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V
Isabella
Ploughed snow created a path to the front of the library, where mistletoe and candles had been fashioned into the shape of a path up the stairs. A sign stood beside the front doors: Welcome to Giova “Stop glaring at the sign,” Uncle Angelo murmured into my ear. “It’s mocking me.” A tiny smile twitched at his lips, but he kept his serious expression firmly fastened. “It’s cardboard. It can’t mock you.” The sign’s attitude was forgotten as soon as I stepped into the library. Towering shelves made of mahogany stretched to the ceiling, where the glass roof revealed the soft fall of snowflakes. Round tables spotted the room, making a circle around the dance floor. A lengthy bar ran up the side of the room, decorated with deep pink bouquets and dark greenery. People filled the room, some familiar, some strangers. To my surprise, there were a few children ru Uncle Angelo escorted me into the crowd where I was immediately hounded. Congratulations and compliments were thrown at me like dodge balls, except I couldn’t move out of the way. I had to smile and recall my ma A beautiful woman dressed in a silky sky-blue dress stepped in front of me. Her hair was the color of light ash, pi The smile on her face didn’t match the sadness in her eyes, like she was seconds away from bursting into tears. If I painted her, she would be leaning over a lake, blonde hair acting as a veil as she wept. I had seen her a few times when learning everything I could about the Viglianos. Lucrezia Veneziani, widow of Michele Veneziani and ward of the Montalti family. The police report had said her husband died under suspicious circumstances, but the investigation hadn’t led to any conclusions. “Isabella?” She leaned in to kiss me on both cheeks. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’m Lucrezia.” “It’s lovely to meet you,” I recounted for the hundredth time that night. “We must have di “Lucrezia,” a voice cut in. We both turned to see Vincent Montalti, Giova “It’s all in good fun, Vin,” Lucrezia said affectionately. She sent me another smile, glassy eyes alight with humor. “We’ll talk soon, yes?” “I would like that.” Getting the scoop on Giova Vincent’s eyes followed Lucrezia as she stepped away. There wasn’t a flicker of emotion in his expression, but I knew a forlorn look when I saw one. When he turned back to me, his lips tightened at my knowing smile. “It’s so nice to meet formally, Vin.” Uncle Angelo caught wind of the sudden change to my tone and squeezed my elbow. Vincent didn’t take the bait. “You too, Miss Lombardi. I look forward to bringing our families together.” “As do I.” I still hadn’t seen Giova More Viglianos introduced themselves. The capos came first. Domenico Giordano, Quintus Zetticci, and more. Then the soldati came. I listed all the men in my head in order of power. The women were last. Valeria Giordano, sister to Domenico; Agnese Gorgazzi, sister to Bruno; Zita Montalti, mother to Vincent. And lucky last, Marzia Vigliano. It was clear she didn’t want to meet me, but the na The moment I spotted her I felt like Gatsby when he saw Daisy Buchanan’s daughter, Pammy. I had heard of her, seen photos, but for some reason, it didn’t sink in that she was real. She disrupted the vision I had of destroying the Vigliano famiglia. There was a child, a young child, caught up in the entanglements of my scheme. “Marzia,” her na How many times had my mother hissed the same thing to me as she dragged me to places I didn’t want to go? I had no experience with children, but I offered an “It’s alright.” The comforting words fell from my lips awkwardly. Marzia turned her eyes to me, scrunching up her chubby cheeks. She had been stuffed into a pale pink dress with a bow around the waist and tulle skirt. “Miss Lombardi.” The na “No, I’m not,” argued the little girl. My lips twitched. I crouched down, reaching her eye level. “I like your dress.” Marzia didn’t look impressed. Fair enough, I sounded awkward and practiced. “I don’t like yours.” As soon as she said it, she blushed like she hadn’t meant to. “Marzia!” Her na “It’s okay.” I wasn’t sure what to say to her. I was about to be her stepmother and there wasn’t a single thing I could think to say. “I was going to suggest we swap but I suppose you don’t want to do that.” Her brows furrowed. “I don’t think you’d fit.” “You don’t? That’s a shame! I wish my dress had a ribbon.” Marzia assessed me, her little mind clicking away behind her eyes. When she remained quiet, I rose back to my feet and introduced myself to the na Hopefully I don’t have to be around her too much, I thought as I watched the child disappear into the crowd. The na Uncle Bartolomeo murmured, “She will be the na Oh my God, Uncle Bartolomeo was thinking the same thing as me? Horror spread throughout my chest. If I was agreeing with my conservative uncle who once told me he didn’t want kids because he hated giggling, then I probably wasn’t in the right. “I like her,” I sniped back. “She’s the only honest person here.” His lips pressed together in a Between the greetings, I watched the Lombardis mix with the Viglianos. I felt like I was standing on the knoll of a mountain, peering down at two Viking clans barging towards each other. But instead of spears and shields and battle cries, the two armies went after each other with words and well-placed passive aggressiveness. Soldati were under strict orders to make sure no fights broke out, but even they shared looks amongst themselves that were filled with tension.