“Can you elaborate on your family’s role with the union?”
He stops strolling and pulls us aside. I’m grateful because I want to make sure I hear his answer.
“Each of the Five Families has a sort of … specialty. A focus on one of the main power centers in the city. The Lucciano family is involved in real estate—construction in particular. Nothing gets built in the city without their knowledge and approval. The Gallos handle waste management. You piss them off, your garbage doesn’t get picked up for a month. That’s a surprisingly powerful bargaining chip. The Russos are into banking—loans, to be more specific. The Giordanos are all about politics. They know what goes on behind closed doors among the elite. My Moretti family takes a more salt-of-the-earth approach and keeps the pulse of the working class. Nothing goes into or out of this city that we don’t know about.”
Absolutely fascinating.
“I had no idea things were so clear-cut among you.”
“It keeps the peace. No room for turf wars when territorial boundaries are clearly defined. In this case, we’re talking about the division of the main power hubs rather than actual geographic territory. Same rules apply. Of course, everyone has their own profit centers like online gambling or other pursuits, but as far as control over the city, those separations of power have been in effect for decades—ever since the RICO laws forced the Families to keep a lower profile.” He takes my hand and resumes our stroll through the busy exposition hall.
“I appreciate your explanation,” I tell him. “And honestly, I’m a little surprised you’re willing to share that much.”
“You’re about to be just as much a part of that scene as I am. No reason to keep you in the dark,” he says casually, eyes scanning the crowd.
I’m about to correct him when a large bald man with a long goatee beard steps in our path.
“Mr. Donati, glad you were able to make it by.” The man shakes hands with Tommy, then grins at me. “And I see you’ve brought a guest. An exceptionally beautiful guest.” He reaches forward to shake my hand. “Name’s Mario. And you are?”
I open my mouth to tell him my name when Tommy uses two words to slice through the air like a deadly sword.
“My fiancée.”
I smile and try to ignore him. “I’m Danika. It’s good to meet you.”
Mario’s eyes cut from Tommy to me and back as he gives me the briefest handshake in the history of handshakes. It’s as though I’ve suddenly acquired the plague, and he can’t get away fast enough.
“Well, I don’t want to keep you,” Mario says sheepishly. “It was lovely meeting you, Miss Danika. And Mr. Donati—a pleasure, as always.” He nods his head and does a runner, disappearing into the crowd.
“What on earth wasthat?” I snap at Tommy in a hushed voice.
“He’s the current president of the group.”
“That’s not what I meant. Why are you introducing me as your fiancée, and why did it send him running in panic?”
“You’ve answered your own questions.” Tommy looks at me, rich cappuccino eyes swirling with mirth.
He’s telling people I’m his so that they’ll stay away? Or, more pointedly, he’s using his reputation to scare people away from me—something only someone with an exceptionally terrifying reputation could do. And here I am, about to argue with him because I’m a special kind of stubborn.
“Tommy,” I start softly. “You’ve got to stop assuming we’re getting married. I appreciate your efforts to protect me—I truly do—but marriage is a big deal. It has lifelong implications that I wouldn’t jump into for some short-term fix.”
He stops walking and leans in to bring his lips close to my ear. “There is nothing short-term about my intentions, I assure you, but this isn’t the time or the place to argue.”
I’m still analyzing his comment before I realize we’re walking again.
Nothing short-term about his intentions? What does that mean? Is he expecting arealmarriage—a lifelong commitment? Surely not. We’ve only known one another for a week. When he tossed out the idea of marriage, I figured he meant for show. Was that not the case?
I walk around in a distracted fog, my thoughts stuck imagining what it might be like to be Tommy’s wife. The concept has a certain appeal I wasn’t expecting. It’s confusing because I know I shouldn’t want to be with a criminal. But he’s so much more dynamic than just a Mafia man.
I watch him carefully when he interacts with the occasional event coordinator. He’s confident, demands deference while still being respectful, and his ever-present touch tells me I am always a central focus of his thoughts. He doesn’t give me a single cause for admonishment the entire hour we’re at the event. It’s not a reason to marry him, nor does our time here give me any grounds for objection.
A marriage seems so outlandish that I suppose I hoped he’d give me a reason to balk at such a proposition. Even looking back on our week together, I can’t find much of anything to justify my knee-jerk reaction to refuse him except the obvious—the brevity of our relationship, and the fact that Tommy is Mafia. Both are valid concerns. They could also both be completely irrelevant in the right circumstances.
In other words, I’m no closer to knowing what to do about Tommy when we leave the exposition as I was when we arrived. I don’t like it. Something as important as a marriage should beentered into with full confidence. Tommy has me so confused that I don’t know what to think.
When we head out, he opens the car door for me, which I silently chalk up as half a point in the pro column. A little chivalry is never a bad thing, right?
I’m considering making an actual pros and cons list when a call comes through over the car speakers. The screen says unknown caller. Tommy answers anyway.
