Page 22 of My Solemn Vow (The Mafia Arrangement #1)
ANTONELLA
A DIFFERENT WORLD
I don’t know how they decided on the order in which the funerals would take place. But in the familiar St. Catherine’s cemetery this morning, surrounded by people I had never met before, the people I’ve called enemies my entire life, I felt the most at home I have in a long time.
Hugged tightly and welcomed to mourn with them, I was not Antonella D’Medici but instead Antonella Cavanagh. No one even suggested I wasn’t. There wasn’t a question if I belonged there.
Valor Cavanagh, the Valor Cavanagh, makes me feel something.
He’s not outwardly warm, and the pictures I’ve seen over the years confirm it’s him, but they don’t do his devilish good looks justice.
They don’t capture the bright fire in his eyes nor the way he keeps his hair well kept.
And pictures can’t convey the thick smell of warmth that comes from him.
It’s heady like bourbon but sweet like chocolate.
I feel a connection to him. Maybe it’s blatant attraction and the relief of being safe clouding my mind, but I don’t know that Valor Cavanagh really is the worst man to be married to .
Graveside, the mother of the decedent, Sean, told me how grateful she is to have me in her family and that someone was able to pick up the duty when her son couldn’t. I wanted to weep with her.
I’d never met him, never known him, only saw him in passing, but anyone who comes from a woman with such grace in adversity must have a heart of gold as well.
During Sean’s graveside service, I meandered and mingled with his family and their close friends.
The Irish aren’t as many cousins and uncles and nephews deep as we are, but it’s built more on chosen family.
Maybe that’s what makes them more accepting of someone new from the outside world and why they extend kindness instead of judgment.
The divine providence that put me in this position had me dreading ‘going home’ all over again.
My ‘family’ is cold.
Valor and I sat together in the third row during the service.
My cousin, a fourth cousin from Aunt Francesca’s side, was killed on an undisclosed, to me, job. We weren’t close. Having only seen him a few times a year, I was apathetic to his passing.
By now, everyone knows I was the one who stood in the way of family business. They all knew the day it happened because gossip travels fast in an Italian family. The silent treatment, the scornful sideways glances, and flat-out snubs were to be expected.
They’re pissed at me for ending this war. I’m not sure they even know the reason I interfered was because of an innocent child, but a family quick to anger and staunch in tradition won’t see the turning tides of life as anything but a tsunami.
But their disappointment is nothing new. It fills me with useless indifference.
Valor held my hand through every second of the service he could. We’re practically attached at the hip, and the lack of emotions I feel toward my family is drowned out by the stiffness and simmering anger toward the circumstances that have led us here.
The ride back across the cities into the suburbs of Chicago wasn’t long. We’re in Barrington at St. Patrick’s Catholic Cemetery. It’s the heart of Irish territory.
Blessedly, the burial wasn’t all that long, and they lowered my cousin into the ground twenty minutes after our arrival at the most. But the fifteen minutes we’ve been standing graveside, being offered condolences, has felt like a lifetime.
Leticia is the only friendly face in the crowd. However, the minute I got too close to her, she held her fingers low by her waist, crossing them, as if to say wish for something good, and then separated them. Our secret gesture we use to tell each other when it’s not a good time to talk.
I know she’s not upset with me because when I walked past her, she brushed her pinkie against mine, a solidarity of our pinkie promise to always be friends. But it’s pointless to be here.
Valor tried to branch off on his own, but every time he does, it’s clear those loyal to Gregorio D’Medici are not receptive. They step away from him, denying all attempts at conversation.
Now, he wraps his arm around me, drawing me close as if to console me for a hug. He bows his head, bringing it to my ear, and whispers, “I’m getting the distinct feeling we’ve overstayed our welcome.”
“It’s not just me, then.” I let out a slow breath, whispering back to him.
He releases me from the partial hug and grabs my wrist. It’s less gruff than when he did it at Sean’s grave site. This time it’s almost caring. When I pull back, he lets me slide through his fingers until my hand is intertwined with his.
Valor looks down at our joined hands with the tiniest change in his demeanor — raised eyebrow, parted lips that threaten a smile, and a slight head nod.
It sends butterflies throughout my body from where our hands are linked straight to my stomach, where the fluttering is concentrated.
Our eyes meet, and his look is dark and full of desire.
I don’t know that Valor will ever fully approve of me, but he sure as hell can’t be worse to live with than the D’Medici family. Especially when he looks at me like that.
“There you two are.” Berto’s voice breaks us out of our little bubble.
Berto uses his ‘I’m about to take a beautiful day and ruin it with a fist fight’ tone.
I immediately shift, giving Valor my back to face Berto. Maybe if I’m between the two of them, this won’t escalate.
“Valor, it’s good to have bested you.” Berto offers his hand out to shake, which wouldn’t be problematic, but Valor’s right hand is wrapped up in my left and tucked between us.
Valor doesn’t make it an issue. He runs his free hand around my waist, pulling me closer and pressing my back against his chest, then releases my hand.
“I would like to say good job, Berto, but it looks like I’m the one with a wife.” Valor doesn’t let Berto win, but he does shake his hand.
I bring my left hand up and touch the one he has wrapped around my stomach. At my touch, though, Valor’s grasp relaxes slightly. The constant touch, a sign of ownership, will further his appearance of claiming me.
Appearances are everything, and Valor wants Berto to know I’m his.
“The problem is, Valor.” Berto’s voice drips with condescension, slick like the grease in his hair. “I mean, it was so easy to just stroll right up once I had —”
“Berto,” I snap.
“Now, now, Toni. The men are talking, maybe be a good wife and go see what the other hags are up to.” Berto is cold to me.
I open my mouth to snap back at him, but Valor’s arm hugs me tighter to him. “My wife stays with me. But do tell, Berto, how do you think you’re better than me?”
“Well, it was almost too easy. That fancy, high-tech security system of yours really shouldn’t allow an override with the key of someone so easily killed.
That was a nice touch. I was able to waltz right up to her.
It’s a shame the truce was called before I could finish the job. ” Berto doesn’t stop poking.
He’s trying to start an incident, isn’t he? I grip Valor’s arm, silently begging him not to let this keep escalating.
“It takes bravery to put someone’s life above your own.
Though, I’m sure you aren’t familiar with that concept.
” Valor gently trails his hand up and down my stomach.
“Bravery, that is.” Valor’s deadly sharp tone softens a hair, and he must look down at me.
“It seems fitting that the woman willing to put her life on the line becomes my wife.”
Berto huffs and rolls his eyes.
“If you’ll excuse us. We have a marriage to consummate and celebrate.” Valor’s voice is low and gravelly.
I’ve never heard someone make that noise, but the intensity lights my whole body on fire.
How the fuck did I forget about that?
I don’t know if he means his words to be so alluring, but their heaviness and the straightforward declaration of our required physicality have my lower abdomen clenching with a need I haven’t experienced. Not like this.
Well, as far as first male partners go... At least I’m attracted to him? Fuck.
Berto steps backward to walk away rather than turn his back on us. “Enjoy your new life, Mrs. Cavanagh.”
My new moniker is foreign, especially coming from Berto, but I can’t get lost in the thoughts about it because Valor clenches his fist against my stomach and grows rigid behind me.
I spin in the tight space between us and look up at him, his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed .
My stomach tightens, and I try to smooth over the mess Berto made. “I’m so sorry.”
Looking down at me, he shakes his head. Valor’s shoulders drop, his jaw unclenches, and he kisses my forehead. “Don’t be.” He pulls away a little, and a sultry smirk crosses his face. “He’s helped me make an important decision, and he doesn’t even know it.”
My stomach swoops. That little single kiss makes me lightheaded, and his smile does nothing to slow my rapidly beating heart.
“You should find the cousin you like and say goodbye.” Valor’s tone is unexpectedly sweet. “I’ll have Jack bring the SUV around.”
I search for her but find Leticia standing with her parents and Uncle Eduardo as they chat with one of Berto’s friends. She’s locked in place, the same old routine of being seen and not heard. The disassociation and her roaming gaze are evident from here.
We lock eyes and exchange small smiles. Going over there will be pointless.
Instead, I look back to Valor. “The potential conflict isn’t worth trying to say goodbye.”
“I’m sorry,” Valor says, offering his hand out for me to hold rather than taking my wrist. “It isn’t fair that shit men like Berto get to dictate how women live. I’ll make sure the two of you get to connect. When we set you up with a cell phone, the two of you can talk. Maybe we can all do dinner.”
My brain short-circuits as he leads me away.
My questions about their family, their life, and the differences between us are growing two- and threefold. But I, not so patiently, wait to address him again until we’re tucked into the black SUV and the doors close behind us.
“You’d really let me talk to her?” I practically whisper .
“Of course.” Valor’s eyes are wide, but he quirks an eyebrow. “Antonella, this isn’t a kidnapping, it’s a truce.”
I nod because, with the pause, it seems like I should answer him. Is Valor trying to make me want him? Does he know it’s working?