearby.
Now, maybe we didn’t really have to move clear to the other coast to get away from it all, but it’s been a nice change.
Every once in a while, Maria asks about her parents.
We tell her as much as we can without giving her information that could put her life in danger.
News reports of a new Syndicate head came out just days after we vanished with her, but I don’t always trust the news to be accurate where the Syndicate is involved.
There was never anything on the news about Matt and Aron. Did they disappear? Were they murdered in an overthrow attempt? I hate to think about it. They were good people. I hope they found a way out. Maybe they escaped in the dead of the night, with no one the wiser.
Rehearsal goes off without a hitch. There’s some stiff competition in the auditorium, but no one who’s quite Maria’s caliber.
I suppose it helps that Gia and I know some more …
unconventional moves, things that we convinced her choreographer to add to the routine.
Twists and jumps that might seem odd for a dancer but fit well in self-defense situations.
Since Maria refused to take a martial art, it was the only way we could sneak that kind of training into her schedule.
The result of those additional moves, plus Maria’s natural grace and physical prowess, is phenomenal. When she’s on the stage, it’s like the rest of the auditorium melts away, like all eyes have to be on her because her presence commands it.
She’s like her uncle in that regard. Head cheerleader, dance team captain, debate team captain, class president … When Maria puts her mind to something, she excels.
Just like Don Matteo did. Like Aron did as a bodyguard, like he did as a don himself.
I can’t speak for Emily’s influence. Thankfully, I don’t see any of that in Maria’s personality or her actions. She seems level-headed, if a bit headstrong, but nothing of the mental illness that plagued Emily.
Then again, I guess Emily’s illness didn’t plague her. She seemed to enjoy it, from what little I knew of her.
We stand off to the side, watching, wringing our hands as she nails the ending and awaits the judges’ marks.
This is a big step for Maria, and several scholarships are riding on today’s results.
She could go to the college of her choice, really, based on grades and the achievements she’s already won, but if she got a full ride today, it would ease some of our anxiety—and ease our bank accounts.
With Maria graduating a year early, we were starting to worry about how much we’d saved up.
One by one, the judges hold up their scorecards.
Ten. Nine point nine. Ten. Ten. Nine point eight. Ten. Ten. Ten.
Ten.
Maria lets out a whoop of joy, and Gia grabs me in a bear hug. The whole auditorium bursts into applause, and for a moment, I almost miss seeing it.
I almost miss the two silver foxes in the very back who start the standing ovation.
I almost miss the fact that one has brown eyes, and one has blue eyes.
A distinctive sapphire shade of blue.
My own eyes brim with tears as I mentally add sixteen years to the faces I knew, and recognition sets in.
They made it. Somehow, they knew she had an important competition today, and they made it. Despite the potential risk, despite the danger of being discovered, they came.
As her team members crowd the stage, and the reporters’ flashbulbs blind me, I lose track of Matt and Aron in the crowd. Gia and I ascend to join our daughter, and we both engulf her in a group hug.
“We’re so proud of you, Maria! We knew you could do it.”
Maria carefully wipes tears of joy from her eyes, somehow managing not to smear her makeup. “I can’t believe it. Moms, someone from freakin’ Dance Magazine wants to interview me!” She fans herself with her hand. “Oh, my God, I’m gonna faint.”
Gia gives her a sharp but gentle punch in the shoulder. “You’re not going to faint. We raised a tougher kid than that.”
“She’s made of sterner stuff than that,” a familiar male voice says behind me.
I turn and force a neutral expression on my face.
Matt extends his tattooed hand, keeping the other one casually behind his back, and I shake it with a smile.
“Matt Smith. This is my husband, Aron Smith. We’re friends of Maria’s birth family. ”
They kept their first names? Bold, but not unallowed. If they managed to survive this long outside the Syndicate, I suppose they’ve earned it.
Maria’s eyes widen in shock. “You knew my parents?”
Gia and I freeze. To keep things simple, we’d told Maria that her parents died in the explosions set off by the Empire, in the early days of the brief but messy war between organizations.
Granted, we told her they were victims of coincidence, collateral damage from residing in the wrong apartment building at the wrong time, but there’s no way for Matt and Aron to know what tales we spun for her safety.
If we hadn’t used the names of some of the real victims of the attacks …
“We did. We’ve been keeping an eye on you from afar, watching over you in a way.
You see, Matt and I were your godparents, but we couldn’t keep you.
” Aron’s slightly wounded expression seems sincere, and his voice is tinged with an ache that only a parent could know.
“We’re both very proud of your performance today.
Cinder and Gia couldn’t have done a better job than they did in raising you. ”
Maria beams up at him. She’s tall for her age, but Matt and Aron both still stand a few inches taller than she does. “Thank you, Mr. Smith. And, um, Mr. Smith.”
“Please,” Matt says with a warm grin, “call us Matt and Aron. Less confusing that way. Here.” He pulls a ridiculously large bouquet of roses from behind him. “For the champion. If, that is, it’s okay with her mothers.”
I take the bundle from Matt and nod. “Sure.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Jones.”
So, they have been keeping tabs on us. I suppose our fake surnames are no less original than “Smith.”
Aron reaches out and hands Gia a manila envelope while Matt keeps Maria occupied with questions about her dance routine. “Here. For when she’s eighteen,” Aron whispers. “It should cover anything she needs.”
“Aron—”
He holds up his palm. “Please. Take it. We insist.”
“But—”
Aron leans in close, keeping his voice low. “I’m her father. Please. Let me do this for her. I couldn’t be there for her until now, but … Anyway, it’s all legal. Completely above-board. You don’t have to worry about IRS, feds—”
“Okay, we get it!” I grab the envelope out of Gia’s hand. “And thank you, Aron. This will help if there’s anything left over after the scholarships she’s won tonight.”
He blinks, then gives us a blank stare. “Wait, you think this is just for college? No. It’s for everything.” He taps the envelope. “The accounts in here should cover her for the rest of her life. I can give you our contact info in case it ever runs out, but it shouldn’t.”
It’s now our turn to stare in disbelief. “Aron, how did you amass this much without Syndicate help?”
“Matt’s good with the stock market.” He says it with a nonchalant shrug, but the wink at the end makes me think that maybe there’s more to it.
“Just please, take it. Give her access on her eighteenth birthday. I don’t care what story you make up for it.
I just want to know she’s taken care of, even if I can’t do it myself. ”
I pause a moment, turning the envelope over and over in my hands. “Do you want us to … Aron, she should know who it really came from.”
“No!” Aron shakes his head violently. “She can’t know. That’s the one and only condition. Whatever story you told her about Emily and me, leave it at that. It could destroy her to know the truth.”
I open my mouth to protest, but Gia stops me.
“We understand … Don Aron.”
He smiles as he watches Maria chatting with her uncle. “Don Aron died a long, long time ago. It’s just Aron now.”
There’s a sadness in that smile, a wistfulness that I feel in my core.
“Come to dinner with us. We’re going out with the whole team to celebrate, so there’s no pressure, but I think Maria would love it if her godfathers could come.”
Just as I finish my sentence, Matt and Maria walk up. Matt’s arm is draped around Maria’s shoulders, but she looks happy, so I won’t cause a scene. “What do you say, Matt? Do you think you and your husband would have time for dinner tonight?”
“Unfortunately, Aron and I have a flight leaving in a couple of hours. We were only able to make it for the competition.”
Maria pouts, and for a second, I think it might work.
“Sorry, kiddo.” Aron pats her arm. “We’re due in Rome in the morning. Business trip. Can’t miss it.”
Well, maybe it’s for the best.
We say our goodbyes, and Maria, Gia, and I head for the car, the three of us a little loaded down with her bag, the flowers, the envelope, and her trophies for the night.
Gia walks ahead of us, like she always does, and she makes her sweep for bugs and bombs look natural.
By the time Maria and I get there, she’s got the trunk open and ready for us.
Back home, I open the envelope after Maria’s in bed. Gia sits next to me on the couch, and we go over the documents.
Aron wasn’t lying. There’s everything Maria could possibly need, at least as far as money goes.
There’s something else in the envelope: a sealed greeting card, with the words “Happy 18th, Maria” in delicate script on the front. The back has a wax seal in addition to the usual adhesive, with a small, elaborate crown stamped into the wax.
“Should we steam it open?” Gia asks. Always thinking like a bodyguard.
I shake my head. “No. This is something private between Maria and her father.” I place it back in the manila envelope along with the rest of the documents. “She’ll read it when she’s ready. Until then, we’ll lock this up. Keep it in the safe for now.”
“What do you think it says?”
“Who knows? Whatever the kings of the underworld would say to their estranged daughter, I guess.”
Gia sighs. “I suppose as long as they’re not passing on the crown, it doesn’t matter.”
“Exactly.”
And there the card sits, in our safe, awaiting Maria’s eighteenth birthday.
The End