Page 142 of The Mafia's Broken Vows

“Yes! Yes! He’s here!” I shout, bouncing in my seat like a jack-in-the-box. Everyone stares in puzzlement at my sudden outburst.

I swallow, jerking my thumb over my shoulder. “There’s um . . . a car. Tires,” I add inanely.

Dante chuckles. “It sounds like Orlando’s arrived. Addy has been looking forward to meeting him. She’s very excited as you can tell,” he says to the room while I try to calm my roaring pulse.

“Come on, Addy, let’s go.” Dante’s eyes meet mine, glinting with mischief. “Let’s go greet your Daddy.”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself against the lingering twitches of lust as he withdraws his finger from me.

Dante stands, offering me his hand. I straighten my skater dress, hoping I don’t look as flushed as I feel.

As we turn away from the table, I whisper, “We’re never doing that again.”

“Sure.”

“I mean it.”

“Uh-huh,” Dante grunts, leading me out of the room.

Pleasure recedes, giving way to anxiety the closer we get to the door. And then we’re there. I hesitate, a wave of unease washing over me. This is it. The moment I’ve both dreaded and longed for. What if he’s disappointed in getting to know me? What if I am?

Dante pulls me close and murmurs against my temple. “Remember, Addy, no matter what Orlando says or does, two things will never change. First, you’re strong, incredible, and beautiful. And second, you’re mine. Forever.”

I raise my arms and lace my fingers at his nape, ignoring the slight twinge in my healing right shoulder. “I love you, Dante,” I whisper, the words carrying all the gratitude and affection I feel.

He takes my mouth in a quick kiss, then pulls the door open.

Orlando De Luca steps into the hallway, and the air seems to thicken as he enters, with Bianca in tow. He’s dressed in a tailored charcoal suit that accentuates his broad shoulders, a crisp white shirt underneath. His salt-and-pepper hair is neatly combed back, and a gold watch glints on his wrist. Bianca, elegant in a navy blue dress, stands slightly behind him.

I feel Dante’s reassuring hand on the small of my back as we greet them. Orlando’s eyes instantly lock onto mine, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. For a moment, neither of us moves.

“Adele,” Orlando breathes, breaking the silence. His voice is rough with emotion.

“Orlando,” I reply, surprised by the steadiness in my own voice. “I’m glad you could make it.”

He takes a hesitant step forward, then another, until he’s standing right in front of me. There’s an eternity where we both just stand and stare at each other. It’s insane, but there’s something so vaguely familiar about the set of his jaw, about the port wine stain on the side of his neck, barely visible around his tattoos. It plays at the edge of my mind, yet I can’t work out the details. I only know that I know this man on a profound level.

“Figlia mia,” he breaks the silence, his voice thick with unshed tears. “La mia forte, bellissima figlia.”

I don’t need to understand Italian to know that what he just said to me is the heartfelt declaration I never heard in the last eighteen years. Ms. Ida came close once or twice, but never quite like this.

I catch sight of Bianca beside us, her face pale as she shuffles uncomfortably, her expression pinched.

Dante smoothly steps in, extending his hand to her. “Bianca, it’s good to see you again. Thank you for coming.”

Dante leads the way to the dining room. The tension at the table spikes as we take our seats, momentarily broken by the waiting staff serving the new arrivals and Antonella pulling them into the ongoing small talk, toasts, and clinking glasses.

The stilted conversation eventually dies down, giving way to the relentless tension. By now, everyone has noticed that Orlando hasn’t eaten a bite of food. Instead, his gaze is fixed on me with an intensity that’s both touching and unnerving.

I’m starting to question the wisdom of inviting him to this engagement dinner when finally, unable to contain himself any longer, Orlando blurts out, “You look so much like her.”

“Naomi?” I ask, my heartbeat becoming like clanging gongs in my ears.

At the mention of my mother, Orlando’s composure cracks. A tear slips down his cheek, and he doesn’t bother to wipe it away. “So much like Naomi.”

Just when I think I’m about to start blubbering, Dante’s voice booms, drawing everyone’s attention. “Let’s give Addy and Orlando some time to talk privately, shall we?”

Like kids in a classroom when the recess bell rings, everyone clears out of the room. Everyone except Bianca, that is. She doesn’t move a muscle, leaning back in her chair as if settling in for a long wait.

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