“Smiled. A real one, too.”
“The pediatrician says that’s just gas,” I reminded him, keeping my tone teasing and light.
“That pediatrician is full of sh—” he broke off, censoring himself so the baby wouldn’t pick up any bad habits. “Poopy. It was real, I swear. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Giggling, I followed them back outside, more than happy to humor him. Our neighbors next door had all these whirligigs in their yard, and Amanda loved to stare at them. Marco had already ordered a couple off of Amazon so we’d soon have our own.
“It was just as I passed by this one,” he muttered, concentrating on retracing his steps. He traipsed back and forth by a whirligig that flowed in a rainbow of colors, trying to get our daughter to exhibit the same reaction. It took him about five trips, but then she did it. Our daughter totally smiled, her little lips spanning from ear to ear. “See? Isn’t she cute?”
“More than cute,” I agreed, giving her a nose kiss by nuzzling the tip of her nose with mine. The “isn’t she cute,” “more than cute” game was something we engaged in on a daily basis. Then, I stood on my tiptoes so I could give my husband a much different kind of kiss.
“Why Mrs. Peterson,” he said, his smile going from adorable to predatory. “I do believe you’re flirting with me. Whatever would your husband say?”
“I don’t know,” I turned to go back into the house, glancing over my shoulder coquettishly. We’d been waiting for tonight, the six-week anniversary of Amanda’s birth, to finally be intimate again. I’d been chomping at the bit, and I knew he was, too. We were keeping our daughter as active as possible today, hoping she’d go to sleep early. “Let’s go ask him.”
We went back inside, placed Amanda in her bouncy chair, and kissed again. We couldn’t go very far, not only because she was wide awake, but also because our regularly scheduled call from Ricky had come through. We broke apart, but I could see the disappointment in my husband’s eyes.
“Later,” I mouthed at him as he answered the call.
“How’s everything going?” Marco asked Ricky, and he answered in the code we’d become familiar with.
“On schedule. Looks like the boss will be looking for maximum efficiency.” Translation: Donovan, Dario, and Dante Bianchi had been convicted and were awaiting their sentences.
“How’s everyone doing?” I asked next.
“About the same. They miss you.”
“We miss them, too,” I said, “Tell them Happy Thanksgiving for us.”
“Will do.”
I was so grateful that Marco’s attorney was a family friend. It enabled us to keep in at least vague touch with everyone. They couldn’t ever know our location, and we couldn’t speak in any way but code to Ricky. But hearing that our families were all doing okay was a comfort. For a long time, I worried incessantly about my parents, but a series of amazing things happened after I left.
My dad got a new and much better paying job with retirement benefits. My mom had her surgeries. And my brother stepped up to watch over them. It was a relief to know that even though I wasn’t there, they were all doing well.
Marco disconnected and picked up the mail, sorting through it. Then, he went stock still, frozen from head to toe.
“Is something wrong?” I asked him. In answer, he handed over a postcard. On the front was a photo of Eastern State Penitentiary, a historic prison in Philadelphia which now gave tours and showcased exhibits. There was a postmark from there but no return address or anything else except for three words written in magic marker in all caps.
WATCH YOUR BACK.
Dark King
1
Willow
“Babe, you’re going to look so good in that dress,” Sasha said to me, holding up one of the cute white numbers I’d picked out for my trip. “Like, seriously, those boys won’t be able to take their eyes off you.”
I sighed, grabbing the dress out of her hand. Maybe I should leave this one at home, I thought, not wanting to draw any more attention to myself as it was. This was already going to be a not-so-happy homecoming for me, and the last thing I needed was the attention of the Varasso brothers.
“I told you, that’s not the plan, Sasha.”
I was on edge, but I couldn’t help it—it’d been years since I’d seen the Varassos, Philly’s biggest and most undetectable mafia family, and I wasn’t exactly looking forward to the reunion.
“Besides, I’m going there to see my brother and to pay my respects to my grandpa,” I said, the last bit giving me pause. I loved my grandpa with all of my heart, and it pained me that I hadn’t seen him in several years, but I pushed through the pain and continued p
acking. Now wasn’t the time for tears.