Page 53

HADLEY

Mama Bonetti takes my hand and tilts her head in question.

“Let’s go sit outside for a few minutes, so we can talk alone.”

While it has been a while, I know that look well, and it wasn’t a question but more of a statement, an order, no room for negotiation.

I rise from the sofa, all three of the brothers’ wives eyeing me warily, as I follow her to the French doors that lead to the patio, and an expansive yard, with an in-ground pool. I wonder if all their houses look like a luxury hotel, as I glance around. More expertly manicured gardens, although this one less impressive than Massimo’s was, before the fire. We take a seat at a black wrought-iron table, with a large blue umbrella overhead. Within minutes, a man brings us both orange juice.

She winks at me with a grin. “Mimosas, because this is a celebration.”

I nod my thanks and take a sip of the drink, and it’s delicious. It’s not only orange juice and champagne. There’s something sweeter in it, that I can’t place.

Mrs. Bonetti smiles. “Mango.”

Reaching across the table, she takes my hand in hers, with a sad expression, as she gazes over at me.

“Lorenzo did not kill your father, sweetheart. He wouldn’t have.”

I swallow hard, my eyes stinging from tears threatening to fall.

“I know,” I whisper.

“What made you come to that conclusion, Hadley? Make me understand why you came after my sons.”

The guilt is heavy as she stares at me, searching my face for answers, and I hate myself more than I ever thought possible. This woman was good to me, and I was wrong about everything.

“After my father was killed, things became difficult. As you know, my mother moved us out of our house, and into a trailer park. She refused to use any of my father’s money, because it was ‘blood money’ from Mr. Bonetti.”

I take a sip of my drink and she does the same, giving me a minute before I continue my regretful story.

“I was only twelve, but I was suspicious because of that. In my mind, he must have had a part in it, if my mother would prefer us to live in poverty, than to use the money he had worked so hard for.”

I sigh audibly.

“I was fourteen when I met Carlo. After two years of living off food you left on our porch every Sunday, he was a welcome reprieve. He provided for me; I had food, and clothing. Whatever I needed, he provided for me. When he told me he was from a mafia family, I didn’t bat an eye, because I grew up around yours. When you’re young, you don’t know what you don’t know.”

She laughs lightly.

“That is not something we grow out of, figlia .”

My throat burns at the endearing term she once used for me.

Daughter.

“I believed everything he told me. He told me he had gotten information from his father, that Mr. Bonetti had killed my father, and wanted everyone to know, as a message to all families. Carlo said, if he’d do that to his own men, imagine what he’d do to enemies.”

A tear I have been fighting falls down my cheek, as I do the only thing I can do at this point; apologize.

“I’m sorry. I believed the words of a monster. Our entire relationship was built on manipulation, and I should have known. If you never trust me again, I understand.”

She gets up, scoots her chair beside me, and places her arm around my shoulders, pulling me into her while I sob.

“My sweet Hadley, the past is over now. No harm was done. It’s water under the bridge. Now, we rebuild, and remain grateful for another chance. I was afraid I would die without ever seeing you again.”

I hear the door open, but it’s behind me, so I don’t see whoever is standing there.

“What did you do?” Massimo growls.

“Massimo, get!” she barks in response.

Turning in my chair, my eyes snap to his dark gaze, filled with concern. The way he stares at me, with an intensity that could start a forest fire, makes it difficult to break away.

“Are you okay?” He asks, causing me to break into a fit of giggles.

“Other than the severe case of whiplash, I’m fine. We’ll be in shortly.”

When Massimo heads back inside, I face his mother again, and she smiles.

“He loves you.”

I shake my head no, because he doesn’t. He has made that clear, and while she has only seen a few moments of concern, she has not seen everything. The things he has done to me shout hate, not love.

“It’s not like that between us.”

She tilts her head, and gazes at me incredulously.

“Am I to believe you’re only friends?”

I bark out an insincere laugh, and shake my head.

“No, not friends either. Frenemies.”

She laughs along with me, but says, “We’ll see. I’ve seen how my son looks at you. Massimo, my guarded boy, will realize what he has. I just hope it’s not too late by then.”