Chapter 11 RÓISE

Irritation makes my steps faster than normal heading to the armored SUV that will take us back to Long Island.

Okay, maybe my comment was a little awkward. "I guess you have my number to call with any questions about my birthday party."

I was still feeling a little out of it after that whole sign it in blood thing and maybe even a tiny bit grateful to Miceli for how he handled it.

But the underboss looked at me like I was a mafia groupie hitting on him and said, "The call will come from my sister-in-law."

Right. Why bother calling the woman you've just signed a contract in blood promising to marry?

The whole episode felt like it came right out of a period drama. Right up to Miceli's offhand dismissal of me afterward.

Only my life isn't a television series. There was real bloodshed and there are genuine long term consequences for me. I'm eventually going to have a child with Miceli De Luca. Divorce, or not, he will always have a role in my life as the father of my child.

So, sue me for thinking that means we should maybe get to know each other. Enemies, or not. Because we are getting married next summer.

And I would prefer not to walk down the aisle with a complete stranger waiting at the other end.

We're going to be living together for at least nine years. If we don't have any other children.

Nine years!

Because I am not giving up my child. Not for anything .

If I go off my birth control early, I could maybe shave a year, or so off of that. That's still seven to eight years living the life of an underboss's wife, surrounded by the Italian mafia.

Why did I agree to that clause?

I glare at my uncle, sitting in the back of the SUV with me now, on his phone and oblivious to the cauldron of anger bubbling inside me.

Why didn't he stick up for me, even a little?

Because the old dinosaur thinks I should stay married to Miceli. Till death do us part.

In the mafia world, that isn't the promise of relationship longevity some people think it is.

I respect the sanctity of marriage which is why I wanted to get married in a civil ceremony. I don't want to make vows in a church that have an expiration date.

And no, I don't want Miceli to die to set me free. The image of his inert body, lying in a pool of blood tightens my stomach with nausea.

I wish I could crack my window, but that's a security no-no.

Gah!

And my uncle just sits there, not even a little bothered by how his plans have hijacked my life.

"I guess I passed inspection," I grumble, wondering if Uncle Brogan will even bother to respond.

But that first hour we were there? That was so the De Lucas could size me up. So Miceli could decide if he wanted to go through with the marriage alliance.

Because unlike me, he has a choice. Had one, anyway. Before the whole blood thing.

Him, his brother and uncle were looking me over like a new car. Miceli has even had a look under my hood.

Not that I'm telling my uncle that.

I'm still furious with Fate for that trick.

"It wasn't an inspection."

"Oh, please. It so was an inspection."

"The De Lucas wanted to get to know you, that's all."

"Funny, you didn't seem to care if I got to know Miceli," I accuse.

"He will make you a good husband."

"Temporarily."

Uncle Brogan's eyes the same green as mine snap with impatient umbrage. What can I say? My uncle's temper makes him easy. And right now, I want to vent my anger. He's not just an easy target, he's the perfect one.

It's his fault this morning even happened .

"Don't be a child." He looks at me with patronizing disapproval. "You are not divorcing him."

"You just keep telling yourself that. I didn't fight over those custody clauses because I don't intend to utilize the divorce option if I need to."

"You won't," he assures me. "The De Luca family believes in fidelity, and they actively try to suppress domestic violence within their ranks."

"Do you?" I ask, the need to know superseding my anger.

"Mob wives can't go to the police, but every woman in the Shaughnessy clan knows she can come to me, and I will deal with it."

"Personally?" It's a big mob.

"Yes."

"Oh." My desire to pick a fight with my uncle wanes a little.

"As the weaker sex, our women need to be protected."

Just like that, I'm furious with the old chauvinist all over again.

"I can't believe we all signed the alliance contract in blood." I give an exaggerated shudder, but my memories aren't the queasy ones from when the don and Uncle Brogan cut each other's palms. "Where do you file contracts like that, with the devil?"

"None of your concern," he dismisses.

"Like the terms of the alliance are none of my concern? Even though they cost me my future?"

"Enough!" My uncle's bellow reverberates in the car, his temper finally slipping its leash.

I don't flinch. Uncle Brogan won't hit me, and I refuse to be cowed by his shouting. That doesn't mean I like it.

I don't.

"My reproductive system is the guarantor for the contract," I remind him in case he forgot. "That gives me a stake in it."

"Don't be crass, Róise."

I can't help rolling my eyes. "You're such a dinosaur. Mentioning my uterus is not crass. It's biology."

The argument is taking my mind off of Miceli's curt dismissal, and I might be having fun too.

Just a little bit.

Maybe I should say the word vagina next. I doubt Uncle Brogan has ever heard the word said aloud by any of the women in our family.

Chances are none of the men have said it either. They're more likely to use another word. One that would really send my uncle through the roof if it came out of my mouth .

Oooh, the temptation.

"Leave biology out of this, young lady."

"I'm almost twenty-one, Uncle Brogan."

"Old enough to know better."

"Old enough to be spoken to like an adult. Especially as it is my status as an adult with a vagina and a uterus that makes me your ideal tool right now."

"Róise!"

Gotcha.

An answer to my own earlier question pops into my head. "The bunker."

Of course he keeps contracts for the illegal mob dealings there. And now a blood alliance contract, complete with my marriage to the Genovese underboss.

Uncle Brogan's brows draw together in a thunderous frown. "Where did you hear about the bunker?"

Unwilling to rat on my grandmother, I shrug. "Could have been one of the times I listened outside grandfather's office."

It wasn't, but it could have been.

Mamo tells us all sorts of things I'm sure my uncle wouldn't approve of, just like my grandfather before him.

But my grandmother says that a woman born into the mob has to be as canny as any mobster. That's why we started playing the listening game. She taught us girls that too.

We still play it, but now we know it's not a game. My uncle is a lot more careful about shutting the door to his office when he's talking mob business than my grandfather was.

Which is how Uncle Brogan blindsided me with the arranged marriage thing.

"You'd better have outgrown listening at doors," Uncle Brogan says ominously. "And forget whatever you heard about the bunker."

What does he think? I can just erase a memory like I delete a file from the cloud?

I don't answer, letting him read what he wants into my silence.

But that doesn't change the fact I know the bunker is a warren of sub-basement concrete corridors and rooms under three of our mob-owned buildings in Queens. Access to the buildings is protected by technology and highly trained soldiers.

"Is it really necessary to have the De Lucas host my 21 st birthday?" Miceli fobbing the plans off on his sister-in-law is more hurtful than it should be.

It's fake. All for show. And I want someone planning my birthday that cares about me. Not the right mob mentality, but it's how I feel.

"Wouldn't it be better to let mamo organize things like usual?" I wheedle .

Uncle Brogan is tapping on his phone. "Not the De Lucas," he says absently. "Miceli."

"I'm sure he'll make every plan without any help from his mother or sister-in-law." I don't have to roll my eyes for my uncle to know I'm being sarcastic.

Miceli all but said he doesn't plan to lift a finger for it.

"It doesn't matter who calls the caterer." Uncle Brogan goes back to his phone, clearly believing the discussion is over.

But I'm not done. "Only the perception of who throws the party is important."

Irish or Italian, organized crime families are all about appearances.

"It will let the rest of New York know that our families are joining," my uncle says, confirming my thoughts. "The other syndicates will speculate about an upcoming alliance between us and the New York Cosa Nostra."

Uncle Brogan's now benevolent, but patronizing tone shows he thinks he's doing me a favor by explaining.

It's my turn to correct him. "The Genovese Family you mean."

"They are the most powerful mafia in New York. If we have an alliance with them, we have an alliance with The Five Families."

A sudden thought sends cold chills through me. "Are we announcing the engagement at my party?"

"No." My uncle lifts one shoulder in an indifferent shrug. "When the time comes for that, the PR team will take care of it."

The modern criminal syndicate. We have a PR team and investment advice for our people to invest in a 401K.

Something I learned listening at grandfather's door and didn't understand until my high school economics class.

"For now, we let them know you are dating Miceli De Luca."

Great, I'm fake dating a mafia underboss, even if the marriage that's going to take place someday is 100% real.

"When will the PR people announce the engagement?"

It's possible I missed this key piece of information because of the six-foot-four-inch distraction that sucked my blood off of my thumb.

"Not right now. Severu wants to wait."

"Why?" I definitely didn't hear that.

Not that I mind. The longer it goes unannounced, the longer I can keep my connection to the Italian mafia from my friends at college. I don't want to think about what's going to happen when the engagement is made public.

Some people will be fascinated, others will cut me out of their lives. Like when my school friends discovered my grandfather was the Shaughnessy mob boss. Somebody knew somebody who recognized my dad when he came to the first play I had a leading role in.

And then everybody knew that I wasn't like them.

My uncle shrugs. "He's got his reasons."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

"Why should it?"

Isn't it obvious? "He could back out of the agreement."

"Not without forfeiting territory, which Severu De Luca will never do."

That must be one of the terms in the contract they didn't let me read. "Because he signed it in blood?"

"Because Severu De Luca doesn't go back on his word. And yes, signing the contract in the old way is unbreakable. For men like us, reputation is everything."

Assuming Severu De Luca is a man like my uncle. One whose word is his bond and who has a code of honor, even if people outside the mob would not understand it.

"The old way is right. You could have warned me you were going to whip out a knife and slice each other's palms." Not to mention that I would have to participate too.

I know my uncle thinks I'm young and na?ve, but I'm only one of those things. What is na?ve is to believe that your enemy will keep his side of a bargain because of a bloody thumbprint.

All contracts can be broken. And not all forfeitures are paid.

Why do you think warfare breaks out like it does in the criminal underworld?

If I can get Miceli to break this one though…

The Genovese Family and the Shaughnessy mob will become straight up enemies, not tangential ones because of the tension between us and the Bonanno Family. Our mob might even go to war with the Genovese Family over it.

Yeah, no. Trying to get Miceli to back out is not an option.

Disgruntled, I frown out the window. "At least I won't have to play the part of adoring fiancée for a while."

"I'll settle for polite girlfriend at your 21 st birthday party."

I'm not making any promises.