Page 3 of A Love Most Fatal
“I thought he would at least offer the younger one,” Mary says. “What’s his name again?”
“Ryan,” I groan. James is annoying, but his brother is insufferable, a lecherous prick that I had to suffer through all of high school with. “Ronaldo thought you might be a better match. Fewer demands.”
“I would eat him alive.”
“You should’ve seen his face,” my cousin calls from the base of the stairs, his suit traded for workout clothes. “Completely nuclear.”
Mary holds her water bottle up in a mock cheers. “Do you think he’ll retaliate?” she asks.
“No. Ronaldo’s a moron, but he’s certainly not that brainless,” I say.
“At this rate, you’re going to run out of men to say no to.” Leo says this like it’s funny, but the truth of it strikes a little too close.
There are a few powerful families in this city; The Morellis and the Donovanns secure the top of the list, so it’s reasonable that all other families in our employ want to marry up.
I start on my warmup: a quick mile, some stretching, and drills on the bag, while the other two start sparring on the mat.
I am not opposed to marriage, and in fact, I would like to have somebody by my side who would also share my bed, my stresses, and my pains. This is all very appealing to me. I have my mother and my sisters, Leo, too, and I know I can lean on them, but these relationships are not the same as havinga person.
Ultimately, itislonely at the top. But Mafia men are often cruel; it comes with the territory for us all. Our emotions must be hardened to some extent if we are to follow tradition so stalwartly.Alphaholes, some call them.
There are no shortage of men looking for a bride, but very few that are looking for a partner. I know it’s expected that I marry, and soon, but I can’t risk marrying someone who will undermine my position at every turn when I need him to help me.
I know no men whose egos are strong enough to demure to me in this way.
But there’s no avoiding the topic, because of the slight problem of an heir. Or lack thereof.
One of my sisters would take over if I was to die prematurely, nobody is more prepared than they are, but that is not something I want for them. Mary would do it; she’s got an extreme sense of duty that I adore, but she wouldn’t be happy in charge.
Willa’s kids are an option, but my niece and nephew are two of the most perfect children in the world. The thought of them having to kill or be killed makes me ill.
Adoption is an option, but this then begs the question of how will this baby be raised? Who will be doing the raising? I believe I am the least equipped person to raise a baby, maybe on the planet. Perhaps second only to Mary. Willa has her own children, and my mom is still young, not even sixty yet, but I can’t just expect her to constantly babysit the child I bring into this world.
And a man hiring a full-time nanny is fine, but me trying such a thing might cause mass upheaval.
I increase the pace of my drills, my heart rate climbing as I think about the double standard of it all. Men in this world have very few worries, as far as I’m concerned. There’s the running of things, but that’s just business. A job. They have wives to worry about the running of everything else—their homes, children, social calendars, house staff, gifts, and relationships. I don’t have that luxury.
I pound my fists harder into the hanging punching bag, trying to beat the frustration out of me, like if I hit this bag of sand enough, I will suddenly be calm about the whole life, marriage, and baby situation. I go at this pace until my lungs burn, and a towel hits my face to get my attention. I use it to wipe the sweat from my neck and look at where Mary and Leo have been sparring.
“Your turn,” Mary says.
I spar with Leo for a while, then with Mary, and then we run some drills, two versus one kind of stuff, jiu-jitsu, etc. It’s the routine. Leo’s been training with us since we were kids. His dad was my dad’s only brother, and chief of security, so he was always around.
Our training was intense and vigorous. My father knew we would never be stronger or larger than the men in our circles, and thus, we needed to be better prepared. We needed to be smarter, more agile, and better with weapons—his three littlefighting machines—because we wouldn’t always have a security detail with guns to watch out for us.
We keep up with our exercises like our lives depend on them because they in fact do.
Just as I get Leo into a leg lock, my phone starts to ring. I wait for him to tap out before crawling over to my bag to answer it.
“Hi,” I answer, out of breath.
“Oh, thank God,” my sister says, as if she’s been calling me for hours.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, immediately on edge. Leo and Mary both still as I click the call to speaker.
“I need you to go to Artie’s parent-teacher conference tomorrow,” Willa says. I can’t help the eye roll that mirrors Mary’s before she goes back to work on the speed bag.
“No,” I say.