Page 34 of Kept

She gives me a knowing smile. “The best things usually are.” Despite being in her own home, she’s dressed formally, with heels, a knee length black dress, and a blood red pashmina wrapped around her shoulders. Her makeup is neat, and her hair is pulled into a French twist. She had the same dark hair as the rest of us, though hers has gone mostly silver with age.

“Where is this Sarah?” She calmly sips the coffee, but I can see the smirk crinkling the skin near her eyes.

“The master suite,” Alessandro says, clapping me on the shoulder.

She’s already headed down the hallway.

“Be nice, mother!” I call after her, before turning on my brother. “Traitor.”

He laughs. “She’d have torn the house down room by room. Might as well have saved the effort. Besides, what’s the worst that happens, eh?”

CHAPTER 18

Sarah

There is a soft knock at the door, which surprises me. Standing on the other side is an attractive older woman, with neatly styled hair and an outfit comprised entirely of blacks and blood reds. She has a set of dark brown eyes that are beginning to look quite familiar.

“You must be Sarah,” she tells me. She has an interesting accent, heavily dosed with a Brooklyn flair and a deeper voice than her small stature would suggest, like she used to smoke a lot. “I’m Rosalina De Luca,” she tells me, “but you may call me Lina.”

“Oh, ahm, nice to meet you, Lina.” I shake her hand.

“Do you enjoy coffee, Sarah?” she asks.

I nod, which seems to please Lina. She holds her elbow out like she’s going to escort me on a date.

“I’m Vincent’s mother,” she finally says. “Alessandro and Marco too, of course.”

She leads me through hallway after hallway. Everything is done with elegant dark stained wood and understated creams. We pass a handful of household staff, clearly maids or something similar, and a significantly larger number of heavily armed, huge men in black suits. Lina greets the staff by name, and the men all tilt their heads respectfully towards her as we pass. She leads me though a massive kitchen to a small solarium, which is set up like a sidewalk cafe, complete with a handful of bistro tables and chairs as well as a long counter with two espresso machines, syrups, cups, and an entire selection of tea and tea pots.

“One thing you learn about being the wife of a don—eventually you’re going to get stuck at home during some standoff or another. I refused to give up my coffee, so I built my own cafe.” She pulls two small cups of espresso and hands me one with a saucer.

“A standoff? Is that what this is?” I ask.

She waves her hand dismissively, as if I’ve asked the most ridiculous question. “This? Oh, this is nothing.”

My face must show my absolute disagreement with her definition of the word ‘nothing’.

“On a scale of one to ten, how terrified are you?” she asks calmly.

“Twelve,” I respond.

She smiles. “That’s understandable. I was terrified when I married into la Cosa Nostra, and I was aware of what it was. I imagine you’ve had quite an exciting couple of days.”

I give a rather un-ladylike snort. “You could say that.”

“My sons are good men. My late husband would have just had you killed,” she says flatly.

“Oh.” What the hell do you say to that?

“Tell me about yourself, Sarah. What do you do for work?”

“I’m a dancer, with the New York Ballet Company.”

“How wonderful. I love the ballet. My husband would refuse to take me, but my sons would when they were old enough.” She smiles. It’s relaxed and genuine. “Alessandro arranged some sort of a fundraiser for the Children’s Center last year with one of the companies.”

“Oh my god, yes, the Christmas Eve performance of The Nutcracker. I danced in that!” I pause. “The center was part of the church, right? Our Lady of Naples?”

Lina beams, “Si! That is his baby.” Her smile is contagious.

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