Page 85 of Thief of my Heart

Michael’s arms gave my waist another squeeze. “We can talk about that tomorrow,” he said to both of us. “For now… thank you, man. This is too much.”

Matthew shook his head. “It’s exactly right. You’re the man for the job, Mike. You and Lea—you’re what will hold this family together. It’s exactly what he wanted.”

I folded the papers back into the envelope, then stepped forward to wrap my arms around my brother’s neck. “Love you, big brother.”

He squeezed me back and kissed me on the cheek. “Love you too, you pain in the ass.”

He and Michael gave each other an obligatory fist bump that somehow turned into a brief hug before Matthew disappeared back into the crowd, probably to find Sherry. I wasn’t sure if he had told her about his new plans, but I doubted she was happy. As much as I didn’t like the girl, at least I’d have an ally in keeping my brother home.

“Hey.”

Michael’s fingers slid under my chin, tugging me around to face him. “You okay?”

I nodded, then slid my arms around his shoulders. “I’m good. Great, even. It’s just weird. I was thinking about how weddings are so…final. I know the only thing that’s changed is this ring on my finger, but it seemed like something was ending. I can’t figure out how. Or whether I should be happy or sad about it.”

Michael examined me for a long moment, then seemed to come to a conclusion. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” I demanded as he grabbed our coats off a nearby table, then tugged me toward the kitchen entrance instead of the main exit. “People are going to wonder where we’ve gone. They’re going to want to wish us goodbye!”

“They’ll survive,” Michael said as we wound our way around the dishwasher. “But I won’t. And I have something to show you.”

“What’s that?”

“Not an ending. Call it a new beginning.”

* * *

We walked through Belmont, enjoying the familiar sights and sounds of the neighborhood. In the last year, I’d only become more aware of how much the neighborhood could change. Nonno’s death had fallen like one of a long line of dominoes, as several of his old friends had left the neighborhood in the last year, especially after 9/11. New York as a whole was changing in the face of the disaster. In some ways, the city was bonding together like it never had. In others, it was splintering more than over.

Michael turned down Lorillard Place, and we walked up a few more blocks until we were passing the park and the parish school for Our Redeemer on the other side.

“We all went to school there,” I said, pointing across the tennis courts. “I always thought I’d send my kids there one day too. The nuns were actually pretty nice.”

Michael gave me a funny look. “I remember. You told me that over the summer.”

He came to a stop, his expression suddenly solemn. His eyes traveled over my entire body, from the hair I’d curled under the white fascinator borrowed from Nonna to the tea-length white dress Kate had helped me find at one of her favorite vintage shops to the blue heels I’d found at the mall on sale.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “And all mine.”

“Is everything okay?” I asked. “What’s going on?”

Michael took a deep breath and exhaled into the cold night air. “Mattias gave me something else before he died. He gave me some money. Told me he was proud of me and that he wanted me to go make myself a life so I could welcome you into it.”

I blinked away another round of tears. “You never told me that.”

Michael shrugged, that shy, bashful movement that had come to signal when he was uncomfortable with doing something right or noble. “He asked me not to. He wanted it to be my accomplishment, not his.”

Then he turned halfway toward the building. “What do you think?”

The two-story house wasn’t exactly pretty. The blue paint was peeling on the outside, worse on the bay window, where the white trim was completely chipped off the bottom sill. The railing looked like it was about to fall over, and the window on the second floor looked cracked in multiple places.

But it was a house. A real house in the neighborhood where I had grown up.

“Did you buy this?” It was honestly hard to believe, considering he had been homeless a year ago.

Michael shook his head. “Not yet, but I will eventually. I made a deal with the owner—rent to buy. But if the shop keeps doing well, maybe we can get a real mortgage in a few more years. What do you think?”

I stared up at the building, unable to answer. Barely even able to think.