Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Tre
Life has never been uneventful. Not when your family runs a major North American syndicate.
We may not be the NYC Italians, but Boston isn’t somewhere to underestimate.
I’ve been around tragedy my entire life.
I started going to funerals in utero—which I hope won’t be the case for our baby.
I’ve lost a brother already. I’ve lost a cousin on my mom’s side, the NYC mob.
Boston friends’ older and younger brothers and fathers have died.
I’ve been to funerals in Venice and Sicily.
I’m no stranger to living in fear. It eased a little in New York.
Partly it was the sheer size of the city.
It’s easy to get lost there. Largely it was because my family doesn’t run that city like it does Boston.
I didn’t feel like I was as much of a target there.
Less than an hour back in Boston, and someone tried to mow me down.
Maybe Joaquin was the target, but I doubt it.
“Joaquin, why didn’t you have more men?”
My mother’s question is accusatory, but at least her tone isn’t—not entirely. I open my mouth to defend Joaquin and the Diaz men, but he shoots me a look that makes me stop. It’s not hostile or domineering or anything like that. It’s more of a “I got this.”
“Mrs. Vizzini?—”
“Cut the shit, Joaquin. I’ve known you since you moved to the States. I may not have chatted with you, but we’re not strangers. We’re a bit more familiar than using my last name.”
My brow furrows as I shift my focus from my boyfriend to my mom then back to him.
“Chiquita, your mom is the ultimate syndicate royalty. She’s from the New York mob and married into the Boston Mafia. Short of being Maria Mancinelli, your mom’s pretty much the most untouchable woman on the East Coast. Your aunt Stella isn’t too far behind her.”
The woman who married Uncle Tommaso is the current Chicago don’s sister.
When they married, her father was still don.
Shit got ugly with my great-uncle Manfredo because she was supposed to marry him.
Long story short, Manfredo fucked up and died.
Uncle Tommaso became don right before he married Aunt Stella.
Aunt Stella joined two powerful families whose influence stretches across half the country.
“You never said you’ve met my mom before.” I feel like he should’ve told me that.
“Only in passing, chica. Your parents were at the six mob weddings a few years ago.”
Dillan, Finn, Shane, Sean, Cormac, and Seamus O’Rourke.
You can’t get names more Irish than those six.
They’re the men in my generation who run the New York mob.
They’re my second cousins, and I grew up knowing them, but not well.
Only my parents went to those weddings. They’ve been to the baptisms over the last couple years too.
Since Dillan took over, my mom’s been welcome at all family events.
Her uncle, then her cousin wasn’t so forgiving when she chose my father.
She didn’t attend either of their funerals, but she was ready to dance a jig on their graves.
“Kathleen, I have eight men with us. We had men in the vehicle in front and behind us. There were men already in the restaurant. I wish I’d thought to have a car block traffic for us to cross.
I never imagined someone would try to run us over in such a quiet neighborhood.
My driver and I both shot and hit the vehicle, which is the best any of my men could’ve done. ”
“Trish.”
I shift my attention to my mother. She may have addressed me, but she’s assessing Joaquin.
I want to squirm on the bed. If she doesn’t approve, there’s no chance in hell my dad will.
Joaquin’s expression remains neutral, even warm, despite the scrutiny.
He even looks approachable, like he’d have a charming conversation with Mom if we were just about anywhere but a hospital.
She turns her head away and meets my gaze.
“You couldn’t find a nice Italian boy, could you? Not even an Irish one.”
“I am my mother’s daughter. Dad’s always said that.”
“Yeah, well, I thought you had a bit more sense than I did. I was twenty-three when I met Dad. You’re supposed to have a decade’s more wisdom than I did.”
“We were coming to tell you we’re together. We weren’t eloping.”
I give my mom a pointed look since my parents ran off to Copenhagen to get married.
The Danish city was far enough that no one could intercept them and is the European version of Vegas for quick, no-fuss weddings.
They practically caused an international incident when neither family could find their missing member, then realized my parents were together.
“Together?”
Joaquin doesn’t squeeze my hand, but he increases the pressure. It reassures me that I can survive this conversation. It’s practice for when the rest of them show up.
“I know we aren’t doing things in the order we’re supposed to, but?—”
“Trish, I know what syndicate parents drill into our kids. We do it for your safety. You’ll tell your children the same things. But you are an adult. There’s no supposed to. You do what’s right for you when it comes to having a family.”
“Okay. I know we aren’t who you want to see together.”
“Trish.”
There’s exasperation in my mom’s tone, and I’m starting to feel the way she sounds.
“Yeah?”
“It’s not Joaquin specifically. You understand this complicates things, but you’re hardly the first couple that blends rival syndicates.
Your generation makes what Dad and I did look as wild as a kid’s carnival ride.
Mob-connected sisters marrying into the Cartel and the bratva.
A Mafia daughter from Italy marrying into the Cartel.
An Italian Mafia connected woman from Germany marrying into the Cartel.
You’re hardly the first couple to complicate things.
Hell, Elle’s like a sister, and she was married to a senior Boston Mafia capo before marrying el jefe de jefes. ”
Mom twists to look at Joaquin again before she continues.
“It was unlikely Trish could or would marry a man from outside our world. As much as it terrifies me, across all the syndicates everywhere, I believe to my core that you’re the only one who’s the right match for my daughter.”
That makes Joaquin’s eyebrows shoot straight up. Pretty sure my expression matches his. My mom says a lot of shocking things, but that takes the cake.
“Thank you, Kathleen.”
“You’re welcome. Frank may not want to admit it, but he already knows this. We agreed when we found out about the reception. We just didn’t anticipate a baby coming so soon. Tommaso isn’t so receptive, so don’t be surprised when he tries to hang you by your huevos.”
Eggs.
The Spanish term for a guy’s testicles makes so much more sense than balls or nuts. They’re fragile like eggs. You bust eggs not balls. Though you can crack nuts.
Your mind is wandering.
You’re avoiding what Mom’s telling you because you don’t want to deal with Uncle Tommaso.
He’s the last person I want to see right now. He’ll want answers I don’t have.
“Trish?”
I look up to find my father peeking into my little area. When he sees it’s okay for me to have visitors, he rushes forward.
“Dad!”
He engulfs me in a hug that’s only marginally looser than Mom’s, and that’s only because he’s extra aware of his size and strength. I cling to him just like I did Mom, but I pull away sooner. I feel stronger than I did when Mom arrived.
“Gioia mia.”
My joy. He’s called me that my entire life. I love hearing it as much as I do mo chuisle. It makes the world feel less scary. But only Joaquin’s chiquita and chica make me feel like I can face the world after what happened today.
“I’m all right, Dad.”
“Are you both—” He glances—glowers—at Joaquin. “Are all three of you all right?”
My mom hasn’t texted anyone since she got here. She hasn’t talked to anyone besides Joaquin and me. Either my dad noticed the fetal monitor the second he walked past the curtain—which is entirely possible—or they really did know already.
“All three of us are all right. Joaquin made sure of that. If he hadn’t been there?—”
The way Joaquin tightens his hold on my hand, it practically crushes the bones.
He’s quick to ease the pressure, but I know he hates remembering whoever did this wanted the opposite outcome.
My dad leans back and gives Joaquin the most penetrating stare—the one I’m certain he uses during interrogations—the one I’ve heard about but never seen before—before he extends his right arm.
Joaquin doesn’t hesitate to take it. It’s obvious they’re measuring something other than hand size. Neither wants to break the hold.
My monitor starts beeping as my heart rate spikes. The moment it does, they release each other and lean in at the same time. They wind up bumping heads as they both aim to kiss one of my cheeks. My dad growls, and I’m the one who responds with a matching one. Joaquin chuckles as he leans back.
“It’s okay, chica. Like you said, this is the best place to dispose of a body. Your dad won’t leave a mess when he kills me.”
“Joaco! Not funny.”
“But you’re smiling.”
I am. I blow out a long exhale. Joaquin kisses my temple before straightening.
Dad watches us before it’s his turn to sigh.
Pure resignation. He’s clearly displeased that I’m with Joaquin, but he isn’t arguing against it.
Being in a hospital wouldn’t keep him from letting me know if he disapproved.
He’d just do it in Italian or Sicilian. After nearly forty years of marriage, my mom speaks both.
Dad understands enough Irish to not die when he’s around his in-laws, as infrequently as that is.
“Thank you for protecting my principessa.”