I twisted my bracelet around and around. Oak trees and houses, each one bigger than the last, passed by the car.

“How much longer?”

“Just a few minutes,” Angelo replied. “We’re almost there.”

He smiled at me reassuringly. I forced a smile back.

The scene in the jet had been a serious catastrophe. Okay, so I hadn’t told Angelo about the itching feeling constantly at the back of my neck. The one that told me danger was just around the corner, that there were foes and terror to be found everywhere. I hadn’t told him about the nightmares, terrible dreams where I came home from work to find both him and Sophia shot dead.

The worst thing about feeling anxious is that it’s hard to tell whether the things causing your feelings are inside of you or outside of you.

An example?

You know you’re afraid to get on the interstate because you might get in a car accident and die. But you don’t know if you’re feeling this way because the interstate is legitimately a dangerous place to be or if you’re just projecting your constant fear onto whatever circumstance is right in front of you.

Fear warps reality. It makes you question everything.

Like Christmas.

Yep, it can even make you dread what’s, for most people, the most joyful time of the year.

Unless that dread is attached to fear of something totally legit. Something you can’t remember.

What if Christmas brought up an awful memory for me? What if I couldn’t handle being around Angelo’s family because it reminded me too much of the one I lost?

My ears buzzed. I stuttered something unintelligible, realized I’d skipped a breath.

Hands shaking a bit, they dove into my purse for my inhaler. Angelo and Sophia’s eyes rested on me, pressing against my skin, questioning why I was close to an asthma attack, but I ignored them.

Taking a hit, I looked out the window. The suburbs of Chicago were just as snow-less as New York. The decorative reindeer and blow up snowmen in front yards looked like they were sitting in the middle of a Halloween scene.

“Here it is,” Angelo announced.

The driver turned the car left and stopped at the gate. A female voice came on the intercom to ask who it was.

Angelo leaned forward from his seat to shout at the device. “It’s me, Mariel!”

The woman made something close to a squeal. The gate opened and the driver took the car through.

“The housekeeper,” Angelo explained to me and Sophia. “She’s been with us since I was little.”

“Ah.”

There were a lot of things different about Angelo’s world. Sometimes I could forget he was from a rich Mafia family, but then he said something vague about ‘over sea assets’ or mentioned his family’s full time housekeeper (for just one of their homes, at that) and I remembered just where he was from.

“Wow,” Sophia breathed.

The car slowed slightly as the driveway took us up a slight incline then in a circle and around a water fountain.

The house… Well, mansion, actually, in front of us stood monolithic against the sky, giving the Salvatore home in Atlantic Beach a real run for its money. Around the tall, brown shuttered windows, its walls boasted a light cream color. With its brown roof and wrought iron banisters at the balconies it mimicked many of the houses I saw on my trip to Italy. There was even a front patio with a surrounding wall extending out from the house.

The car stopped at the walkway to the front door. We piled out, Angelo and the driver grabbing our suitcases from the trunk.

I took hold of the one rolling bag I brought and stared at the house. Though beautiful, the sight of it filled me with dread.

“Ready?” Angelo asked. Not waiting for a response, he whisked by me. Sophia followed, dragging her full Louis Vuitton travel set behind her.

He pushed open the gate halfway up the walkway. Taking a breath, I mustered up enough courage to follow.

Before he had a chance to touch the front door it flew open. A pretty haired woman in her fifties or sixties smiled up at him.

“My sweet boy!” she cooed.

Angelo bent to kiss both her checks. “Mariel, how are you?”

“So good,” she gushed, her eyes flicking over his shoulder. “You have two girlfriends, huh?”

My cheeks heated up. Angelo and Sophia just laughed.

“I’m just joking honey,” Mariel told me, stepping forward to pat my shoulder.

She was nice, but her apology put me on the spot even more. “It’s all right,” I mumbled.

“Holy Moly,” she declared, taking two of Sophia’s bags. “Let’s get you inside. Angelo, your mother and father are in the great room.”

“Thanks Mariel.”

Sophia strode across the threshold, already confident in her new surroundings. I went a little slower. As I passed Angelo he put his hand against the small of my back. The touch helped me breathe easier, helped me realize there truly wasn’t anything to be worried about.

The foyer, wide and airy, went up to the second floor. A winding staircase matched the iron gates outside. Four large, arched doorways went off from the spot we stood, giving away little sneak peaks of the rest of the house.

Mariel smiled at me. “Just leave your suitcase here. I will put everything away.”

I released my tight grip and followed Angelo and Soph through one of the doorways and down a wide hall. More doors opened into various rooms. A library. Something that looked like a mini movie theater. At the end of the hall several steps took us down into what had to be the great room.

With one wall covered in windows overlooking the side yard, comfortably arranged furniture took up the rest of the space. Fire crackled in a large fireplace, stockings lining up its mantel.

“Here they are!” boomed a familiar voice. Angelo's father rose from one of the armchairs and came forward to kiss all three of us.

“How are you Mr. Salvatore?” I asked as he released me.

He cocked his head and playfully narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have to call me that. You know that.”

“Okay,” I said, just to appease him.

“This place rocks, Pops,” Sophia chirped, using the name Angelo did for his father.

Mr. Salvatore chuckled and pinched her cheek. “You girls look so beautiful. Even with all that bad city air. How can that be?”

“Good Italian genes, I guess,” she replied.

I nodded, wishing I had just an ounce of Sophia’s charisma.

When Angelo wrapped his arm around me I felt infinitely better. His touch had a way of working magic no matter what the circumstances.

“Angelo!”

We all looked around. Mrs. Salvatore hurried through the doorway. With her white turtle neck, tight jeans, and high heel boots, she gave any supermodel a run for her money. It was impossible to tell just how old she was, what with her face nearly free of wrinkles. I’d been with her out in public before and watched as men as young as eighteen stopped what they were doing to ogle as she passed by.

“Mom,” Angelo grinned.

She gave him a quick hug and then wrapped both me and Sophia up at the same time. Sandwiched between the two of them, a little bit of tension left me.

I didn’t know why I’d been nervous. Mr. and Mrs. Salvatore were amazing.

Just as she released us, a stampede of feet echoed in the hall. Into the great room came Dominic, Franko, and Tre.

“What up?” Franko shouted.

The three of them surrounded us, fist bumping Angelo and side hugging me and Soph in that way guys sometimes do when they’re trying to be friendly with a girl but not get too touchy-feely.

“How was your flight?” Dominic asked.

Franko jumped in before anyone could answer. “Man, we’ve been waiting for you forever. We’re gonna play football. You game?”

“Yeah,” answered Angelo. “Just let me...”

Soph stepped forward. “Do we have enough people?”

Tre and Franko answered at the same time, their voices a garbled blur. Behind me Mr. Salvatore said something, and just like that nearly everyone was talking at once, at least three conversations going on in the space of less than two square yards.

But, surprisingly, it felt good. Not overwhelming at all.

Actually, it felt amazing.

I’ve been worrying for nothing, I realized. Nothing at all.