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4

MIRABELLA

I take the scraper and smooth out the grout on the bathroom tile of the guest bathroom. I love this house. It’s nearly a hundred years old and just a few blocks from the hustle and bustle of the center of town. Not to mention it looks right out onto the Mediterranean. But because of its location and lack of upkeep in the last thirty years it became outdated and run down. My mother did what she could, but never spent much time here to rehab it into something modern.

I’ve spent the last eight years saving up as much money as I can to pay for the renovations. It’s part of the reason I work so much at Magda’s café. I have money. A lot of it. But it’s sitting untouched in a bank account. I don’t want dirty money. I never have.

So over the last five years, I’ve remodeled the house into my dream home. I only have a few rooms to add some finishing touches to and then it will be done. But to me, it’s already perfect. An old Italian kitchen with a wood-fire stove but with more modern amenities to make it more sufficient. Including the huge island which I paid a pretty penny for. I turned the entire third floor into my master suite. A large deck takes up the expanse of the house and it’s covered with a beadboard roof. I spend all my evenings out there, smelling the salty air, and watching the waves crash against the beach. Usually accompanied with whiskey.

My other favorite spot is the small garden in the back, shaded by an ivy-covered pergola. I filled it with lush plants and vegetables. Something my mother always had at our home in Genoa. Aria loves it more than me and spends all her time out there when she isn’t at school or playing football. Of course she is back there practicing though.

I wipe away excess grout when I hear the front door open then close. Magda agreed to watch Aria for the day so I could get some of these renovations done around the house that I had been putting off for weeks. Plus the café is closed today and she always enjoys spending time with my daughter on her days off.

“Mirabella.”

I wince when I hear my brother’s voice as he enters the house. I rarely speak to him. My hatred for him is palpable. And I hate when he shows up unannounced. Not that he ever shows up announced. He never tells me when he is coming by and I hate it. Hate that I have to keep myself on my toes. I would much prefer if he never came by at all.

“What do you want, Ezio?” I say as I wipe my hands on my sweats and walk out of the bathroom to find him in my kitchen.

He snags an apple out of the fruit bowl on the island and sinks his teeth into it. He chews slowly as he stares at me, his brown eyes penetrating into me and I want nothing more than to pull the gun out of the drawer in the island and shoot him.

“Can’t I visit my sister whenever I want?” he says with a smirk.

“No. I’ve told you not to come here.”

“You know that isn’t an option.” He takes another bite of the apple and swallows. “Where is my precious niece?”

I clench my fist, my long nails piercing my skin. “Not here.”

“I do miss that little girl.”

“Ezio,” I stammer. “What do you want?”

He rounds the kitchen island and stands next to me, pushing a strand of loose hair off my face. “You really should come home to Genoa. You wouldn’t have to work like you do now.” He gestures to the house. “Fixing up this old village home.”

I push his hand away. “I’m not going back to Genoa. You know that. Giancarlo knows that. You can’t say—”

“You’re a Renzetti Mirabella, no matter how much you wish you weren’t.”

“And Giancarlo has no problem with me living here,” I say as I cross my arms over my chest.

Ezio scoffs at me. “Believe what you want, Mira, but you and I both know he would much rather have you at home.” I glare at my brother as he runs his fingers over the butcher block on the counter. “You do have a useful set of skills that we could use.”

“Get out of my house, Ezio,” I stammer. “Now.”

He shrugs his shoulders then walks toward me so close he presses his chest against mine, causing me to lean back against the island. His gaze powerful as he stares down at me. He may only be older than me by a year but he knows how to evoke fear in me. “I came here to warn you, Mirabella. It’s not safe right now. You need to come home.”

I shake my head. “You are making it not safe by showing your face here, Ezio. I’ve had no threats, nothing in three years. Not since the last time you showed up.”

“Our enemies are watching.”

I push against his chest, forcing him to back up. “No. Your enemies are watching you. They are not my enemies.” I push off the counter and walk toward the door to the garden, staring out at the small fountain, the wind chimes, the small patch of grass Aria uses to practice. “Every time you come here, you bring danger.”

I hear him sigh behind me. “It’s part of our life, sorrellina .”

I close my eyes knowing he speaks the truth. That I can never escape the Renzetti name. Never live a life like I dreamed of ten years ago. “I’ll be careful.”

“You’ll be safer at the estate.”

I turn around and lean against the glass door. “I am not pulling Aria away from her friends, her football, her life.” I pause then look up at Ezio. “Remember what it was like when we were kids? We had nothing. Kids didn’t want to be friends with us because their parents knew who our parents were, who our family was. We only had our cousins. I don’t want that life for Aria. I want her to be a kid. I want her to be normal.”

Ezio takes a step toward me and wraps his arms around me. “That was your life, not mine. I had friends. I think you remember them.” His grip tightens, squeezing me to the point of pain as his grip crushes my lungs. As horrible memories flood my system of those friends he is talking about. “I know what you want, Mirabella. But that is something she can never have.”

I gasp for breath as my brother squeezes tighter, a threat. I move my leg enough that I slam my knee into his balls, causing him to let me go. I duck under his arm and slide across the kitchen floor, grabbing a knife from the counter. “Don’t you ever do that to me again. And don’t tell me what I can and cannot provide for my little girl. Get out of my house, Ezio. Leave Sicily. You aren’t wanted here.”

He holds his hands up in front of me. “Fine. I’ll leave. But watch your back. I don’t want to lose my sister.”

I scoff at that as he leaves my house. I slump against the island. Thoughts swirling in my head. I have no idea who he is talking about and I have no idea why anyone would come here. I haven’t played a role in the family business in thirteen years. There is no reason anyone would come after me now.

* * *

Despite not wanting to listen to my brother, I did. For a week. I spent it being cautious of everything. I dropped off and picked up Aria from school every day. I didn’t let her walk the three blocks home with her friends. I cut my hours back at the café and I saw the worry in Magda’s eyes at the change of my behavior.

But despite all of my precautions, nothing happened. Not one damn thing. It’s been two weeks and I am utterly sick of keeping an eye over my shoulder. It’s not that I don’t believe what my brother said could be true because I am not naive to think something couldn’t happen when you are the daughter of a mafia family. But usually there are some signs and there was absolutely nothing.

“You look exhausted,” Magda tells me as we sit along the sidelines of Aria’s football game. “And you haven’t been working as much.”

I glance over to her and shrug. “Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

She gives me a look that tells me she doesn’t believe me. I have no idea how much she knows about my family. What my grandmother may have told her when she met my grandfather or what my mother may have let slip. Or maybe she just knows that my last name isn’t just any last name but actually related to the Renzetti crime family.

I don’t give her anything else and focus on Aria’s game. I watch as she shouts back and forth to her teammates as she kicks the ball to them. She loves football. She asked me when she was four if she could start playing when I found her sitting inches from the television watching the Italian team lose in the World Cup. She went on and on about how she analyzed how they were playing and knew what they screwed up. I couldn’t help but laugh when she droned on for ten minutes. But then she rewound the live play and my jaw dropped to the floor. She was four but she analyzed the game like she was twenty years older. Needless to say, I signed her up for a children’s league the next day. Next year she will be eligible to try out for a junior travel league and I hope I have the money to pay for it. I don’t want to break into the family fund that was left for me but the urge is there if it’s for my daughter.

She scores a goal and I jump out of my chair screaming and dancing for her. The smile that whips across her face as she looks at me makes my heart warm. She is the best thing that ever happened to me. My pride and joy. I love her to the moon and back. And I will do anything to protect her. And I truly mean anything.

They end up winning six to three, Aria scoring three of those goals. I think she very well may be a star one day.

She comes sprinting over to me with one of her teammates, giggling and laughing. “Mama!”

“What a game, baby girl! Three goals! I hope you remember me when you become a famous football player,” I joke as I wrap my arms around her.

She rolls her eyes at me as I pull away and a little piece of my heart breaks. This girl is getting so big and soon enough she will be a teenager. I have no doubt she will have an attitude like I did and she will fight me daily. I just hope she remembers when that time comes that I am still her best friend.

“Can I sleep over at Tina’s tonight? Her mom is making homemade pizza and ice cream sundaes and we are celebrating our win. Like half the team is going and I can’t be the only one not there. Besides, I scored the most goals and I should be a part of the party. And Tina is like my best friend, so it’s only natural that I go. Everyone else would think it’s weird if I’m not there.”

I bite down a smile as she blabbers on. She always goes off on a tangent when she wants something. And normally I would let her go to a sleepover but my brother’s words still linger in the back of my head making me more cautious than normal. But it’s been two weeks and nothing. Not one single thing has made the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

“Please, Mooooommmmm,” she begs as she sticks out her bottom lip.

“Yeah, please.” Tina drops to her knees dramatically in front of me, her hands clasped together. “We haven’t had a sleepover in so long and what if something happens between now and the next time we have one and Aria can’t come? You have to let her come.”

Magda snickers next to me as I let a laugh slip from my lips. I look up and see Maria, Tina’s mom, walking toward us.

“Tina, are you really on your knees begging Mirabella to let Aria stay over?” She huffs. “You are so dramatic. I swear I should be paying for acting lessons, not football.”

Tina shoots her mom a look that has me snorting in laughter.

“How are you, Maria?” I ask, even though we see each other four times a week at practice.

She picks up her toddler, who is pulling on her hand. “Don’t even get me started.” She groans. “This one will not leave my side today. I had to rush the twins to ballet practice before this game, Angelo left early for his traveling league, which at least gives me a little more peace, so I only have to deal with four children the next three days instead of five.”

I laugh. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“My husband is a saint. If it weren’t for him, I would be drinking wine right now out of my water bottle.”

“I wants the wines,” her toddler whines as he pulls on her hair.

“I probably should give him some so he sleeps,” she says sarcastically.

“You sure you want to have a sleepover tonight? You seem to have your hands full.”

She shrugs. “I promised Tina I would let her have one. And the twins are staying at their friend’s house tonight. So you know, may as well exchange two kids for eight more.”

I laugh. “You literally are a saint.”

“I grew up with ten siblings. Five kids sounded easier.” She looks over at her daughter and mine who have gone to kicking a ball back and forth between each other. “So are you okay with Aria coming over tonight? Tina really wants her there.”

I glance at my daughter and see how happy she is with her friends. I feel terrible that I’ve kept her sheltered the last two weeks. Her only time with her friends at school or practice.

I nod. “Yeah, she can sleep over. When should I drop her off?”

“I told the others five was fine. I need to pick up the twins from ballet then take them to their friend’s house. Gino should be off work soon so he can get the house ready,” she says as she refers to her husband.

“Okay, sounds good.”

Maria smirks at me. “You should go out tonight. Flirt with a man. And you know…” she clicks her tongue.

I shake my head at her. “As much fun as that would probably be. A night alone sounds even better.”

“One of these days, I will make my sisters watch all the kids and we will have a girls’ night. God knows I need one just as much as you. And I would love nothing more than getting tipsy and horny and stumbling in the front door to bang Gino’s brains out.”

I nearly spit my water out at that.

“What’s horny?” her toddler asks.

I do spit my water out that time.

“Nothing important,” she mumbles to him and then sets him down. “See what I mean? I need a night out.”

I laugh. “We’ll plan for it.”

“Good,” she sighs. “Well, I better get this caravan home. See you later.”

Aria skips over to me, over the moon excited that I agreed to let her sleep over.

* * *

I settle into my sofa and pull up a movie as I sip on my whiskey. It’s been so long since I have been alone in this house. I thought the quietness would make me anxious, but I actually feel relaxed for the first time in weeks. I pull a blanket over my legs and lean my neck against the back of the couch, the warmth of the whiskey settling any of my worries.

I let all my thoughts float away. My brother’s warning, my family drama, and a past I want to let go of.

My eyes drift closed as I let the quiet of the night seep in. Just the sounds of the TV and the tumble of shoes in the dryer fill the space. To most people, that would mute out the sound of anything else. But my eyes fly open when I hear the slight creak of a door, the light step of a foot on the stairs. My ears trained to listen for it.

I hold my breath and wait for more movement. Listening to the number of feet I hear, the direction they are walking.

My brother’s warning resonates through my body as I hear the lightest footsteps get closer to the living room.