Page 32 of Veil of the Past
“Good morning, Nonna,” I reply, crossing the room to kiss her on both cheeks. Her skin is cool against mine, her perfume—a mix of gardenia and something spicier—envelops me.
Mamma is seated next to her, delicate and refined as always, with her hair pinned up neatly, her blouse crisp, her pearls shining around her neck. She looks up with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You look well-rested,” she comments, a little too casually, her gaze lingering on me like she’s trying to read between the lines.
“I slept well,” I say simply, taking my seat next to her. “How is everyone?”
“Oh, fine, fine.” Nonna waves a hand dismissively, her eyes still sharp, a small knowing smile playing at her lips. “But we are more interested in you, darling. Tell us about your date with Francesco.”
I feel my stomach tighten just a fraction, but I force a light laugh, reaching for a glass of orange juice. “It was… fine,” I say, carefully nonchalant. “We had dinner, talked a bit, and then we parted ways.” I’m not telling them he’s dead, courtesy of Romiro’s short temper. We may be a family in the Mafia, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any rules to go by.
Nonna’s smile widens just a bit. “Parted ways? So you didn’t have sex?” she asks, her tone amused. Papa chokes on a piece of toast, and my brother taps him on the back before handing him a glass of water.
“Celia! Please not at the dining table,” Mamma chastises.
“Oh, hush. Don’t be such a prude.” Nonna rolls her eyes at the horrified stare Mamma gives her. “No one has seen Frankie since your date. We thought you’d know something,” Nonna adds with a small giggle before taking a sip out of her morning coffee.
Mamma laughs softly, shaking her head. “Did you chase him away, Alessia?” she teases, but there’s an edge of curiosity in her voice.
I smile, playing along, hoping to keep it light. “Maybe he wasn’t up for a challenge,” I joke, taking a sip of my juice, feeling the cool liquid slide down my throat.
Mamma raises an eyebrow, her smile still in place. “He didn’t seem like the type to back down easily,” she says thoughtfully. “What happened?”
I shrug, trying to appear relaxed, though my heart is starting to race just a little faster. “Nothing happened, Mamma. He just… wasn’t interested, I guess.”
Nonna clicks her tongue, her eyes narrowing just slightly. “Not interested?” she repeats, sounding almost incredulous. “A handsome young man like that, not interested in our Alessia? I find that hard to believe.”
I feel a flicker of irritation but keep my smile in place. “Well, maybe I wasn’t interested in him,” I counter lightly, trying to steer the conversation away from where I know it’s headed.
Mamma leans in, her expression softening, but her eyes still probing. “You know,cara, it’s just one date. Perhaps another try? There are plenty of eligible young men?—”
I cut her off gently, but firmly. “Mamma, I appreciate it, really, I do but I’m just too busy with my shifts at the hospital. I don’t have time to go on another date right now.” Papa and Tristan manage to slip out without either Mamma or Nonna noticing.Traitors.
Nonna waves a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. Everyone has time for a little romance,” she says, her voice carrying that no-nonsense authority she’s perfected over the years. “We just want you to be happy, darling. That’s all.”
“I know, Nonna,” I say softly, reaching across to squeeze her hand. “But I really am busy. There’s so much going on right now. Maybe later, when things calm down.”
Mamma sighs, a small, resigned smile on her lips. “You’re always so focused,” she says, but there’s a hint of pride in her voice. “Just don’t let life pass you by while you’re too busy working.”
I nod, smiling. “I promise, Mamma. I’m not letting anything pass me by.”
Nonna gives me a long, considering look, then nods slowly. “Very well,” she says finally. “But don’t think you’re off the hook forever, young lady. We’ll find someone suitable for you eventually.”
I laugh softly, relieved they’re letting it go—for now. “I’m sure you will, Nonna,” I say, my voice light, teasing. “But until then, can we just enjoy breakfast?”
Mamma reaches for the teapot, pouring a cup of coffee with a graceful, practiced hand. “Of course, darling,” she says with a smile. “Tell us about the hospital. How have your night shifts been?”
I lean back, feeling the tension ease from my shoulders. “Busy,” I say, and I launch into a story about a recent case, knowing that this will keep the conversation away from Frankie, from dates, from anything I’m not ready to talk about.
As I speak, I feel the warmth of the room settle around me, the crystal chandelier above catching the light, the familiar sounds of family filling the space.
15
ROMIRO
The air is thick with smoke and sweat as I make my way down the narrow, dimly lit stairs, the distant sound of fists meeting flesh echoing through the metal walls. The underground fight scene is buried deep beneath Cincinnati, hidden in the bones of old buildings where no one but the desperate and the ruthless dare to tread. It’s the kind of place where rules don’t apply, where money changes hands faster than punches, and where information is the most valuable currency of all. I’m deep in the Outfit territory. I’d managed to get through their half of Ohio and sneak into one of their fight clubs.
I step through the doorway into the pit, immediately swallowed by the noise—jeers, shouts, and the dull roar of a crowd thirsty for blood. The space is dark, the only light coming from a few flickering bulbs that cast shadows across the cold steel walls. The makeshift ring at the center is barely held together by rusted chains and metal posts, the canvas stained with years of spilled blood.
I keep to the edges, moving slowly, my eyes scanning the crowd. I’m not here to watch the fight. I’m here for something else—for the whispers, the secrets that slip through clenched teeth, the rumors that ride on a drink too many or a threat too few. I need to know where the Outfit is, and what they’re planning. I need to know why the hell they’ve been so quiet… until now.
