Chapter 6 Christmas Past

ILARIA

Itold Sal, the love of my life, to remember our first Christmas.

It was the moment I knew that the man I had married because of a mafia arrangement loved me like I had come to love him.

The first Christmas we spent together wasn't the first Christmas we were married though. No, that first Christmas he was away on business for my father. It was the last time I spent the holiday alone with my family and not the De Lucas.

Sal didn't even remember to get me a Christmas gift before he left. Or so I thought. I cried for three days after Christmas. But when he got back, I had the fa?ade of the mafia wife fully back in place and the sentimental present I'd gotten him was tucked in the back of my sweater drawer.

He hadn't forgotten to get me a gift, but had wanted to wait to give it to me until we were together. It wasn't the last time my Sal misread the emotional impact of his actions.

After I opened, not one, but several gifts of lingerie and jewelry from Sal, I gave him the letter from the doctor saying I was pregnant.

Over the moon, he barely noticed the onyx and diamond cufflinks that matched the engraved ring in my sweater drawer.

That, I wasn't ready to give him.

Especially when not a single one of his gifts were personal to me. I wear jewelry as part of my armor, but don't care about it otherwise. And lingerie is about our sex life, not our love life.

At least, that's how I saw it back then.

No way was I giving him a ring engraved with the words, sempre il mio amore.

Always my love.

I'd fallen in love with my husband, the one thing my mother said I should never do. But Sal wasn't and still isn't anything like my father. My heart was safe in his hands, even if I didn't believe it that first Christmas without him.

Neither of us had used the L-word in those first six months of marriage, but I'd believed we both felt it. Then I was sure that he didn't.

I didn't learn how wrong until the following Christmas.

33 Years Ago

"So when can we expect a grandchild?" My father's voice carries across the Christmas dinner table and my stomach tightens to the point of pain.

"Yes, isn't it time you got pregnant again?" my mother asks.

As if the end of my last pregnancy was some kind blip on the calendar and not the devastating reality and traumatic event that it was.

Don Matteo looks at me. "How are you doing?"

That he shows more concern for my wellbeing than either of my parents is not lost on me.

I don't know how to answer. I'm eight weeks pregnant and scared, but that's not something I'm announcing right here, right now.

I haven't even told Sal yet. We didn't plan this. We were going to wait. And I'm not about to tell him the news or share my fears in front of our entire family.

It's been a very difficult year. After we lost our first baby late in my second trimester, I nearly died. The doctor was very clear that any future pregnancy I have would be high risk.

Sal was extremely attentive the three weeks I was in the hospital. When I came home, he spoiled me rotten and was so very careful with me.

I had to seduce him the first time we made love. That's not usually the way things go between us. But we both enjoyed it and I've taken the initiative several times since. Not that Sal let me stay in charge for long.

That's the way we both like it.

But that first time bore fruit even though he used condoms and has every time since.

Sal's mother smiles understandingly. "There's no rush. You're still very young."

"Nonsense. She's had plenty of time to recover from what happened in the fall," my father dismisses. "Look at Aria, she's already given Enzo two heirs."

Don Matteo frowns and my paragon of a sister-in-law makes a sound of distress. She has no idea about the jealousy that plagues me at how easily she fulfilled her purpose of giving heirs to the family.

Enzo shares a measured look with his brother before giving Sal a barely perceptible nod.

Sal's hand settles on my thigh. It's such an uncommon public display of affection I have to stifle a gasp of shock.

"You'll get a grandchild after we find an acceptable surrogate." My husband's announcement sends a shockwave around the table that rolls right through me.

I whip my head to the side so I can see his face. His jaw like granite, Sal is staring my father down. Papà's shock palpable, his mouth is agape, but no sound comes out of it.

"But you can't." My mother is never lost for words. "The contract stipulates a child with both DeLuca and Benetti blood."

"Invitro fertilization allows your daughter's ovum fertilized with my sperm to be inserted into a surrogate's uterus," Sal explains, his tone as clinical as his words.

But there's nothing clinical about my reaction.

Sal wants to use IVF to protect me even though he had to know our families wouldn't be happy about it.

"It's perfectly safe. There have been thousands of IVF babies born since the first one in 1982," Enzo states firmly.

"No grandchild of mine is going to be born out of a test tube." Papà slams his hand down on the table for emphasis making the China and cutlery rattle.

Sal doesn't so much as blink in the face of my father's fury. "Our baby will be born just like any other one."

Papà surges to his feet. "This is a breach of our contract. Don't expect to take over for me if you try to fob some other woman's baby off on us."

"I've harvested my sperm already and had a vasectomy," Sal says calmly. "IVF is the only way you'll be getting a grandchild out of your daughter and me."

"You son-of-a-bitch," my father roars. "I'll get her an annulment and marry her to a real man."

"Over my dead body." Sal's hand moves from my thigh and slides toward the gun he wears under his suit jacket.

Absolutely reeling from my husband's last claim, I blurt out, "I'm already pregnant."

Sal's body jerks like I delivered a blow. Does he think I've cheated on him?

"We knew it was possible, that's why you got snipped," Enzo says to his brother, proving the next Don of the Genovese was aware of Sal's plans.

"When?" I ask. "When did you get…"

Sal doesn't look away from my father. "Six weeks ago when you thought I was out of town on business. I got the all clear a couple of days ago. I was going to surprise you tonight."

His implication has to be obvious to everyone at the table. Sal planned to have sex without condoms.

"That is not appropriate conversation for the Christmas dinner table." My mother-in-law's tone brooks no argument.

"That's alright then." My father sits down, like he hadn't just threatened to tear my marriage apart and give me to someone else like I'm nothing more than an interchangeable piece on his chessboard.

Again.

But all I'm thinking about is my husband getting a vasectomy to protect me from the risks another pregnancy would bring. That's just not something mafia men do.

I've never heard of a single one getting "the snip" as Enzo said.

"You'll have to get the vasectomy reversed, of course. One child is not enough to guarantee a successor for the capoship," my father says complacently. "Your concern for Ilaria's health is laudable, but you'll see. She'll handle this pregnancy just fine."

Another hand hits the table hard enough to make the China clink. But it's not Sal's.

"Enough!" Don Matteo roars. "If you attempt to meddle in my son's marriage again, or threaten to steal his wife from him, I'll make your wife a widow and piss on your grave."

Don Matteo was the money man before he became a leader in the Five Families, but you couldn't tell that by me. He's as scary as the old Don of the Genovese ever was.

"Are those new earrings a Christmas gift?" my mother asks my mother-in-law in a clear attempt to change the subject.

But Don Matteo keeps his gaze locked on my father until papà dips his head in obedience.

The Present

That first Christmas together I learned my husband loved me, though Sal didn't say the words until years later.

In so many ways, he is a product of his time, but in the important ones, he has gone his own way.

Maybe that's something I needed to remember.