Page 8 of Explosive Union

“Great,” Dario grouses. “The threats will start soon. Where’s Adel? She’s the only one they seem to listen to.”

“She’s not going to be around much longer,” Vivi snaps. “One of you sort this out. They’re giving me a headache.”

“Nonsense,” Nonna snarls. “Your mamma and I don’t need you to sort us out.” She waves the wooden spoon in her hand threateningly, and I stand off to the side, watching as both Vivi and Dario both stand up taller. “You want me to feed you?”

Vivi nods instantly. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Then get your butt into that kitchen and help your mamma,” Nonna instructs her. Then her gaze sweeps to me. “So, you are marrying the Irish girl?”

I nod. “Seems so,” I reply, not in the least bit excited by my upcoming nuptials.

Nonna glares at me. “One day, Ragazzo, you will become Capo, like your papa, and when you do, you’ll realize just how strong the ties are between the Italians and the Irish.” She raises one of her heavy brows. “Your nonno knew the deal. If he could, he would have married your father off to someone who had strong ties in the world.”

My jaw clenches when she calls me Ragazzo. It’s something she has called me since I was an infant, and she hasn’t stopped since.

“What if she’s ugly?” Dario asks with a grin.

It’s a valid point, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Backing out now is akin to starting a war.

Nonna sighs. “Your papa isn’t stupid, Dario. He is a smart man and extremely vain. Your papa is all about appearances. Sometimes, Bambino, you have to use the brains God gave you.” She shakes her head. “I’d love if you would stay for dinner, Ragazzo,” she says softly.

There’s not a chance in hell I’d ever disappoint Nonna. I may be a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. Never bite the hand that feeds you, and Nonna is by far the best cook I have ever encountered.

“Of course,” I say instantly.

She rewards me with her soft eyes and bright smile. “Eccellente,” she breathes and shuffles back into the kitchen, where she starts arguing with my mom again.

“They’re going to murder each other one of these days,” Elio says with a chuckle.

“They’ve been this way since as long as Natalia and I have been married,” Dad says as he walks out of his office. “This is fun for them. They love to get a rise from each other. The day it stops is the day I get worried.”

Now isn’t that the truth. A house without argument is a scary house to be in.

“Don’t worry about tomorrow, Rocco. It’ll all work out. Trust me,” he says as he squeezes my shoulder before walking into the kitchen, no doubt to find Mom and take her away from Nonna’s incessant arguing.

I do trust my father. More than I trust anyone in this life. But marrying an Irish woman I know nothing about is something I’m going to have to come to terms with.

Tomorrow will bring me the answers I need.

Until then, I will find out everything I can about Jade Gallagher.

CHAPTER3

JADE

Ipush into my bedroom and come to a halt, my chest heaving as sweat trickles down my forehead and falls to my neck. My breathing is coming out in pants as I grip my hips and suck in some much-needed oxygen. I woke up at five after spending the majority of the night tossing and turning. I couldn’t stand being cooped up any longer. I had to get out of this room. The only thing I could do was run, so that’s what I did. I pulled on my sneakers and ran until I couldn’t any longer.

Standing in this room, all I feel is numb. I wasn’t sure what I had expected when I was released from prison and came home. I thought I’d be relieved, that I’d feel like I was back where I belong, but I don’t. I’m currently in limbo. Lost at sea, unable to catch my breath. I’m floating along, drifting from the mainland, and have no sense of direction.

A knock on the bedroom door pulls me from my inner turmoil.

“Come in,” I say without turning around. I’m drawn to these four walls and have been for most of the night. I was stunned when I came into my childhood bedroom and found that nothing had changed since the day I moved out. The yellow walls are too bright for my blackened soul, the pictures placed on the walls and attached to the free-standing mirror are of a smiling young girl I no longer recognize. I look at the knick-knacks on the dresser, and I feel a sense of loss. The girl who went to prison is no longer here. She used to be fun, loving, and happy, but she’s long gone, and in her place is a bitter, angry, broken woman who wants revenge.

The door behind me opens, and I instantly know it’s both my da and Hayden. I heard both men pacing the hall outside my room last night. They’re both worried about me; the long glances, the constant checking to see where I am in a room, not to mention whenever I sit down, one or both flank me. Mam keeps hovering too, asking if I want anything. It’s sweet but so damn annoying. I feel as though they’re waiting for me to crack.

“You doing okay, mo chailín milis?” Da asks, standing close to me.

“Yeah,” I reply, my voice strong. I’ll never show the brokenness I feel inside.