Page 15 of My Solemn Vow (The Mafia Arrangement #1)

He trusts me, or more likely underestimates me, too much as he puts himself within arm’s reach.

My breathing is erratic and not as steady as I want it to be, but there’s only one way forward. I put it all on the line.

It’s all too easy to reach into his suit jacket.

With shaky hands, I draw his gun from the holster under his arm.

My entire body screams at me. I shouldn’t do this. This is wrong .

Before he can stop me, I have the muzzle pressed into his chest.

The violence has to stop somewhere.

“I’m calling the truce.”

“Antonella.” He draws my name out in warning but takes a step back from me and the gun rather than trying to snatch it out of my hands.

Berto has seen me shoot. He knows I’m not afraid to pull the trigger when I need to.

He lifts his hands, not in surrender, but on instinct, as one should when faced with a gun.

“Let me take the girl. No one will know you tried to stop this. It’s not too late to be less of a disgrace.”

“Call Gregorio.” I keep my voice level. “I’m calling the truce.”

“You’re making a mistake.” He shakes his head. “They killed three of our men this week alone. It’s a child. It’s nothing,” he says, trying to peddle his rhetoric like some sort of shady market merchant, downplaying the negatives.

“Call Gregorio D’Medici.” I snap each word, further cementing my decision and the separation between us.

How can he be this way? I grew up with Berto. This isn’t him. It can’t be. My heart is beating faster than the ticking seconds of the clock. No, this might not be the Berto I thought I knew, but he’s still my family.

I talk as fast as I can without stumbling over my words.

“If you want to shoot me to get to her, then you better have an explanation for why you killed me in cold blood. Her grandparents are on their way to collect her. They’ll find me dead and her gone.

When they figure out you took her, you’d have killed a D’Medici and taken a Cavanagh. It will be obvious what happened here.”

“You’re a coward,” Berto spits. “Too soft for this life. You’re lucky Sarena was a good fit for Nikolai. My father is ready to marry you off against your will. Maybe he’ll get his wish with your antics.”

I’ve never known Berto to be so cruel, not to me. Mean, sure, but today is a whole new low, even for him.

“Maybe so, but I’m the one with the gun. Make the call.”

Please, God, don’t let me be wrong. Let them love this child enough to spare her life and mine.

I draw deep breaths, locked in a staring contest with Berto.

He hangs his head and dials before holding the phone up to his ear.

My classroom door opens behind me, and Berto leers at her.

I reiterate my stance and move my finger to the gun’s safety, a threat Berto notices but Kerrianne can’t see.

Trying to be comforting even though my voice wavers, I softly say, “Go back inside, Kerrianne.”

She gasps. “You’re not supposed to know that name.”

“I know, but you’re gonna have to trust me that it’s okay.” I don’t dare turn to face her because it would give Berto my back. “Go back inside and close the door. Your grandparents are coming.”

The door closes behind me with a soft thud, and at the same time, Berto says, “We’ve a problem. Antonella is...” He runs his tongue across his teeth, pausing to give me one last chance before finally saying, “Antonella has called for the truce.”

I can’t hear my uncle on the phone, but I know whatever he’s saying isn’t good. Especially when Berto says, “Yeah, she’s squeamish over the Cavanagh heir.”

I bite my tongue before I argue with him. Kerrianne is hardly someone he considers to be a legitimate heir. I want to yell, to smack him and remind him of that. He should be ashamed of himself for coming for a child like this.

Which is it, Berto? Are women heirs, or are we chattel to be married off? Am I a disgrace or a brave soldier?

But I don’t say it because I know the answer. Besides me with this gun right now, no woman in our life will ever be taken seriously.

My actions scream ‘women are weak’ and ‘women are too emotional; they form bonds to children they don’t even know’ and back their argument. It will further their belief women have no place in this business. I have no place in this business.

Not even my father’s final wishes could gain me entry into the boys’ club entirely.

“You better prepare yourself.” Berto shakes his head, hanging up the phone. He warns me while looking at the screen as it goes dark. “Don D’Medici is pissed. Your head will roll if this doesn’t work out. Pray the Irish give you an easy husband.”

Berto walks away down the hall, leaving me with his weapon. In smooth, practiced movements, I flick the safety on and lower the weapon to my side.

I called for the truce.

The warning stories and consequences of my actions slowly sink in.

What I’ve done, beyond turning on my family, is incite a massive negotiation.

It could be days or weeks in the making.

I’ve put my and Kerrianne’s lives on the line.

If they don’t come to an agreement, the families have the right to kill us both.

Uncle Gregorio will kill me without issue, and if the Cavanaghs don’t kill Kerrianne, it’ll become a blood bath.

Finally, Berto walks out the door at the end of the hall, and I can draw steady breaths.

My shoulders relax slightly, but I’m still tense.

My heart returns to a steady thrum. It doesn’t matter what I’m feeling though.

There’s a little girl in my classroom. One who is probably terrified from being dragged down a hallway after her regular bodyguard didn’t show up.

She needs her teacher, a constant in her life, to be strong for her.

She doesn’t know what I’ve done. I saved her from one danger but put her in another. My heart aches for a little girl I’ve barely met and the unfairness of the world she lives in.

Maybe, by the grace of God, we’ll be saved. In the unlikely event an agreement is reached, then the final acts to bind the families are a wedding to join the families as one and two funerals, where we’ll place our dead in each other’s cemeteries.

D’Medici or Cavanagh, both families believe in one covenant: you don’t kill your family if they haven’t betrayed you first.

Calling the truce is not a betrayal, no matter how Gregorio chooses to see it. We are safe from death until the negotiations are rejected. But after that...

“God, forgive me for what I’ve done,” I whisper. It’s been a while since I’ve prayed, but now is as good a time as any. “Shield her from harm.”

I’ve basically walked myself right into the arranged marriage I’ve fought so hard against. It’ll be no surprise when my family offers me at the negotiation table.

They don’t want someone ‘weak’ or, as I’m sure it’ll be spun, ‘uncontrollable’ in their ranks.

And no matter how much we’ll have become ‘one family’ because of the truce, their opinion of me will be set in stone.

Taking a deep breath, I turn toward the cubbies stacked two high along the wall beside my classroom. The one closest to my room has a bright red scarf hanging out of the basket. I pull it out and wrap it around the gun.

Kerrianne may be a Cavanagh, but that doesn’t mean she’s used to seeing guns every day. Not out of a holster and certainly not in the hand of her teacher, no matter how natural it is for me.

I leave the door ajar so I can better hear if someone approaches. Their footsteps should echo in the hallway before they ever get to my room.

The scarf-clad gun comes with me, and I set it on the closest chair, hidden from the play area by my desk. Then, cross-legged on the ground with Kerrianne, I engage in play the best I can. Thank God she doesn’t ask questions. She’s more excited to get to play with the newest classroom toy.

Not even ten minutes later, a mix of footsteps echoes down the hallway.

A pair of heels, a pair of loafers, and at least two pairs of combat boots.

I reach for the scarf-covered gun, resting my hand on it, ready to pull it out if it’s more of the D’Medici family rather than the Cavanaghs.

I wouldn’t put it past my uncle to bring one of my aunts to talk sense into me.

But in walks a guard I don’t recognize, gun drawn but held low at his side. He must not see the bundle concealing my weapon because he holsters his before waving in the rest of the people.

Ian Cavanagh walks through the door first, followed by his wife, Elizabeth. I’ve only ever seen them in pictures as targets and adversaries.

They’re so lifelike and human. Especially when Elizabeth’s hand goes to her chest. Her words are pinched and breathy. “Kelsey, there you are.”

Kerrianne screams in excitement while running toward her. “Grandma!”

But her relief is in contrast to Ian Cavanagh’s speculative gaze toward me and the heavy hesitation in his voice. “Ms. Mancini, is it?”

I nod, moving to stand now that Kerrianne has rushed to her grandparents’ side. “Yes, that’s me. ”

“Grandma, is Daddy home yet?” Kerrianne stage-whispers while trying not to speak when the grownups are.

The guards with them eye me suspiciously, and Ian Cavanagh rakes his eyes down my body.

Elizabeth steals careful glances at me while assuring Kerrianne that her father will be home soon.

A powder keg of uncertainty, hesitation, and disbelief is primed and ready to blow. I’m outnumbered, and maybe Berto was right.

Maybe they won’t respect the truce. Maybe I’m not safe after all and this is how I die. There is a chance, though, that they don’t know it’s a pseudonym. It’s possible Gregorio hasn’t called them yet. Maybe he never plans to.

Part of me wishes I’d pulled the gun to show that I won’t go down without a fight.

“Interesting.” It’s all he says, and it isn’t the usual midwestern ‘interesting’ to show disgust or distaste, more of the acceptance of a calculation.

“And you’re the one who called the truce and saved Kerrianne?” Elizabeth asks, holding her granddaughter against her.

Yeah, I should have grabbed the gun.

I hang my head for a moment but then look at them. “I couldn’t, in good faith, risk the life of one of my students. No matter who they are.”

Ian Cavanagh’s single nod lifts a weight from my shoulders, but his words remain solemn. “I’ve already accepted the first call with the arbiter.”

“I appreciate your cooperation. Gregorio will likely ask for something large.”

“We will do everything we can to assure that a deal will be cut.” Ian offers me a somber smile.

It’s a reassurance and the best I can expect given the circumstances.

I don’t have regret or remorse for what I’ve done, but the reality is that my uncle may remain obstinate. No matter what Ian Cavanagh brings to the table, it’s possible no deal will be reached.

Once the Cavanaghs leave, I wait until their steps are out of earshot before, with trembling fingers, I reach for the scarf-clad gun.

In the silence of my classroom, I give myself time to decompress. But I fight back every tear that threatens to escape. I’ve survived more. I’ll survive this. Probably.

Straightening chairs, I focus on deep breaths and slow steps before finally making it to my desk at the back of the room.

I grab my purse from the cupboard to the left of it and tuck the gun inside, concealing it before I pull the scarf out, sans gun.

Folding it, I prepare it to go back in the messy student’s cubby.

With nothing more to do, no way to keep myself here in the sanctuary of my classroom, I leave, closing the door and locking it behind me for what could very well be the last time.