Of volume lineage

I stood taller despite my no doubt horrendous hairdo. My hair was slowly drying, causing little strands to flick up around my head. I refused to smooth them down.

“Hi, honey,” said the yoga one, voice light and sugary. “I’m Talina Holloway and this is Frances A

“I’m Isabella Vigliano, Marzia’s stepmother.”

“It’s so lovely to meet you! Marzia is such a sweet girl.”

I smiled tightly. “Well, I better–”

Talina pushed a flyer into my hand. “This is all you need to know about the PTA, hon. We do lots of events to help raise money for the school and to make sure our kids are getting the best we can possibly give them. We have fortnightly meetings so make sure you set aside some time for them–Oh! And our next event is a bake sale. March 29th. Don’t forget!”

“Is this compulsory?” I asked.

Frances finally spoke. “We have a very strong community here at Our Lady of Perpetua. These events help bring parents, teachers, and students together. Don’t you want Marzia to be surrounded by a good community?”

Marzia was already surrounded by a community. Though I’m not sure the adjective good could be used to describe the Vigliano Famiglia.

“And the exorbitant school fees are not good enough?” I inquired.

Talina’s nostrils flared. “The work the PTA does is very important, hon, I can assure you.”

“Community’s very important,” Francis said, voice stiff. “We all want our children to have the best education they possibly can.”

I had gone to a private Catholic school not far from here, so I understood what the PTA was really about. It was cliquey and all about co

Mother had never been a part of the PTA, never giving it a second of her time. I remembered feeling left out when all the other kids had their moms around at the bake sale or Mother’s Day brunch. Did Marzia feel left out as well at these events? I couldn’t picture Giova

Ignoring all the instincts in me that screamed out in protest, I gritted out, “When is the next meeting?”

Both women beamed.

 

My stomach had developed a furious rumble by the time I returned to the Vigliano residence. I found some cereal in the cupboard, ate three bowls, then wandered around the chic hallways. Wives were meant to run the household, care for the children, but I couldn’t do either of those things.

I longed to paint but there was nowhere to do it. Would Giova

After my third wander around the house, I paused outside Giova

Nervousness built up in my chest, but I pushed it down as I slowly turned the doorknob. No armed men jumped out, no pail of water landed on my head. Just cool silence only broken up by the sound of my footsteps.

Giova

I startled when I reached an old photograph of two young boys. Identical from the shade of their hair to the crease of their cheeks. I knew Giova

Pulling my gaze away from the photo, I ventured closer to the desktop. Everything was locked, from the computer to the desk drawers. The only piece of information was a sticky note that read:

- Docks.

- Hem skirt.

- Tuesday, 11 pm.

 

I read over the words, not sure what to make of them. Picturing impassive Giova

Finding information about the Vigliano mob was going to be a lot harder than sneaking into my husband’s study. I needed his trust, his confidence. But how to get it? Mother had believed just being his wife was enough, but it was clear I would need to do a little more than show up to a church in a white dress.

I sent one long look around the room before leaving. It would take time to–

Vincent Montalti stopped when he saw me, eyes narrowed. He was coming down the hallway, coat tucked under his arm.

“Vincent.”

His eyes flickered from me to the study. “Isabella.”

Shit, shit, shit. Day one of spying and I had already been caught.

“I’m looking for Giova

Vincent continued to stare at me, gray eyes cold.

I added, “While I have you, can I get Lucrezia’s number? She promised me a di

A muscle twitched in his cheek. “I’ll let her know.”

“Thank you.” I went to step past him but Vincent’s arm snapped out. His fingers held me like steel. “Let go of me.”

“What were you doing in Giova

“I told you. I was looking for my husband.”

His eyes never left my face. “I don’t trust you, Lombardi.”

A strange near manic laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it. “I don’t trust you either, Montalti. Now, let go of me before I scream this house down.”

Vincent released his iron grip but didn’t step back. He didn’t like me and was Giova

“Vincent, Isabella.” Giova

We both turned to see him stepping into the hallway. His blue eyes darted briefly between Vincent and I, accounting for the space between us. I took a few steps back.

“Vincent, the meeting is starting. Isabella, a word.”

The underboss obeyed his commands but briefly stopped as he passed Giova

“If I told you Vincent and I were having an illicit affair and that’s why we were sneaking around in the hallway, what would you say?” I kept my tone light, joyful, despite the fear that was slowly creeping down my spine.

Giova

A surprise laugh tore from my chest. “Lucky for Vincent–”

“What were you doing in my study?”

New dislike for Vincent welled up in me. “I was looking for you.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to ask if I could use the spare room as a studio. Or maybe have some money so I can rent a space.” When he said nothing, I added, “If you think I’m temperamental and emotional now, wait until I don’t have a creative outlet.”

“There is no need for threats, Isabella.” Giova

“Mine?” My brows furrowed. “To...to sleep in?”

“No.”

Giova