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Bianca

I wasn’t as cut out for house hunting as I thought I would be. It had been three weeks since Sandro and I had returned to Manhattan.

We moved into his condo in Lenox Hill after he had the security upgraded.

“A brownstone in Brooklyn,” Sera suggested. We were having drinks at their penthouse on Fifth Avenue before heading out for a night on the town. Well, Sera wasn’t drinking alcohol because of her pregnancy.

“It’s too far from Harlem. Sandro still wants to be near the club. I really want something like this.” I waved my hand around the beautiful space. Somehow, I couldn’t picture bringing bloody soldiers through the lobby or loading them on the elevators, although Sandro assured me our life wouldn’t be like that. Now that they weren’t lying low from the De Luccis, the Rossis returned to a property in Harlem that they used for meetings and the aftermaths of a job.

I’d gone through several fantasies of my ideal home over the years. When I was a child, I thought I’d be a princess and live in a sprawling house like the De Lucci mansion on Staten Island. When I was twelve and decided I would marry Sandro one day, I wanted a row house like the one I grew up in. That had been my dream until I graduated from prep. In college, I was looking forward to getting one of those restored lofts like Ivy’s. A side of maturity resulted from my shaky friendship with Sandro. I hooked my habitat aspirations less on my dream man and more on my independence.

When I graduated from Harvard, Nico offered me his Upper East Side apartment since he’d moved in with Ivy. That was before I decided to travel incognito across the U.S. Now, I had to consider a house with my role as Sandro’s wife and all the responsibilities that came with it.

“Are you guys really selling the Rossi mansion?” Ivy asked.

“Yes.” I nodded at Divina, who was nursing a cosmopolitan. “We’ve been assessing how to get it ready to put on the market.” We raised our glasses in a toast. Divina and I had been working closely for the past few weeks. She’d taken over the files from the accountant who’d been stealing from the Rossis. I didn’t know what happened to him, although Arnie let slip he was on the run and the Rossis had put a contract on his head. For a time there, the Rossi crime family was considered free game by the vultures, but now that Sandro was firmly in place, everyone was trying to kiss his ass.

It had been a relatively calm three weeks. No fire. No shooting. Just negotiations. A couple of dinners here and there with family and associates. Sandro didn’t come home too late, but there were nights where I wouldn’t see him until the next morning. Most of the focus was on getting the club up and running. But I couldn’t complain. We even spent last weekend house hunting and catching up on a TV series.

“Is Sloane joining us?” Ivy asked.

“Yes. She’ll meet us at Cardo.” Cardo was a De Lucci-owned dance club and bar. “She’s been busy with the smoke and water damage at the club.” Sloane teased she was going to make enough money to get clear of the Rossi debt, and, from the looks of the account, she wasn’t far off. After the job, Divina and I intended to leave her a hefty tip so she’d have enough to return to nursing school.

Footsteps echoed in the foyer. Trevor, Miller, and Al walked in. Al was still hobbling, not fully recovered from the gunshot wound, but he was on light bodyguard duty. He and Ivy exchanged a look. Once upon a time, they had a confrontation over protection money. Sandro had given a directive to Tommy to review all collections from that business and make sure none of the mom-and-pop shops were being targeted needlessly. Bigger businesses like warehouses in the area used the Rossi mob to ward off the smaller gangs from theft and intimidation.

I was thankful for growing up mafia adjacent and I could look at revenue streams like these objectively.

“You ladies ready?” Trevor asked.

“Are we ever!” I quipped, and just to show how ready I was, I enthusiastically jumped to my feet. Divina and I needed this break.

When we arrived at Cardo, I thought of Griselda. Since she was the club manager of Aristos, she could get ideas from Cardo to include in the rebuild and renovation. She was the one working with the contractor and architect to make the changes. I’d only seen her once since I threw her out of the house. Last week at the Rossi mansion when she needed Divina to sign off on something, we had a little staredown, but she apparently pulled up her big-girl panties and managed to apologize.

“I’m sorry.”

Two words, but they were enough for now. I merely nodded my response. I considered it the start of our unspoken truce. We would never be buddies and have a girls’ night out like this. I could never forgive her for what she had done. She was the only one who knew the club business inside out, and at this time when Sandro was trying to get it up and running, it was one less headache for him if Griselda took charge. As far as I knew, they hardly communicated, and it was usually through Tommy, or in the case of the finances, Divina.

“We need to plan your wedding, girl,” Ivy said, breaking into my thoughts of Griselda. Apparently, everyone else remembered Sera’s bachelorette party that was held here.

An ache squeezed my heart as I remembered the horror of the forced marriage. How all my girlish dreams burned to the ground.

Sera noticed my face. She grabbed my hand. “But let’s enjoy the night first!”

“Amen, sister.” I followed her into the club. We went directly to the dance floor instead of simply hanging out on the third level where private rooms existed for exclusive club patrons. In my desire to become Sandro’s partner in every way, watching everything I said or did, I missed being carefree.Do I have that right anymore?I pushed away the negative thoughts. This was just growing pains. Sandro was doing a damned fine job, and I needed to suck it up. I knew even then he would never be the nine-to-five husband.

We were thrown into this situation just five weeks ago. I married the man of my adolescent dreams. Our reality is different from my fantasies…well…except the bedroom activities. My cheeks heated. Sandro was insatiable. And I craved him constantly.

I should be deliriously happy.

So why wasn’t I?

“Bizarre Love Triangle” came on and it reminded me that tonight was “retro music” dance night.

“I love this song!” Ivy yelled. “Come on!” She handed both her and Sera’s bedazzled purses to Trevor before dragging her off to the dance floor.

Trevor’s chest rose and fell in what I could only imagine was a resigned sigh.

“What?” I asked.