Page 83 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
"I'm not!” Then it comes to me. The driver had started to mention someone named Ernie. “You said Ernie had nothing to do with this."
Roman's laugh is bitter, cruel. "Stop fucking around and tell me what you know." He leans in closer, his face inches from mine. "I'm not going to hang my ass out for you any longer."
The shift is so sudden, so complete, that I feel like I'm drowning. What happened to the man who held me so tenderly? Who promised to help me find the truth?
"Roman, please," I plead, reaching for his arm. "I don't know anyone named Ernie Abruzzo. I've never heard that name before we met with the driver."
His eyes search mine, looking for deception.
I hold his gaze, willing him to see the truth. "I'm not lying to you. Not about this."
He turns away, paces the bedroom. "Tell me what your mother was doing in the weeks before she was killed," he finally says, stopping to face me. "Every detail you can remember."
My mind feels scrambled, thoughts darting like frightened fish. "I–I don't know." I press my palms against my eyes.
"Think, Isabella,” he demands. “Anything unusual? New friends? Changes in routine?"
I force myself to breathe deeply, to push past the panic clouding my thoughts. Mom's face swims into focus.
"She was… normal, I think. Planning a charity gala. Shopping. The usual things." I struggle to recall specifics. "She never mentioned anything strange. I had no idea she was meeting anyone. I don’t know why she would unless it was for one of her charity events."
Roman runs a hand through his hair. "What about your father? How were things between them?"
The question makes me pause. "They were… fine? I mean, they weren't ever particularly affectionate, but that was normalfor them." I think harder, trying to remember any signs of tension. "Dad was busy with business. Mom complained about it sometimes, but that wasn't new. Deep down, they were committed."
"And the family? Was she close with anyone in particular? Any of the other wives?"
"I wouldn’t say they were her best friends, but they spent time shopping or working on events. She didn't like the family business. She tolerated it for my father's sake, but she always wanted me to stay away from it all." I shrug and look down at the sheets. "I guess I failed her there." My head jerks up as a memory comes back. "There was something. A few months before she died, my father started talking about arranging a marriage for me."
Roman's eyebrows lift slightly. "To whom?"
"I don't know. Someone within La Corona." I shake my head, remembering my mother's face when my father first mentioned it. "My mother was furious. I overheard them arguing about it one night."
"What did she say?"
"She told him I had my own hopes and dreams. That I deserved to choose my own path." The memory brings a lump to my throat. "She made him promise not to marry me off, at least until I had a chance to live my own life."
Roman leans against the dresser, arms crossed. "And your father?"
"He was adamant. Said the marriage was needed to keep him relevant in La Corona since he didn't have a son to carry on afterhe passed. That I was almost too old as it was." I can still hear my father's voice, the cold logic of his argument. "My mother was devastated. She kept saying there had to be another way."
"Did she mention what that other way might be?"
I close my eyes, trying to recall any clue, any hint she might have dropped. "I don't know. She just said she would make sure I didn't end up trapped in this life. She promised she'd save me from it."
"How?" Roman asks, his voice suddenly sharp with interest.
I shake my head helplessly. "I don't know. She never told me. And then…" And then she was killed.
"Did you ever ask your father about it afterward? About what she meant?"
"No." I look up at Roman, sudden realization washing over me. "I was too grief-stricken, then angry that no one seemed to care enough to find out what really happened to her."
Roman's pacing grows more intense with each turn across the bedroom.
"Ernie Abruzzo was a mob wannabee, but he wasn’t half as smart as his brother, Salvatore," he says, more to himself than to me. "Small-time thug with big ambitions trying to get into any of the families when Marco had no interest in him, and Marco forbade Salvatore from elevating him to anything but a bagman, and even then, he needed a partner. Marco didn’t trust him. He disappeared around the same time your mother was killed."
I clutch the bedsheet tighter. "What does he have to do with my mother?"
