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I’M ROCKING NOAH, LOUNGING on the couch on Thursday night and stroking my finger over the red mark on his cheek while he’s in dreamland. Thankfully, his cut is almost healed. As he breathes loudly, I’m watching Netflix on the huge flat screen when the elevator door swooshes open, revealing Luca, who’s holding up a rectangular brown box.

“Buonasera.” Good evening.

“Hey, you’re early,” I greet him, looking at the round black and white clock hanging in the kitchen that shows six p.m.

Strolling inside, he appears less preoccupied than in recent days as he loosens his maroon tie and closes the distance between us to peck a kiss on my lips. Relief floods me since he smells minty fresh and I don’t detect alcohol.

“For you.” He lifts his arm, the box suspended on his palm.

With a smile, I stand up to give Noah to Luca before accepting my gift. Opening the lid, I see a burgundy hardcover book. “Did you get me another edition of...” Taking it out, I read the title: The Count of Monte Cristo, which is my all-time favorite classic. I began collecting different covers of the book when I was a teenager and Luca has found me several new ones. “Oh, Luca. Thank you so much! Where did you find this edition?” I flip open the novel covered with a thick red fabric and gilded letters.

“I have connections everywhere,” Luca murmurs, kissing Noah’s head and caressing his cut.

“Is this a peace offering?” I tease as he sets down the box on the oak coffee table.

He cocks his head. “Do we need one?” Which means: will you obey me – I know him better than he knows himself by now.

“No,” I reply, flipping open the book and smelling the paper, making Luca smirk before he glances down at my black wrap-around dress that ends at my ankles.

“Why are you dressed? Did you go out?”

“I went to the mall with the twins and Michael,” I say, wondering if Michael didn’t already update him, but he acts surprised as he sits down, embracing Noah firmly. Seeing Luca relaxing because of our presence – which is all he and I both wanted – strengthens my bond with him instantly. This is how we cope in this mafia world: sometimes we just need to let things go to not endanger our love.

“Do you like Michael?” he suddenly asks as I fold Milana’s blanket while she sleeps in the bassinet next to the couch.

“He’s a little closed off, like you. But he was great with the kids. I panicked at the store when both of the twins started crying, and he picked up Milana and calmed her down.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and he has this way of making you feel comfortable with him, like Adriano does.”

“That’s why he was boss in New York. Did he tell you anything personal?”

“Not really. He told me how you and he met at college and how he became boss when he was young. By the way, does he always wear black because of his fiancée’s death?”

“Yes, he used to wear colors,” Luca replies around a sad smile.

“He doesn’t talk about her at all.”

“I noticed it too. It probably still hurts too much.”

“Probably. He’ll talk about it when he’s ready. So, yes, I do like him.”

Luca shows a grin, which turns salacious. “Don’t like him too much.”

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Mr. DeMiliano,” I fire back, picking up the remote to stop the TV series I was watching. “If you’re worried about that, then you shouldn’t have forced him down my throat.”

Luca lets out a laugh as brown collides with green, and for a moment, we’re simply Luca and Fallon. Two people who adore each other and are building a marriage.

Then elation fills me when he suggests, “Let’s go out to dinner to Francitalia. Just the two of us. It’s early.”

“But Julia can’t come now,” I answer and add as a joke, “Maybe we should ask Michael to babysit them?”

“Is he home?”

“He said he would be.”

“Ask him then,” Luca counters.

“No, you ask him.”

“Fine.” Chuckling, he takes out his phone and brings it up to his ear, waiting a beat before saying, “It’s Luca. I wanted to take Fallon out to dinner for an hour or two, so can you watch the twins if you’re staying home?”

After a moment, he laughs again. “Okay, we will. Thanks, man.” Then he puts his phone back in his pocket. “We have to feed and change them.”

Amused, I wander over to the armoire by the dinner table and grab two diapers, and we change the twins before placing them next to each other in the large, twin bassinet.

Just as we get finished, the bell buzzes and Luca goes to the elevator to push the button and open it, inviting Michael in.

“You’re lucky that I already ate,” Michael says, sauntering inside as Luca fixes his tie and I get my white wool coat from the bar stool.

“Did you prepare them like I asked?” Michael probes.

“Yes. But don’t panic if they poop,” I tease, and he shoots me a feigned glare, seemingly comfortable with me.

More importantly, I’m fine with leaving my kids in his care, which is a wonderful sensation.

“I’m taking my wife out. Call us if anything comes up, Michael.” Luca entangles our hands as I wave to Michael, and Luca leads me to the door, bestowing a calm yet wolfish smile on me. One he shows only me.

That night, we enjoy a romantic date with scrumptious food, and he manages to dispel all my uncertainties. I begin to understand that I’ve learned to adapt to unpleasant circumstances quickly, just like the other Syndicate members.

***

THE DAYS FOLLOWING, Luca starts coming home early while we contain our worries to keep our family together and ourselves sane. Daily life consumes my time as we take care of the twins and watch them grow, and I hold on to moments of happiness with everything I have. But there’s an elephant in the room we both ignore – it keeps nagging at me as long as I have no answers. Nonetheless, I continue as I promised my husband. I never go out without contacting Michael, and I always carry my gun with me. Luca was correct in saying that the new structured guard team would lessen our fears.

Two weeks later, I’m reclined against comfortable white cushions at the library window holding Noah, whose cut has faded entirely, while I read on my e-reader. But when my phone beeps from the living room and I stand up, I experience déjà vu and am thrown back to that moment when my son was harmed. Every time I receive a message from Luca, I wonder about that Sunday.

Walking into the kitchen, I grab my phone from the counter and swipe open the screen.

Luca: Fallon, I’ll be home an hour later – meeting with Adriano.

I type back that it’s okay, yet as I grip my device, I realize that Luca hasn’t once called me dolcezza since that fateful day, which saddens me. Then, all of a sudden, it hits me like lightning that the message I supposedly received from Luca stated dolcezza. It’s a name not a lot of people know about.

“Oh, my god,” I utter, an icy chill running down my spine.

It’s a nickname only high ranking Syndicate members know of, so I can substantially narrow down my list of suspects to five men and their significant others.

This piece of information causes a firestorm of suspicions to rear up inside me. I start to pace the floor, firmly holding Noah, knowing that I need to confide in someone, but if I mention this to Luca without proof, it’ll alienate him from me again.

I’m in limbo about what to do until the buzzer rings. I tread to the front door, and when I push the button next to the elevator, it whooshes open and I come face-to-face with Michael.

“Hey...what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Do I tell him or do I keep it to myself while I’m positive someone from the inside is messing with me? Because I did not imagine getting that message!

Conflicting emotions clash in my brain while I mull over my options.