I’m drowning in nieces and nephews.
Elio’s house is a veritable hive of children. There are babies or young children literally everywhere, including in Elio’s arms. We’re outside, looking at the carved winter wonderland that Elio had ice sculptors put into place prior to the holiday. The kids, predictably, are still enjoying the many wonders of a backyard filled with ice sculptures that they can walk into.
Elio, Caterina, Sal, and Gia are all chasing each other around the yard. Marisol and Dino, and the twins, are laughing from the top floor of the two-story ice palace that Elio spent an obscene amount of money on.
I stare at Elio, shaking my head.
It would be pretty fucking funny, seeing a man that I once witnessed burn through an entire platoon of bottle girls in a week, covered completely in babies and wearing an apron, but somehow, it’s not really that funny.
None of this, in fact, feels like how I wanted it to feel.
I wanted it to feel…
Good.
Instead, looking out at the family holiday gathering, I feel something else entirely.
Nothing.
An emptiness that I know too fucking well, perhaps..
But nothing like the wave of happiness and satisfaction that I had expected.
‘Zio Marco!’ Luna shouts, her face wide and her eyes a little crazy from eating nothing but straight candy for the past twenty-four hours. ‘Come play!’ She zooms over, her cheeks red with the cold.
I give her the best smile I can muster. ‘In a minute, stellina.’
Luna pouts, a look that’s so achingly familiar to me. Caterina looked like that as a kid too, and fuck if it didn’t wear me the fuck down.
Time and time again.
I’ve never been able to say no to my siblings. Not in any way, shape, or form. I might frequently have to navigate my way around many dangers to figure out how to do what’s best for them…
But an outright refusal has been something I’ve been incapable of.
So, looking into my niece’s eyes, I give her a wink. I hope to not convey any of my melancholy.
I can’t be her favorite zio, after all, if I’m not fun.
‘I’ll come to play in a minute,’ I say gently.
Luna sighs, but zips quickly to play with her cousins in the massive ice castle that Elio constructed for all of the cousins. We’re in that post-holiday time between Christmas and New Year’s where nothing really happens. The kids are all enjoying their gifts, which were an absolute mountain of brightly-wrapped presents mere days ago, and us adults are just snacking on whatever food we can find while drinking our way through Elio’s admittedly impressive wine collection.
It’s a moment that happens every year. But, considering how much unrest and strife we’ve been through in the past few years, this one feels special.
This one feels like…
Well. It should feel like a fucking amazing thing. I’ve worked my ass off to make this day happen. For years, I’ve been the one pulling the strings to make sure that my siblings can all enjoy this fucking moment.
My siblings are all enjoying the time with their respective families.
Elio and Caterina, with their daughter Luna and their new baby. Dino, my half-brother who has lived his life as the black sheep of our family for so long. Seeing him enjoy his wife, Marisol, and take time out of running the cartel that used to belong to Marisol’s father, is wonderful. Their twin daughters, the nieces that I went above and beyond to protect when Dino couldn’t, are screaming with laughter as they slide on the ice.
Sal, my second brother and the jack-of-all-trades spymaster for our family, tugs his wife Gia close. Gia is Elio’s twin, and arguably one of the most terrifying people on the face of the planet.
Except for now, when she’s bouncing their son in her lap, her laughter is clear and brazen in the winter air.
Seeing everyone together is… good. It’s everything I’ve hoped for. Everything I’ve worked for in the past decade.
It’s so different from the De Luca get-togethers when I was a kid. Those felt… hard. Edgy in a way that I don’t care to repeat. I’m the oldest sibling, so I remember how tense our family used to be.
How quickly it all fell apart when my grandfather and uncles were sent to jail.
I knew, the second my father told me that I would become the head of the family, that I wouldn’t do anything to risk my siblings.
Ever.
In fact, I would dedicate my life to making them happy. The world that we operate in has so little joy, I swore then that I would never take that joy away from my siblings.
I would cultivate it instead.
I told myself that it would all be worth it. That seeing them be happy would be enough, and that I could just fucking suck it up and soak in their joy. That it would be enough for me.
There is joy. It’s echoed around me in the joyful shrieks of children and the low hum of conversation. I see it when Sal gives Gia a kiss on the forehead, or when Dino’s eyes soften, ever so slightly, when he watches Marisol dance with the girls.
There’s plenty of joy.
It just doesn’t reach me.
I’m… somewhere else. Distant.
The joy that they feel?
I get none of it.
‘If your face gets any more sour, you’re going to spoil the wine,’ Elio mutters behind me.
I roll my eyes. ‘Fuck off.’
‘You’re lucky Caterina didn’t catch you swearing in front of the children,’ he chides.
I roll my eyes again at that, but move slightly so that I’m following Elio back into the kitchen and in from the cold. My little sister, Elio’s wife, is the epitome of kindness. Until, of course, you do something to upset her.
Then, she can raise hell with the best of them, and I have no doubt that Caterina would give me the worst of it if she found out I did, in fact, swear in front of the children.
Inside, I give his apron a meaningful look. ‘You should wear this to the next business meeting with the Russians. I think it would really put them in their place.’
‘Fuck you,’ he says, but there’s no fire in the words. Instead, my friend’s eyes twinkle with a kind of satisfaction that makes my chest hurt. ‘You’re just jealous that you did not receive such a gift.’
‘Well I wouldn’t, now would I?’ I say under my breath.
Elio glances down at where the words ‘Best Dad Ever’ are printed on the canvas. It’s a masculine enough looking thing, but the bedazzled words have Caterina and Luna’s trademark flair.
Elio’s face softens. ‘I would wear it in front of them with pride, my friend.’
The fucking bitterness expands, until it feels like it’s pulsing at the edges of my chest. I don’t respond to Elio, instead opting to refill my cup.
‘Marco,’ Elio says.
I turn.
His head is tilted sideways, and he studies me. ‘What?’ he asks.
‘What do you mean, what?’
‘Something is wrong.’
‘No it isn’t,’ I snap. ‘Everything is fucking fantastic. The kids had a great fucking Christmas and I remain everyone’s favorite uncle, once again.’
Elio nods. ‘This is true. I hate you for getting Luna a full drum set, but she seems to be plenty happy.’
That was a particularly inspired idea, and I can’t help but smile. ‘You’re welcome.’
‘And yet,’ Elio continues, coming closer to me. ‘It still seems as though something is…Amiss.’
‘Nothing is wrong,’ I grunt.
He looks at me before turning. ‘Well. Then you’ll be ready to tell me how long you plan on sticking around this time.’
They could be regular words that any brother-in-law would say to his family.
Or a best friend, to his.
But with Elio, I have known him too long, and I detect the darkness underneath his tone.
For better or worse, Elio may be the only person who understands me and my position.
I open my mouth, ready to say something to him about the fact that I don’t feel as fucking content as I’ve worked to feel, that I’m fucking lost in this sea of family and smilies and happiness, when my eyes drift to the apron.
Best Dad.
It slams into me, then. Elio and I are not alike. At least not in this.
Elio looks at me, his eyes searching mine.
He is a man who has everything he wants.
And I’m one who has nothing.
I shake my head, my smile tight and barely there. ‘No. I’m fine, Elio.’
‘You’re lying.’
I shrug. ‘If I am, it doesn’t change my answer.’
Elio studies me for a minute longer, then sighs. ‘When is the trial?’
Something inside me tightens. ‘Three weeks.’
He nods. ‘And how do you plan to pull that off?’
I’m not quite sure yet.
I agreed to testify for Interpol, a star witness in a gun running trial against the Irish. My only stipulations, of course, were that my family would not be harmed, and that I would have immunity and protection for my twin nieces. Dino came to me with the secret of their existence many years ago, and I’ve slowly fed Interpol bits and pieces of information, enough that they continued to watch over Marisol and the two girls.
Until recently.
Recently, the small tidbits of information became a torrent. When Caterina and Elio married, I wanted Caterina to find out if Elio had killed our parents. However, I needed to be sure, so I asked for a bunch of favors with my Interpol handler as well. Compounded with the fact that Dino’s now-wife and the mother of his children was kidnapped by her father to be married off…
I had to call in favors.
And favors with Interpol usually mean that you have to return them.
In my case, it’s testimony. I’m being forced to show my face in court in three weeks, metaphorically speaking, in order to testify against Liam MacAntyre, and his brother.
Who Elio killed.
Figuring out how to provide evidence to incriminate the Irish, who we now think may have been behind the attack that killed Elio’s parents and mine, has been..
Challenging.
Escaping protective custody even more so.
Especially when my jailer had beautiful strawberry-blonde hair and green eyes…
Shut the fuck up, Marco.
I slam the door on thoughts of her before I let them destroy my mood even more.
Elio is still patiently staring at me. I shrug. ‘So do the kids need to come in off of your giant carved ice palace or what?’
‘They have coats,’ he says with that same curious expression. ‘They will be fine.’
‘You’re right. They will be. We always make sure they’re fine,’ I snap.
I’m not sure that I meant it to be so harsh.
Elio’s eyes narrow. ‘You have always ensured the safety of the family, Marco. Even if I did not see it. I’m….thankful,’ he says.
If I wasn’t so angry, I’d smile.
Elio struggles just as much as I do when it comes to expressing gratitude.
Instead, I give him a sharp nod. ‘You’re welcome.’
‘It seems that…’ he huffs. ‘Fine. I’ll just state it. Since we are no longer opposed, I would like to discuss with you the possibility of you… reinstating some of your business obligations.’
The thought sends a fissure of ice down my spine. ‘What does that mean?’
Elio nods. ‘For the most part, De Luca shipping has been absorbed into the Rossi fold. Dino has a handle on the docks, but Gia and Sal have been handling your… end of the business.’
He means the unpacking of illegal goods and the distribution. ‘I know,’ I mutter.
Being held in witness protection by Interpol, I haven’t exactly been around to handle the things I used to.
‘It would be nice to bring you back. To the family business,’ Elio says.
The heavy emphasis on the word ‘family’ sits in my mind.
Family business.
My whole life, I have been acutely aware of the family business. It has been everything I wanted, everything I aspired to. Everything that I worked, day in and out, to protect. I was the head of the De Luca family very young, when our parents were tragically killed in an explosion following Elio and Caterina’s first engagement party.
Elio and Gia’s parents were killed as well. For a long time, we both thought that the other was behind the murders.
It drove a rift between us.
Prior to that night, Elio had been my best friend. We’re the same age, and went to the same schools. In high school, Elio was a gangly Italian with an accent thicker than mud and a temper that kept people from mocking it.
I enjoyed being his silver-tongued advocate in the world.
The murders of our parents broke us.
The time he spent trying to get back at me through marrying Caterina…
I guess it healed us.
Elio offering to bring me back in is generous. It should make me feel…
something.
The fact that it does not creates a dissonance in my mind that feels like a buzzing beneath my skin.
I mentally shake. ‘Thank you, Elio. That would be… great,’ I manage to grit out.
I can tell Elio wants to ask more, but at that time a wail of despair comes from outside. Elio moves, automatically drawn to the doors to the patio, leaving me in the kitchen.
Alone.
When everyone is asleep, I choose to sneak back into the kitchen to fill my glass with Elio’s expensive French cognac. Sipping the complex drink, I meander back into the room that I’m staying in.
I grimace.
Even now, looking at the walls in my brother-in-law and former best friend’s house, safe and content and happy with my family, I feel that same itch under my skin as I had earlier.
Brought back into the family business.
As though Elio is the family. Elio is the business.
And I am on the outside.
I believe that is what bothers me, but there’s another piece of it that feels… strange. Like a puzzle piece that I’m trying to jam into a space that looks like it should fit.
Even though it doesn’t.
I wish to feel… at home.
Like I belong.
And not because of Elio’s goodwill.
Unbidden, my mind drifts to the last time that I felt like that. When I felt so at home, I almost forgot that I wasn’t.
Except…
I suppose I was.
It might be the fucking French alcohol, it might be the loneliness gnawing at me.
But regardless of the cause, I shut my eyes.
And I let myself remember.
A year and a half ago
‘You said the water would be cold,’ I hiss through clenched teeth. ‘This isn’t cold. This is fucking ice.’
‘Well, aren’t you a big tough mafia man then, unable to handle a little Irish water?’
Her voice.
It’s always her fucking voice that gets me first.
I’ve been holed up with Roisin Kennedy, Interpol agent and my handler, for a month and a half. I haven’t been able to see my family, have no idea what’s happening to Caterina, and I’m…
I should care.
But I don’t.
I look over at where Roisin is emerging from the sea, like some kind of goddess. I’ve tucked myself back onto our blanket, the cold Irish ocean seeping into my bones.
My entire body heats, however, when I observe Roisin coming out of the sea.
She’s fucking stunning.
I shouldn’t be thinking that about her. She’s practically my babysitter, after all.
But fuck.
I do anyway.
She’s all muscle, with surprising curves that make my mouth salivate, and there’s power in her tiny frame that I know too well. The memory of her taking me down while we were sparring one day, her legs wrapped tightly around my head, makes me hard so fast I have to adjust myself.
Her challenge turns me on.
Because so far, she’s put up a good fight in all of our little mock battles…
And it feels so fucking good for me to win them anyway.
‘You’re going to catch your death of cold,’ I say to her.
I sound like a fucking nonna, but I can’t help it. I don’t know what to say to her half the time, and now that I can see the smooth expanse of her bare skin?
It’s a miracle I managed any words at all.
Roisin tilts her head back and laughs, droplets cascading down her neck, glowing in the rare sunshine that’s blessing us on the beach today. Largely, Ireland is fucking miserably cold and wet.
So when the sun came out today and she told me we should go to the beach, I didn’t argue.
Like some kind of fey creature, she hops over the large, smooth rocks to come back to our spot. She stands over me, and I manage to dodge a stream of cold water as she wrings her hair out. In the water, it’s less of a sunny strawberry blonde, and more burnished gold.
I need to stop fucking thinking about her like this.
‘Big baby,’ Roisin laughs at me.
I roll my eyes. ‘Roisin…’
‘I told you. Call me Ro.’
I shake my head. ‘That’s a nickname.’
‘And?’
‘People who are close have nicknames. Family. Friends.’
Roisin looks at me, and I regret my words immediately because some of the joy has faded. ‘And we’re not friends, are we, American?’
I hate how she calls me that.
And I never want it to change.
‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘We’re not friends.’
I don’t know how to describe what we are. On paper, she’s the agent in charge of keeping me hidden until I need to testify.
But we live together.
We act like a couple. Our cover is that we’re a couple.
All of the work with none of the benefits, and what’s killing me is that every day I spend with her, the act of being her partner feels less and less like work.
And more like life.
Not to mention, the benefits?
I fucking want them.
With every day that passes, I’m more acutely aware of how sexually attracted I am to this Interpol agent. I can never act on it, of course.
But fuck if I don’t dream.
Roisin settles on the blanket next to me with a sigh. She puts her head on my shoulder, sending my confusion through the roof.
When we’re in town, it makes sense for us to touch. We have to look like a happy couple, to keep up the charade.
But here ?
She doesn’t need to do it here. There’s no one around.
Except me.
So what is real, and what isn’t?
I don’t fucking know.
But instead of spending all of my time worrying about it, I wrap an arm around her. The salt on her skin is rapidly drying, sticking to my fingers.
I want to lick it off.
‘You know, I was convinced when I was a child that I’d see a selkie here,’ she murmurs.
‘Selkie?’ I ask.
Roisin nods. ‘It’s a woman who can wear the skin of a seal. She swims in the ocean as a seal and comes on land at night to try and seduce men.‘
‘Like a mermaid,’ I say.
She nods. ‘Very. Except she literally takes off her skin and hides it. It was said that the man who found her skin would control her, and I always thought that was sad.’
‘Why?’ I ask, genuinely curious.
Roisin shrugs. ‘Because it taught me that if someone knows your secrets, they own you,’ she murmurs.
Not for the first time, I wonder what secrets Roisin is hiding.
I look down, noticing something for the first time. ‘What’s this scar from?’ I ask, my fingers gently tracing it.
She shivers, and the sight of her skin under my fingertips makes me rock hard again.
‘My brother,’ she whispers.
She’s talked about her brother before. He sounds like he was a real asshole, and it always makes me wonder if Caterina says the same thing about me.
‘You want to share more?’
She looks back, her eyes sparkling. ‘And let you steal my secrets, American? I think not.’
Then, with a laugh, she’s up again, sprinting into the sea.
And the salt on my fingertips is all I have to remind me of the woman that I’d been holding.
I sigh.
That was one of the good memories, before I found out who she really was.
The woman under the skin.
I take a deep breath.
I have to show up for this fucking trial in three weeks. And part of the reason I don’t want to isn’t just because I’m not quite sure how to navigate what’s going to happen.
It’s because I have to see her again.
Roisin.
Who I thought was Roisin Kennedy.
But is really Roisin MacAntyre. Sister to the man Elio killed.
And only daughter of the Irish MacAntyre family.
