10. Matilde
Matilde
Tugging at the straps of the beautiful evening gown, I look in the mirror. The Capo’s Charity Case. I dismiss the thought as quickly as it forms. I can have something nice tonight.
“Matilde, all the guests are here,” Zeta says breathlessly from the doorway of my bedroom.
“I should see the twins first, no?”
“One of the maids is watching over them.”
“Yes, okay.”
But I turn back toward the mirror, wondering who the person staring back at me is. Not because of the dress or the bit of makeup. I’m thinking of everything I lost this year, everything I never knew, everything I find myself longing for, and it’s all a jumble inside of me.
“Are you sad because your parents aren’t here to celebrate the day with you?” Zeta’s voice is tinged with emotion, and my chin trembles. “Oh, I’m sorry! Please, don’t cry! Your mascara will run, and I’ll cry, too!”
Her panicked words make me laugh despite the circumstances. “I never had a party like this,” I admit.
“Well, a girl’s eighteenth birthday only comes once in a lifetime!”
She doesn’t understand, and it’s too embarrassing to confess when everyone is waiting.
“Come have some cake,” she encourages. “Open your gifts, meet people, dance with a handsome young man if you like.”
My spirits lift with her words as we walk toward the grand staircase. The house looks even more beautiful than usual, and I’ve never seen so many colorful balloons. Do I dare mention my allergy? No, I don’t want to disappoint Zeta after she’s worked so hard to put this party together.
I nearly stumble, seeing all the people below.
The rumbling chatter dies down as I’m noticed by a few and then a few more.
Almost all are strangers to me. So many men in dark suits.
So many elegant women with perfectly arched eyebrows.
Paola and her minions are here because their fathers are captains.
Social events are important in the mafia.
Even the daughter of a mere soldier knows that. I want to run back to my room.
Then I see him.
Instead of eye contact, it’s like Nico has eye magnets. I can’t break free from his steely gaze. For once, he’s not wearing a tie, and his black dress shirt is unbuttoned enough to reveal a hint of his broad chest. A dangerous heat builds low in my belly at the sight.
“Signorina, buonasera,” his brother says, meeting me at the bottom of the stairs. “You’ve stunned this pack of wolves into silence.” Despite his scary reputation, Dante is polite around me. Maybe he takes pity on orphan girls.
I step off the bottom stair. “May I take your arm?”
“Are you going to keep it?”
I smirk at his teasing. “I will faint from the nerves soon if you don’t let me.”
“The nerves? Nanny Knuckles is nervous?”
“Nanny Knuckles?” I repeat. Dante makes a fist and nods toward Paola and her friends. Understanding him, I laugh harder than I have in a long time.
“You’re monopolizing the guest of honor, Dante,” a crisp voice drawls – Nico.
“Since when are you opposed to monopolies, brother?”
I’ve avoided Nico since he caught me eavesdropping in a closet, but that warm woodsy scent he wears is messing with my mind. Trying to regain my composure, I cheekily play with their words. “I know that game. Boardwalk. Park Place.”
Dante roars with maniacal laughter over my silly joke.
Nico’s lips twitch for half a heartbeat.
Neither man is a good idea. A boy like Primo would be a far safer choice. So why must Nico be the one to make my pulse gallop this way?
“May I have your first dance, Matilde?” Nico asks, taking me by surprise.
Stunned, I nod, but my composure flutters away like a feather in a tempest when his hand takes mine. Warm, rough, strong. This is the first time I’ve seen him without his wedding band. In a strange way, I’m relieved as though it would’ve felt wrong to dance with him if he was still wearing it.
He leads me toward the open space where couples are dancing, but as we wade through dozens of balloons, I feel an intense urge to scratch my throat even though I know they don’t affect me this quickly.
“What’s wrong? Other than dancing with a partner you don’t want?” he clips, sourly.
“Why say that? You are the Capo. It is an honor.”
His eyes narrow, like he’s trying to pry inside my head. “You looked uncomfortable,” he mutters at last.
I am uncomfortable in a way, but I don’t want him to know that. “The balloons. How do you say… lattice?”
“You have a latex allergy?” He seems pleased by my nod, and he calls a passing server over. “Every last one of these balloons needs to be removed from the house at once. Get others to help you.”
With a quick ‘yes sir,’ the server does as he’s told, and Nico turns back toward me, extending his hand again. “Come.”
My breath stutters when he takes me into his arms. I have to concentrate on the steps as we begin to move.
His jacket opens enough for me to see a leather holster and his gun.
If I closed my fingers over his muscular forearm, I know one of his knives would be strapped there.
A deadly man. A sexy man. I must remember to breathe.
Considering what I endured, I did not expect a man’s touch to be welcome, but I like this.
I’m nearly a foot shorter than him, and I feel like he could shield me from any harm.
That embarrassing sensation low in my belly expands and bubbles and threatens to overwhelm me.
What might it be like if I were in his arms and we were naked?
“You’re blushing,” he states, curiously.
Do not ask me why! I can’t lie well enough for that.
Thankfully, I miss a step just then when I hear laughter – Paola and her friends. “This is my first dance… with a man.” Nico goes very still with my admittance. “I am not a good dancer, and now everyone knows it.”
Still tense, he subtly nods in their direction. “Have they been unkind again?”
I shake my head. “We ignore each other now.”
“Okay. A mistake on the dancefloor costs you nothing but a bit of pride, Matilde. We keep moving. Eyes off your feet. Look at me. I’ll lead. You follow. One, two, three…”
One, two, three.
Like many predators, he’s graceful. He’s also a patient teacher. I wouldn’t expect it from a man like him, and yet I’ve never seen him lose his cool or grow testy with the twins.
Gliding along with our eyes locked, my blood sings through my veins like warm champagne, leaving me loose and giddy. His fingers roughly graze my bare back in a dark and delicious way. The more we dance, the lighter I feel, like effervescent bubbles.
“I can’t see your Trio tattoo,” I comment, my eyes dragging along his throat, up to his stubbled jaw and the memorable scar on his face, more attracted to him than I will ever admit.
“I got it over my heart. Like my father.” He tugs at his shirt, another button coming undone. The room grows hotter as I trace his chest and the ink with my eyes, wishing to see more of him.
“Tre teste per il lupo,” I murmur.
“Yes, the wolf has three heads. Do you like it here in my city or did you prefer Vegas?”
“I like it here.”
"My people were Calabrese, but many in the New York Trio are Sicilian. Was there no place for you there?"
"No place there. I wanted to see Chicago." I want to find my sister.
He nods with evident satisfaction. “Will you travel after graduation? Or return to Sicily?”
“I have no passport.”
His eyebrows draw together. “What happened to yours?”
“I lost it,” I stammer, unable to think up a better story.
His jaw clenches, sensing some deception, but I can’t open up about that. Certainly not here. Should I ask him about Mrs. Esposito? I could pretend my father knew her.
But before I can ask anything, he speaks again. “You’re very good with the children. I wouldn’t mind if you continued working here… if you wished to stay.”
I’m not sure what to say. I wouldn’t mind that.
I love the children. The thought of leaving them breaks my heart.
But what will happen once I find Maddalena?
What plans might we make? I want a real home, a place where I belong.
I want to be more than an unwanted stepdaughter or someone’s nanny who can be dismissed at the drop of a hat.
The dance ends without me managing a reply, and we’re swarmed by strangers, each one eager to meet me. Why? I’m no one.
Some of the men are leering though, and I think of my mother and the men who abducted me. They see me as something to enjoy and discard. I shudder, and Nico’s arm around my waist tightens. “Primo, you should dance with Matilde next and then take her to get some refreshments.”
It’s clearly an order, and the young guard steps forward at once, smiling widely. I smile back at him, but I’m a little hurt by the abrupt way Nico handed me off. Still, Primo is kind, and I didn’t want to dance with any of those old men who were staring at me like a juicy peach to be plucked.
As we’re dancing, a loud bang makes me gasp until I realize it’s Nico stomping on an errant balloon that escaped the purge.
When Dante asks me for a dance, I spot Nico dancing with his mother. His eyes never leave me, though they are evidently holding a conversation.
I wouldn’t mind if you continued on here. Is that what I want?
“Champagne for the birthday girl,” Primo says, passing me a glass after my dance with Dante is done.
The bubbles tingle on my tongue as I ponder my next steps.
Gia hasn’t passed along any new information.
Would anyone at The Gentleman’s Post know Mrs. Esposito?
Could they help me find Maddalena? But I’m too scared to go back there on my own.
“Primo, do you think we could go somewhere together after school next week?”
Primo’s eyes widen, and too late, I realize how that sounded, but Zeta steps over, leading me away from a beaming Primo.
“How are you enjoying it so far?” Zeta asks brightly while Nico looms over her shoulder. “I know it can’t compare to home but-”
“It is beautiful. I have never had a birthday party until tonight.” I curse myself the second the words are out. Zeta gives me a confused smile. “My mother… she would not approve.”
Zeta’s confusion shifts to concern, and I don’t want her to think me ungrateful. Nico stares at his wristwatch as I reach for the right words to explain.
“I asked for a party for my eighth birthday. I wanted magic,” I whisper in Italian, hoping Zeta’s oldest son will ignore me as he often does.
“Magic?” Zeta asks, smiling.
“Yes, there was a storybook my father bought me when I was small about a wood nymph and her forest friends. I loved that story. I wanted to be that magical creature. But my mother said it was wrong and birthday parties were, too. She said I was vain and selfish, craving attention and gifts and had wicked heathen interests. She sent me to the nuns. I scrubbed the floors of the parish all day instead. I never asked to have a party again.”
Zeta wraps me up in a hug I wish would never end, cupping my face in that motherly way of hers. “Vain and selfish are the very last words I’d use to describe you, Matilde.”
When I dare glance at Nico again, he’s scowling at his wristwatch. He either wishes it was time to leave, or he thinks I made up a story to make his mother feel sorry for me. The Capo’s Charity Case.
Zeta introduces me to more people after that. I’ve already met Gia’s husband and didn’t like him. His brother and sister-in-law don’t make a favorable impression either.
“This is our son, Giacomo, and his wife, Vera,” Antonio Barzetti says, introducing the pair.
Attractive and around Nico’s age, with thick, wavy hair, Giacomo steps forward, smiling warmly, while his wife keeps her head bowed. “It’s lovely to meet you, Matilde.”
He bends low to kiss my hand. The courtesy is expected, but… Did he just lick my hand?
I recoil and find Nico at my side again. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your party, Matilde. Giacomo, walk with me for a moment.”
The younger Barzetti gives me a wink and follows Nico into the hall. “I thought he might stay for cake,” I murmur, pitifully disappointed that he’s going.
Giacomo’s mother, Cosima, is the only one who hears me. Her smile is insincere. “He probably needs to take his children home… since the help is occupied.”
The help. Yes, that’s me.
***
“Matilde! Breakfast is ready if you’re hungry!” Zeta calls from below the next morning.
My stomach rumbles, telling me it is. After washing my face, I emerge from my room and nearly squash a gift box sitting on the floor. What on earth?
Tugging at the pretty ribbon, I open it to find a gold bracelet with a charm dangling from it. She looks very much like the wood nymph from my old storybook. Her hair is full of golden leaves, and her dress is beaded with tiny pearls. How? And who?
There’s a card attached to the box, the message dashed off in a man’s bold, spiky handwriting. My heart nearly stops when I read what he’s written:
Better late than never, a little magic for the birthday girl – N