Page 109 of The Mafia's Broken Vows

Besides, I figured since he didn’t use the word ‘chat’, it bodes well for the Martelli boys. So, I kissed him goodbye and found my way to this crazy, cozy nook he created for me.

The soft glow of the reading lamp beside me illuminates stacks of books, yellowed newspaper clippings, and manila folders filled with case files. My heart clenches again as I recall the way Dante casually showed me this reading nook.

“I had the cobwebs and mothballs cleaned out in this section just in case you want to start living here,” he’d said simply while I squealed like a schoolgirl and leaped on him.

I inhale again, savoring the comforting scent of old paper and ink. The Vitelli library’s crime section is far more exciting than any library I’ve visited, boasting rare first editions and even confidential files that I’m pretty sure aren’t meant for civilian eyes. It’s a treasure trove that would make any crime enthusiast drool.

Refocusing on the journal in my lap, I try to lose myself once again in the chilling profile of the late sixties’ Zodiac Killer, but my mind drifts yet again.

Thoughts of restarting my blog have been nagging at me for days, and every time I come here, they sink their talons a little deeper. I’m thinking I could revive the Scarlett Holmes blog, not as herself but as an anonymous fan who is so invested in her work that they want to keep it going since Scarlett went AWOL.

It’s risky, especially since folks at work, and I’m pretty sure Benjamin O’Shea, know I’m the author, but the familiar rush of adrenaline at the prospect of impersonating myself is hard to ignore.

I’m so engrossed in my internal debate that I barely register the soft knock at first. Looking up, I see Aydin’s head poking around the heavy oak shelving, her expression a mix of apology and amusement at finding me sprawled on the plush oversized beanbag, surrounded by a fortress of books and papers.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she says quietly, “but I have a note for you. From Dante.”

“Dante?”

“Yes. One of his men just dropped it off now.”

I check the time again and see it’s almost midnight. And then I’m tearing through the black envelope.

Tesoro. I have to go to Detroit. There’s been another fire at Voltex but it’s nothing to worry about.

I will tell you this, though. Yer da is startin’ to do me fuckin’ head right in. Still, I’ll try my best not to kill him. Yet.

I laugh out loud at his deliberate Irish brogue. Sometimes, I forget Dante speaks the language as well as a few others. I reread the paragraph, but this time register the subtle but chilling warning.

Of course, Benjamin couldn’t have set the fire to Voltex himself. Dante just slipped his name in there because he wants me to know what could happen.

The war is starting to escalate. It’s almost inevitable that those two would clash at some point.

The question is, how would I feel if Dante killed Benjamin O’Shea?

The fact that I’d take that scenario a million times over the reverse somewhat settles things in my mind about how I’d feel about it.

Taking a breath, I continue reading.

I should be done here by Saturday. Looking forward to getting you slick and ready for . . .

I turn over the note, my heart rate kicking up.

. . . our baby’s first scan.

Ti amo. DV

“Jerk,” I murmur, a goofy smile on my lips, hand cradling my flat belly. Beyond taking my vitamins every day, I conveniently forgot about everything else. Like scans and antenatal classes and baby names. I’ve blocked out everything else apart from Dante and our overwhelming connection.

Because if I haven’t come to terms with who I am, how can I tell my baby who she is?

And now it’s getting all too real. Come Saturday I’ll see my baby for the first time and face the fact that she’s a living, breathing human that belongs to Dante.

And me. Although that’s the part I’m still working on.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Adele

---