Page 156 of Mafia and Gold Digger

The following morning, after seven failed attempts and three more online videos, I manage to get Giulietta’s hair just about braided before we have to leave for school.

After I secure the hairband in place and show her the finished result, she gives me a beaming smile. It’s not perfect, but it’s a hell of a lot better than yesterday’s attempt.

The little girl reaches up to kiss my cheek, and I’m left standing there, blinking at my reflection in the mirror. That weird fluttering, that feeling that happens when the kids are around, comes roaring to life, pushing away a little of the ache caused by Emerald’s absence.

“We’re going to be late, and Mrs. Harriet doesn’t like that,” Jaspar complains.

I snap back into action. “No one is gonna be late today, promise.” Swiftly grabbing my keys and ushering them out the door, I check my phone once more. No news on Emerald. Still no news. And my heart sinks.

* * *

The days blur together. I’m losing track of how many days she’s been gone, but the fact that I haven’t heard anything about Emerald arriving in the Bahamas has my stomach twisted into fucking knots, especially because Carmine is still after her.

Horrors of Emerald dead somewhere haunt me at night, and the longer she stays gone, the more anxious I become.

But we’re managing. Taking care of the family is my priority. Ensuring they have breakfast, braiding Giulietta’s hair, and dropping the kids off on time has become my morning routine.

The rest of each day is spent hunting down Emerald and slowly working on that missing money from the casino. That fucking missing money. I know it’s someone who has pull in the organization, but every time I think I’m close, everything goes quiet. It’s starting to piss me off almost as much as not knowing where the hell Emerald is.

I’m a wreck. I can see it in my haggard appearance, the dark circles under my eyes, and the irritation that’s made me snap at more than one casino employee.

No one knows a damn thing about the missing money. And yet, in this line of work, I know that’s a fucking lie. Someone, somewhere, knows something. I just need to figure out who. And when I do, I’m going to make them sing any and every way I fucking know how.

“Mr. Saint? Is it time for our tea party yet?” Giulietta asks me in a hopeful tone as she interrupts my dark thoughts.

I take a deep breath and suppress my sigh. Crouching onto my haunches so that I’m the same height as her, I make my voice gentle. “Not Mr. Saint. Call me Saint. Just Saint.”

Her tiny brow furrows in the same contemplative way that I see Em often do. “But it doesn’t sound right.”

“Well, what would sound right then?”

She tilts her head to one side, then shoots me a sweet smile. “You’re kinda like a dad to us. You know, Jaspar and me never knew our dad.”

Her words make me freeze.

“I know you’re not really my dad. But Em does a good job looking out for us like a mommy would. And you look out for us like a dad would. And anyway, you’re just how I’d want my dad to be.”

And my breath lodges in my throat.

“He’s not like a dad,” Jaspar interrupts. “He more like a big brother.”

Giulietta scowls. “No, he looks out for us like a daddy would.” She really doesn’t like being disagreed with.

“No, big brother,” Jaspar insists.

Giulietta’s eyes flare. “No, daddy.”

But Jaspar isn’t backing down. “Big brother!

“Daddy!” she yells.

“Big brother!” he yells back.

“Daddy!” Jeez, do the two of them ever agree on anything? Giulietta tilts her head to one side. “Maybe we can call himBig Daddy?”

And my eyes widen. “No, no, no, that’s a bad idea,” I say quickly. “How about just Saint?”

She mulls this over for a few long moments. “Okay!” she trills, already forgetting her earlier objection to this.

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