Page 80 of He Should Be Mine

The race is on. I need to overthrow Riccardo before he kills Molly. Time is running out, especially with the limp dick problem Isabella has given him. Molly can’t pretend to be sick forever.

I rub my hand over my face. There is no point in pleading to Isabella. Appealing to her better nature is a dead end. She doesn’t have that side to her. She is ruthless,and clearly pursuing her own agenda. It’s a miracle she bothered to warn us.

I walk over to the window and look out at the gray cityscape, even though my mind is far too preoccupied to truly admire the view. I still don’t know what to do about this new problem, but I have to do something. Anything. I cannot continue to sit idly by while Molly is in increasing danger.

A heavy sigh escapes me. Talking to Isabella might be worth a shot. There is not much to lose by it. I could offer her a deal. Presumably, she still wants to be powerful within the Ajello family. It is what her family raised and trained her for. She wants to be the heir’s wife, one day the don’s.

The idea clicks into place. Slotting in as if it has always been there.

Isabella’s goals could still happen. I can offer to marry her after a suitable mourning period for Riccardo.

I grimace and sip the suddenly bitter tasting coffee. I don’t think Molly will mind. Especially not a marriage of politics, power and arrangement. I don’t think he is overly emotional that way.

It is not as if Isabella and I would ever be sleeping together. There are other ways to make an heir, when the time comes.

An image flashes across my mind. Molly grinning like a lunatic while bouncing a baby on his knee.

My gut twists and I rub my stomach. Does Molly even like kids? Would Isabella even allow him to hold her baby?

Holy Mary, mother of god, why is my life turning into such a tangled mess? I used to be content with my lot. I was a soldato. I obeyed my orders. Life was simple.

Now I want a man, and to get him, I need to seize an empire. Make allies. Make babies.

Life was certainly simpler before I met Molly.

I sip my coffee and look out at rain soaked London. A warm sense of certainty settles deep inside me.

I wouldn’t change a thing. Molly is worth it all. My life is a thousand times better with him in it. For all the challenges his existence has created.

I take a deep breath. So, that’s settled then. I’m going to talk to Isabella and offer her marriage in exchange for her ceasing her crusade against Riccardo.

She is an excellent mafia wife. Having her by my side in ruling the family will be an immense strength. It’s a good deal. She already knows about Molly and she won’t care as long as I keep it discreet.

Everything is going to work out just fine. I have to believe that. I don’t deserve god’s grace, but neither does Riccardo. All I can do is offer up my prayers and hope to receive benevolence.

I sigh again and head over to my spot on the sofa. The apartment seems strangely quiet today. Far too still. Almost empty.

It shouldn’t be itching at me. I should be relishing the peace before Molly wakes up. Heaven knows it is going to be anything but quiet when he finally stirs. It never is. And he is probably going to be worse than ever, because he hasn’t been out of the apartment in ages.

I need to talk Riccardo into giving permission to take Molly out. I can dress it up as impressing the boy with his wealth and status.

La Boheme is playing at the Royal Opera House and I think Molly would love it. I can picture his whole facelighting up with rapture. I’ll get us a private box so none of the snobby patrons will give him dirty looks, since I can’t imagine Molly ever dressing less than flamboyantly.

Going out will also give me a chance to check in with my co-conspirators. So, all-in-all, it’s a good plan.

Get permission from Riccardo to take Molly to the opera. Use the opportunity to catch up with my cunning plans, and to contact Isabella. It will probably be best to ask to meet her in person. It is quite a life-changing conversation.

It is going to be quite the day.

I glance down at my watch. Molly is usually awake by now.

A shiver of unease crawls down my veins. It’s fine. He isn’t really ill. That was all an act. He has fully bounced back from the infection that put him in the hospital.

We did drink a fair amount of Chianti last night, it is probably just that. And I’m on edge because I will never forget how awful it was when he was really sick.

I walk over to the kitchen to top up my coffee. My gaze flicks down the hallway to Molly’s room. His door is always either wide open or firmly shut.

I noticed this morning, as I walked past, that it was neither. It is almost closed. Pulled all the way, but the latch isn’t clicked into place. One gentle push and the door would swing open.