Page 50 of Veil of the Past
I nod, offering a small smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Visconti,” I reply.
Behind her, Toni stands, his arms crossed over his chest. His face is hard to read, a mask of authority and a touch of suspicion. Tristan is at his side, his expression more open, but there’s suspicion there, too. I nod to both of them, and they nod back, but I feel the weight of their scrutiny, their silent judgment.
Christina turns to Valentina, welcoming her with a smile. “It’s nice to finally meet the woman who tied my nephew down,” she says playfully, and Valentina laughs, a light sound that cuts through the tension. Emiliano just smirks, and for a moment, the mood lifts.
We move deeper into the house, the men heading toward the dining room while the women stay in the hall, their conversation fading behind us. The dining room is well lit, with heavy wooden furniture, gold accents and flowy white curtains shielding the windows. Toni pours drinks slowly and deliberately, handing the first glass to Emiliano—a gesture of respect that doesn’t go unnoticed.
“So,” Toni says, looking at me, “You asked for this meeting.”
At this point, the women follow us into the dining room, Alessia coming to stand beside me. His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it, a challenge that I can’t ignore. I take a deep breath, feeling Alessia’s hand slip into mine beneath the table, her touch grounding me.
“Yes,” I reply, my voice steady. “As you know, Alessia and I… we’re together. We wanted the whole family to know after I received your…. blessings.”
The room falls silent, the tension almost palpable. I can feel all eyes on me, waiting for a reaction, an outburst. But before anyone can speak, Alessia’s Nonna’s laughter breaks the stillness.
“I hope that he has a big dick. You’ve waited all this time,” she says, her voice loud and serious.
“Celia, for God’s sake, don’t speak in such distasteful manners,” Christina chastises her.
Rolling her eyes, Celia says, “For the last time, Christina, don’t be such a prude. I’ve always wondered why you and Anthony stopped after only two grandchildren.” She turns to Toni. “You knew I wanted more grandchildren.”
Toni curses in Italian under his breath.
Slowly giggles begin to ripple through the room, the tension easing, if only slightly. Toni gives his mother an incredulous look before shaking his head and taking a sip out of his drink. Alessia’s mother looks between us, her brows furrowing. “You knew?” she asks Toni, her voice filled with disbelief.
Toni takes a slow sip of his bourbon, leaning back in his chair. “Romiro came to see me at the casino the other night,” he admits, and for a moment, there’s a hint of a smile on his lips.
The mood lightens, the conversation flowing more naturally, but I can feel Toni’s eyes on me, still assessing. We talk about business, the Outfit, and the past few months. Emiliano speaks in his calm, commanding tone, and I listen, my mind half-focused on the conversation, half on Alessia beside me.
Eventually, Toni leans in close, his voice low. “You hurt her,” he warns, his tone cold.
I cut him off, meeting his gaze, unflinching. “And they won’t find my body for centuries,” I repeat the words he said to me the other night, and for the first time I see a flicker of something like approval in his eyes.
Dinner is served, and as we take our seats at the long dining table, Alessia’s hand finds mine again. Her fingers are warm and steady, and I squeeze them, a silent reassurance.
The meal unfolds with surprising ease, stories, and laughter filling the space. I catch Valentina’s eye across the table, and she gives me a small nod. “I’m happy for you, Romiro,” she says quietly, her smile genuine. “It’s about time.”
I grin back. “And I’m glad you chose to come back to New York,” I reply.
The night winds down, but there’s a sense of something new, something unfolding. The stakes are high, the future uncertain, but as I sit there, with Alessia’s hand in mine and her family slowly accepting us, I feel a strange sense of hope.
24
ALESSIA
My parents want us to stay the night, so once everyone left and my family settled in for the night, Romiro and I make our way up the stairs to my bedroom. The moment I step inside, warmth wraps around me—a soft, late summer night warmth that feels like a memory brought back to life. My eyes trace the familiar arches sweeping high above, shadowed now, but somehow just as grand and alive in the darkness. The scent of jasmine drifts toward me from the vase near the bed, and I know my mamma put it there. She always does.
Everything here feels soft, muted. The bedding is like a sea of cream, smooth and untouched, each fold catching a whisper of light from the hallway. The windows pull me in next. Tall and proud, they stretch up into the shadows, the glass a patchwork of faint reflections and tiny starlit glimmers. Beyond them, the night sprawls endlessly, quiet and dark, just a hint of sky pressing against the glass.
Romiro stands beside me, taking it all in. I feel his quiet admiration, the way his gaze lingers on the details—the carved moldings, the graceful sweep of curtains framing the windows. I feel the parquet floor cool beneath my bare feet, grounding me in something unchanging. This room, this place—it’s like stepping back into another version of myself. Each detail whispers of the past, familiar and untouched, as though it’s waited patiently for me to return. Nerves swirl at the pit of my stomach; I have a surprise for him, and I hope he’ll enjoy it.
I turn to look at him and find him staring at me with his hands tucked into the pocket of his black pants, his eyes full of raw lust, full of a furious need to touch me. I guess that’s how we’ve always looked at each other, even before we knew how to deal with it. I swallow back whatever nervousness I’m feeling and tell him, “I have a surprise for you.”
He lifts a singular brow at me and asks, “Oh really?” I nod. “And what might it be?”
I open my small handbag and feel around for the smooth—slightly squishy—cylinder. Then I find it…the cool sensation pushing into the heat of my palm, it’s unmistakable. As I wrap my fingers around it, there’s an odd mix of arousal and embarrassment bubbling up. The bottle is small, rounded at the edges, easy to grip, yet my hand tightens around it just a little too hard, maybe out of a lingering tension. I pull it out, and glance down, avoiding Romiro’s scorching gaze.
“Turn around and walk to the bed. Leave the bottle on the nightstand,” he commands, shutting my bedroom door behind him, locking us both in and locking the rest of the world out. I do as I’m told, but I add a gentle sway to my round, full hips, feeling his wild gaze on my back and ass. I can sense his need for ownership even without him having to say it. I prop the bottle up right on the nightstand and turn to look at him, He hasn’t moved an inch but I can tell by the tic in his jaw that he wants to pounce on me. Romiro lifts one of his hands to his stubbled jaw, swiping his thumb over the edge. “Strip.”
