31. Matilde
Matilde
The echoing report of the handgun rattles my teeth, yielding the same result as the last five times I did this. “Stop jerking your arms up when you pull the trigger,” Dante barks at me.
“Don’t raise your voice at my wife,” Nico barks back.
“She shouldn’t be so frightened by a little noise.”
“She has no experience with this, just like Caterina didn’t when we trained her, so shut the fuck up if you’re only going to criticize. Try again, Matilde.”
“He is right. I am terrible at this. Why-”
“Bodyguards are one thing, but I want you to be able to defend yourself and the children if it ever comes to that.”
“We practiced yesterday with my knife.”
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t have to get that close. You could easily be overpowered by a stronger opponent with training. And killing with a knife, that’s very personal.”
“My brother is right,” Dante says. “The movies might make you think one little prick will end a little prick. Don't count on it. It takes skill to make one cut do all your work. Poking an enemy full of holes up close is not the same as pulling a trigger from a distance. Could you do it?”
Staring at the imposing pair, knowing how they both favor the more personal kill to using guns, I shrug, uncertainly. “I am my father’s daughter, but I suppose I will not know until…”
“I hope you never have to know. Try shooting the target again,” my husband repeats. His hand rests at the small of my back, making me wish we could be alone instead of at the enclosed firing range.
Blowing a few loose strands of my hair out of my eyes, I concentrate and aim at the target, biting the inside of my cheek to keep my arms still as I squeeze the trigger. “Did you see?!” I yelp when the round hits the target, though admittedly lower than I’d hoped.
“No man would get back up from that in a hurry,” Dante concedes, chuckling over the groin shot.
I smile brightly at Nico, but he only nods before turning to address Ugo. “I’ve got to leave, but my wife can practice however long she wishes and then take her home. You are to give her verbal instructions only.”
Ugo grunts, and my lips twitch over Nico making it clear he’s not to assist with my technique physically. He and Enio are gruff men, and their company wouldn’t recommend them anywhere socially, but they wouldn’t dare touch their Capo's wife inappropriately.
Turning us so that his broad back shields our interaction, Nico’s fingers trail over my wrist where the bracelet rests. Goosebumps race up my arms at the simple touch. “Practice a little longer for me. I’d like for Maddalena to learn as well if she’s willing. I’ll be home in time for dinner.”
My husband starts to move away until I pucker my lips. He hesitates for the space of a heartbeat before dipping forward to give me a quick peck. With that, he and Dante leave, leaving me pleased but not quite pleased.
We’ve only been married a short while, and Christmas is the day after tomorrow.
After the first tumultuous day, Nico has done better, yet it’s obvious he holds part of himself back from me.
Will that ever change? He told me he’d give me anything but love.
I need to get the message through to my hopeful heart.
It’s suffered enough this past year. I have a home and family now.
That’s what I wanted most when I came to this country, wasn’t it?
But he doesn’t face me during sex unless the light is off. It leaves me wondering if he’d rather pretend I’m someone else which hurts. A lot. And asking him about it when he might confirm the terrible thought makes me too nervous to do so.
However, Nico’s insistence that I train with weapons gives me a strange sort of comfort, knowing how much he cares for my safety and the children’s.
Growing tired of practicing with only Ugo’s company after a while, we return home.
Unfortunately, we're just in time for me to receive company – Cosima Barzetti.
She dragged Giacomo’s wife along, too. Considering my husband chopped off one of her husband's fingers, I expect her to despise me, but Vera barely says a word.
If only Cosima would follow her lead.
"It's close enough to teatime, isn't it? We've been eager to pay our respects to the Capo's wife."
With a quiet sigh, I call for Nunzia, who quickly whips up a tray with pastries and hot beverages. I am the Capo's wife, there are expectations for this role, and I know Nico doesn't need me causing problems with the wives of his men.
It's a miserable half hour, and she keeps saying things about Margareta’s beauty and style, muttering about her son’s disfigurement, and asking prying questions about my marriage.
"I noticed Nico's still using those Neanderthal bodyguards to make sure you stay in your cage. They were Margareta's, too," she mentions just when I have hope she'll leave soon.
"They do their job."
"Is it just the two of them?"
"Yes. Do you have bodyguards?"
"Yes, but mine are different. I've had the same men for years, men my father trusts, and Antonio has accepted them as part of our arrangement."
Arrangement? "How are they different?"
Cosima only smiles, and Vera drops her teacup unexpectedly. "You are so clumsy, I swear," her mother-in-law grouses. "Let's leave the Capo's wife to tend his babies. She's new to motherhood."
"I have been taking care of them for many months now."
"Yes, it's so funny how life works out. Nico was calling you his barely illegal employee at your birthday party and now here you are as the great lady."
He really said that? To Cosima? I return her insincere smile, grateful to have them gone at last. I won’t be in any hurry to return their visit, and I hate to admit how insecure Cosima made me feel.
Heading upstairs, I intend to speak to my sister about possibly training with me. She’s been keeping to her room lately, saying she doesn’t want to be in the way of the newlyweds, but I worry it’s more than that.
Instead of Maddalena, I find Ersilia first, who’s been watching over Amadeo and Lucia while I practiced with weapons and sharpened my social knives over tea.
She is still too opinionated when it comes to childcare, but her value as a housekeeper is undeniable, and we’re slowly warming up to each other.
“I would never criticize Mr. Morelli,” she begins as soon as she sees me, “But I’ve never known a boss’s wife to take up shooting.”
I silently roll my eyes, knowing she won’t see it, and settle on the floor next to the children on their playmat. “Chicago is at war. I trust my husband’s judgment.”
“My nephew is excited over the war, too young to appreciate the danger.” She raised her nephew after her sister’s untimely passing. He is grown now, a Made Man of the Trio, but it doesn’t stop her from worrying over him.
Amadeo is sitting up, happily banging two colorful rings together. But Lucia’s still on her back, looking very displeased as she tugs at her feet. “Ersilia, I told you she does not like the shoes,” I say, removing the patent leather dress shoes from my daughter’s feet.
“I know, but they look so cute with her Christmas dress.” Zeta bought the adorably frilly outfit and shoes, a grandmother’s indulgence, but I planned to save it for when we see them Christmas Day.
“They are cute but too tight. They pinch her feet,” I say of the shoes, setting them aside only to realize she’s wearing two sets of socks. “Oh Dio. Always with the socks and socks,” I grumble in Italian as Ersilia heads back downstairs.
With her feet free, Lucia is my happy little angel again. Helping her sit up, I bang on the xylophone Dante brought them this morning as an early Christmas present before passing Lucia the plastic mallet. Amadeo drops his rings, instantly drawn to something that will make more noise.
“Hey, can I join you?” Maddalena stands in the doorway of the nursery, and something about her expression rings my alarm bells.
“Of course, you can.” She sits on the floor with me, playing with the children for a few minutes. We were not raised together, and we are different people, but I’m getting to know my twin. “What is it?”
She sighs, lifting her eyes to meet mine. “I believed him when he called me beautiful.”
“You are beautiful. Do you mean Giacomo?” I ask, dread filling me.
“Yeah. I thought he was serious about a modeling career for me.”
“Have you seen him?”
“I can’t escape our watchdogs, can I?” she snorts. “I’ve been talking to him over the phone since that night when Nico… He didn’t sound like himself today, but he said he had arranged my private runway showcase for tomorrow.”
“On Christmas Eve?” I can’t picture talent scouts or modeling agents working then. Even the mafia doesn’t do more than necessary during the holiday.
“Yeah. He wants me to sneak off and meet him, saying your bodyguards would be home with their families and Nico would be too preoccupied by you and the children to notice my absence.”
Giacomo is a fool if he thinks Nico doesn’t keep a close watch on us both after the debacle at Spice. “Did you agree to meet him?”
“I did at first… until I realized how wrong it all sounded.”
“Wrong how?”
***
Hours later, Maddalena nervously watches Nico pace in his office, so I wrap my arm around her shoulders.
My husband’s thoughts are closed off from me after listening to Giacomo’s plans to have my sister sneak away for a special modeling ‘party’ tomorrow night.
“She did not do anything wrong,” I assert, wanting to make sure he will not blame my sister.
Nico stops pacing and blinks, his eyebrows slowly drawing together. “I did not suggest she did. Maddalena… You did the right thing telling me. You will not contact him again." Hesitantly, she nods. “Bene. Come, dinner and the children are waiting for us.”
He opens the office door, ushering us ahead of him.
I know he is a master at concealing his emotions.
Ordinarily. But I did not expect him to appear so unruffled.
Why isn’t he angrier? Does he not care since this only involves my sister?
Does it not matter when it concerns his 'barely legal employee' and her family?
He stalks behind us as we enter the dining room where Ersilia waits with the twins.
Lucia is fretful in her highchair, wearing those blasted shoes again.
“I told you these are too tight,” I snap, tugging them off.
Ersilia doesn’t argue about how cute they are with Nico in the room, but I’m going to need to have a serious discussion with her if this arrangement is to continue.
Even once we’re seated and the first course is served, Lucia is still making whimpering noises over her pureed sweet potatoes. “She liked them last time.”
“Perhaps I could try?” Nico suggests. Smiling, I pass the spoon and watch. He is so gentle with them, showing a softer side that very few ever witness.
Maddalena and I take turns with Amadeo who equates food with art class – abstract art where the artist flings paint around the room – but it soon becomes obvious Nico’s the one who needs more help.
His large hand grips the tiny spoon tightly, and his jaw is clenched as Lucia continues growing more hysterical.
The softness in his eyes has faded, though his voice remains calm even when Lucia bats the spoon away with her increasing tantrum.
It makes me anxious, knowing very well how fathers in our antiquated world usually respond when their children are not behaving, but I trust him.
“I can take her upstairs, master, so you might enjoy your zuppa,” Ersilia offers, stepping back into the room.
“Or I can hold her,” I add.
“No, that’s not necessary.” He lifts Lucia from the highchair, moving her to his lap. She smears a fistful of sweet potatoes all over his expensive suit, but he does not raise his voice. “What is it, principessa? What am I doing wrong?” His tone tears at my heart. He believes he is failing somehow.
Just then, I notice her socked feet. I’d bet money she’s wearing two pairs. Ersilia is constantly prattling about their feet being too cold while Lucia hates for her feet to be too hot.
Scooting closer, I explain the dilemma, pulling the socks off and discovering what the real problem is. One of her little toes has turned purple. A hair has wound up tangled around it until it’s cut the circulation off. A long white hair. An escapee from Ersilia’s ever-present bun.
Lucia shrieks when I free her toe and the blood flows freely again, bringing momentary pain. Frustrated, I shoot an angry look at Ersilia who is hovering over my shoulder. Her eyes grow wide with dismay that quickly turns to fright as she pats at her hair. “Oh no. I did not mean for-”
Nico passes Lucia to me, rising to his imposing height with murder in his eyes.
I’ve seen him angry, but this look scares the hell out of me even if it’s not aimed at me.
His low growl fills the room. “You are lucky to be a woman, Ersilia. But your nephew works for me. If you don’t get your things and get the fuck-”
“Nico, no!” I interject, quickly passing Lucia to my sister and placing myself between Nico and the housekeeper.
“Ersilia did not do it on purpose, and her family had nothing at all to do with any of this. I’m sure she will take extra care in the future and respect my wishes when it comes to our children going forward.
Won’t you, Ersilia?” I enunciate slowly.
Our eyes lock; a look of warning from me and one of gratitude from her.
Quickly, the housekeeper dips her head. “Yes, Mrs. Morelli. Thank you. I am sorry. I would not dream of hurting these children, and I regret… It will not happen again, master. I will take extra care and respect your wishes from now on, mistress. I swear it.”
Giving her a nod, I order her to tell Nunzia we’re reading for the next course. Lucia’s tears are drying as Ersilia dashes off, so I lightly tickle her tummy, making her laugh in Maddalena’s arms. Amadeo knocks his bowl of sweet potatoes off his highchair, deciding he would like to laugh, too.
When I risk a glance at Nico again, I expect him to still be angry. At Ersilia and at me for interfering. My stepmother wouldn’t have dared to do so with my father, especially in front of others.
But Nico does not appear angry anymore.
“You…” he rasps in a low voice, framing my face with his powerful hands.
“Me?”
He drags me close, kissing me hungrily and deeply until my brain can barely complete the simplest thought.
“Jesus, you two have a bedroom,” Maddalena mutters, her cheeks flushing as red as mine must be when he releases me again.
Nico pulls my chair back, saying in a low voice that makes my pussy clench, “Yes, we do.”