Chapter 20 RóISE

Okay, one point to Miceli.

That kiss about knocked me off my feet. And he knows it too.

I take the handkerchief. "Thank you." After wiping off my lip gloss, I hand it back. "You might want to…" I let my voice trail off and point to my own lips and then nod to his.

He rubs it off, removing the evidence of our kiss and my body relaxes.

"Don De Luca, may I introduce my grandmother, Maeve Shaughnessy. Mamo , this is Severu, Aria and Catalina you already know, and Miceli De Luca." Introducing my intended last is deliberate.

Instead of looking mad, there's a glint of amusement in Miceli's eyes as he steps forward. "A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Shaughnessy."

"Call me Maeve, young man. According to my son, we will be family soon enough."

Miceli agrees with an inclination of his head. "I would be honored to."

Why doesn't his charm come off smarmy? It should, but he sounds so darn sincere. Mamo is canny though and the smile she gives him doesn't reach her eyes.

She could navigate life at the Whitehouse if a mob boss ever got elected to president. It won't happen though. Not because it's impossible, but because the role is too public.

Syndicate heads don't spend their time in the public eye.

The elevator chimes again and soon my cousins and Kara's husband are being introduced to the De Lucas.

"Isn't the décor dreamy?" Fiona asks the group with a rapturous look around.

I have to cough to cover the laugh that wants to burst free. Both from my cousin's acting ability and the look on Miceli's face.

"He says it's very pink," Catalina says with an indulgent smile for her brother-in-law.

"I love it," I tell her. "It's perfect."

Catalina's smile widens. "I knew you would."

Does she know about Miceli's aversion to the color? I doubt it.

Talking about the women he doesn't take to bed isn't going to happen in front of his brother's wife.

From the way he dresses, you'd think he hates all the colors except black and dark gray. I don't know about that, but I do know he doesn't like pink.

He thinks it's too sweet and that I'm too young. Two facts I'm happy to exploit.

I know because my cousins and grandmother are like living with my own personal Google and gossip columnist.

Apparently, Miceli De Luca doesn't flirt with women dressed in pink, who have pink hair, or who wear cotton candy pink lip gloss. Like what I'm wearing now.

Was wearing before he kissed it off. Huh.

Speaking of, I tap Fiona's shoulder. "I need to refresh my…" I wave at my mouth. "Want to come with me?"

"I'm coming too," Kara says quickly. "I want to know how you lost your lip gloss between the time you came up in the elevator and we arrived."

Accessible by an elevator that requires a VIP keycard, this area of Festa is completely shut off from the rest of the club. From the tour I took with Catalina while planning the party, I know there are smaller rooms off the main area.

They're for private parties and patrons who want to use bottle service with their guests instead of ordering from the club's extensive drink menu.

We're not using them tonight and they've all been locked to stop potential sexcapades during my 21 st while the alcohol flows freely.

Not that I plan on drinking much.

At least half the guests will be people I don't know from the Italian mafia. It's Miceli and my first public appearance together.

One big show for the audience of the New York underworld. It's weird though, right?

We had sex, but we've never been on a date.

Is his family hosting a party for my 21 st considered a date? In our messed up world, it probably is.

Too bad he's not Mr. Romance and I'm not a blushing ingénue.

When we get to the ladies room, the cailíní and I automatically check to see if anyone else is in here before we start talking .

"Empty," Kara says after trying the handle on the final stall door and finding it unlocked.

Each stall is entirely walled off, with only a couple of inches above and below the black doors. Talk about an invitation to illicit sexy times. Or drug deals.

The bathroom fits the rest of the club's stark décor. The walls are white, while the doors and long counter with three sinks are black. Even the touchless faucets are black.

"No wonder Miceli picked this club for your party. He's surrounded by his favorite color," Fiona says.

Kara grins. "Maybe he wears red silk boxers."

He doesn't. Those are black too. And they're made of the same knit silk my favorite t-shirts are.

I don't say that. My cousins know about my act of rebellion in Portland, but not that Miceli is the man I had sex with. I was too complimentary of my one-night stand.

Now, I know he's Italian mafia, a freaking underboss who set two guard dogs on me that I can't shake. I don't want to compliment him on anything, especially his sense of humor and sexual prowess.

"Time to spill," Kara demands. "How did your lip gloss disappear?"

"He kissed me happy birthday," I grudgingly admit.

Fiona whistles. "Must have been some kiss."

Not wanting to dwell on how good of a kisser my not-quite-fiancé is, I dig in my small pink handbag.

I hand the keycard to Fiona. "This will open any of the private rooms. Use it when you need to get away from the crowd."

"Thank you, Rosy." Fiona hugs me tight. "I'm probably going to disappear as soon as the guests start arriving."

"We'll cover for you with dad, don't worry," Kara says. " Mamo will help."

Fiona nods. "She always does. I wish I wasn't like this."

"You are who you are, Fiona, and we love you exactly as you are," Kara says fiercely.

What we all witnessed and experienced eleven years ago affected each of us differently.

I hate mob life and the Italian mafia most of all. Funny, not funny, that I'm marrying into the very syndicate that killed my mom. Kara, who used to be the dare-devil rebel among us turned into a subdued rule follower who willingly married a stranger at eighteen.

The youngest at six, Fiona lost her trust in the world around her. She anticipates trouble all the time. Everywhere .

Therapy might help but Shaughnessy mob princesses don't see psychologists. Or therapists. Or counselors.

We soldier on.

Like my grandfather did eleven years ago when his life was under threat. Did he realize the danger he was putting the rest of us in?

After the shooting, our family never again traveled together to an event.

It happened outside the hotel where the wedding reception had been held. We'd left all together and were heading toward the limos parked in the waiting area.

It happened so fast, my memory is a blur. Loud pops. Red paint spraying everywhere. (Only later did I process that it was my mom's blood.) Mom falling to the steps in front of me. Dad dropping to his knee beside her, his gun out and pointed toward the car already speeding away.

I think he shot at it. I don't know.

My hip hurt. Later, I found out that I'd been struck by a chip of cement from the steps when one of the bullets hit them instead of vulnerable human bodies.

None of the mobsters were hit, but my mom died before the ambulance arrived and Fiona spent two weeks in the hospital. The bullet grazed her temple and knocked her unconscious.

She woke up thirteen days later and gone was the precocious six-year-old who never met a stranger and whose curiosity led her into constant mischief.

She had her first panic attack when they tried to make her go back to school.

"So, he kissed your lip gloss off and you're going to pretend it was nothing?" Kara teases, bringing me back into the present with a thump.

"It was nothing. He's a playboy. We all know that." Courtesy of mamo's intelligence network among the many syndicate wives she counts as friends.

Of course she hadn't got that tidbit from Aria De Luca. Aria is fiercely loyal to her children. But the wife of the Gambino don isn't nearly as charitable toward the De Luca men.

She thinks they're ruthless, cold-blooded killers.

The Gambino dona is not wrong.

But her husband is the same. Only according to her, none of the men in the other Five Families are as brutal as the De Luca's. She says there are rumors that Miceli's cousin murdered his fiancée for the mafia, that all the De Luca men would kill their own wives for the sake of the syndicate.

But if Salvatore was ever engaged, it never went public. And I don't see Severu killing his wife for the sake of anything, or anyone. He'd burn down New York first.

But what about Miceli?

Would he kill for me? Or kill me for expedience?