Romeo The Mafia Casanova

Eden’s [POV]

NowI remembered nothing about the limo ride back to the house-our house. The one that Tristian purchased right after our wedding.

A gift, he’d said.

For his perfect wife.

I’d kissed him then, purifying my lips with his, expelling the lies of the week before when I took my vows in front of God and Family.

Romeo reached for my hand again, helping me out of the limo. I took it out of necessity, out of fear that I would collapse again, and I refused to let my son see weakness when he needed me to be his strength.

Already the house was crawling with associates, family members, policemen, and politicians; the list was agonizingly long, and I knew by the end of the day I’d be worthless, emotionally and physically exhausted by doing my dutiful job as the accountant’s widow.

“Mama!” The front door flew open as Naz sped toward me, his white shirt untucked from his black trousers. Already, he was barefoot. His pitch-black hair was a tousled mess like he’d been running his hands through it. A habit he’d learned from his dad.

I jerked away from Romeo, dropping his hand, and opened my arms as Naz jumped into them.

“I missed you.” He sniffled. “But Nana said I had to go back.”

“I’m here now.” I kissed the top of his head, willing the tears to stay in. “Give me a few minutes to freshen up, and then we’ll get you a snack. Sound good?”

“They have cakes.” His whisper was almost louder than his regular voice bringing a smile to my face. “Don’t tell Nana, but I licked the frosting off the chocolate one.”

“Scout’s honor.” I grinned and stood.

He reached for my hand and then reached for Romeo’s. “I feel sad, Mama.”

His daddy was gone.

And he’d worshipped him.

Called him his best friend.

My heart couldn’t take it.

My chest felt like it was going to break in half, only to do it on an endless cycle until the day I died.

“Go freshen up. I’ll take care of him.” Romeo grinned down at Naz. “You still like extra sweet sandwiches?”

“Super-duper a million sweet!” Naz flashed his toothy grin as we made it through the front door and into the foyer.

“Go,” Romeo urged.

I couldn’t look at him. If I did, I’d crack. Again. Romeo was everything Tristian wasn’t. And they’d both known it.

Things had shifted that night.

And then after the wedding.

It might have been my wedding day.

But it might as well have been Romeo’s funeral.

“He’s been coloring a lot.” I changed the subject. “If he’s hungry, just get him one of the sandwiches from catering, and his coloring crayons are-”

“Eden,” Romeo interrupted me. “I’ll take care of it, just…” He didn’t have to say it.

It hung in the air between us anyway.

Just fix your makeup.

And clothes.

Put on a brave face.

Not just for my son.

But the family.

For him.

Romeo Sinacore.

Because they could never know-that Tristian hadn’t died an honorable death-but one of a rat.

How could you? My heart screamed.

How?

Betrayal hit me square in the chest as I looked away from Romeo’s perfect jawline and stared into the giant foyer mirror.

“Give me ten minutes,” I whispered to my reflection.

Romeo stared at me through the mirror, his eyes drinking me in with an intensity that was impossible to look away from.

He nodded once and then left as Naz continued chattering on and on about how to make the perfect sandwich. My heels clicked against the marble floor as I walked down the hall, feeling more zombie than human.

I made it into the master bathroom, shut the door behind me, and then moved toward the mirror. I leaned against the porcelain sink; with shaking hands, I quickly turned on the water and splashed some onto my face. My makeup drawer was to the left, Tristian’s drop kit had always been on the right; we’d shared life of perfect harmony for nearly six years.

Unless it was about Romeo.

Our last fight was one I’d never forget. I shivered at the mere thought of it.

His need to prove himself had been his downfall.

Why?

How?

What possessed him to even go down that road, knowing what he knew about the family? He made a choice and sacrificed his family in the process, and for what? Pride?

He’d been the perfect husband.

Father.

And he’d died a betrayer’s death.

Nothing made sense.

Had he been lying this entire time?

Nobody was that good-least of all, an accountant who cooked the family’s books and hosted cookouts every summer for his employees.

Not Tristian.

I was too afraid to ask Romeo for details-but I knew this, I wouldn’t want someone like Romeo after me.This is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

They were dead before he even found them.

So I knew, regardless, Tristian’s death would be avenged because they were sending the Grim fucking Reaper after them.

And he’d send them to Hell.

With a grin on his face.

It ended up taking me longer than ten minutes to fix my makeup and change into another simple black dress.

I held my head high as I made my way out of the en suite and down the hall to where the rest of the reception was being held.

People were in shock.

Talking in low whispers.

What did this mean for The Famiglia?

Had the Russians been behind it?

The Petrov boss, Valerian, had attended the funeral and had seemed devastated at the loss. He was ruthless, but he was loyal to all the Italians, which meant it had to be someone on the inside.

I gave my head a shake; I wasn’t going to solve his murder today, or possibly ever-that was where I relied on Romeo. As much as I loathed him-he was good at his job-too good.

I made my way into the kitchen. Wine bottles lined the granite countertops.

Typical Italians.

Does someone die? We drink.

Someone’s born? We drink.

It’s a Tuesday? We drink.

“Naz?” I rounded the corner and nearly choked on my tongue as Romeo sat at Naz’s little Fisher-Price dinner table, his knees knocking the cheap plastic, red crayon in hand. Naz stuck his tongue out between his lips in concentration as they both colored in silence.

“Uncle Romeo, why do you use red all the time?”

“Oh, I’m sure one day you’ll know…” Romeo smirked and then held it up. “Trade you for the pink?”

Naz stared at the red, then at the pink in his hand. “No deal.”

“I’ll up it by one green.” Romeo dug around the crayon box and pulled out a green.

“I love green!” Naz held out his hand. “Pleeeeeease?”

“Please, what?”

Naz rolled his eyes. “Please, favorite uncle?”

“There it is.” Romeo handed him the green, then took the pink and started adding to whatever masterpiece he was working on.