Chapter 3

I hum to myself as I water the plants. Apparently, they like it when I sing, and maybe that’s why most of them aren’t dead yet, or maybe it’s because Mom got me into gardening a few years back and now I’m a crunchy granola girl.

“You’re going to grow big and strong,” I tell the pretty little rubber plant I have growing near the window in the kitchen. “But not too big and strong or else I’ll have to move you.”

My place is too big for me, which is probably why I’ve filled it with so much stuff. I have art all over the walls, paintings by mostly local Chicago artists, some in bright Pop styles and some in wild graffiti swirls. My furniture is colorful and modern, and there’s a profusion of coffee table books thrown all over the place. It’s chaotic and all over, but it’s a reflection of me.

All my siblings hate it. Laura complains it’s too bright but her house is like a crypt. Davide never comes inside because it’s too cramped and I can’t really be mad about that one—he’s got his own demons to deal with.

Sometimes I feel like I’m the odd one out. Where the Bianco boys are all moody and grumpy, and Laura’s practically one toe away from turning into a serial killer, I like to think of myself as if I’m a cloud. Fluffy, floating, and carefree. Mom says I get it from her, but sometimes I wonder.

There’s a knock at the front door then my bell rings. “Come in,” I call out since only people in the inner circle could even get anywhere near my home right now. My family owns this entire block and we closed it off to traffic. Ever since Luciano Santoro’s mafia family attacked us here, there’s been double the normal amount of guards, which was pretty steep already. But it’s our oasis, and we’d fight to keep it safe. Heck, we already did.

“Did you seriously get more plants?” Simon strolls into the room, looking tired and haggard. My oldest brother took over the Don duties right after the big attack and he’s been orchestrating the war ever since.

“Only a few.” I spray a fine mist on the leaves of some English ivy I have growing up a wooden rod. I’ll have to trim that back eventually before it takes over the whole house.

“I’m pretty sure you’re going to overtake Mom as the plant lady.” He stands near my kitchen island, arms crossed over his chest, and I give him a playful squirt from the bottle. He waves the mist away, not looking amused.

“I’m sorry, Don Simon, did you come here to criticize me or is there something I can do for you? How about a glass of wine?”

He grunts, which I know means he’s interested, and I pull out a chilled white.

“I spoke to your future husband earlier today,” he says, not meeting my gaze as I put the glass down in front of him.

I lean back against the counter and take a long sip. “What did he have to say for himself?”

Simon’s still not looking at me as my heart flutters. I can’t tell if I’m having this reaction from thinking about Brody, or if I’m nervous that Simon’s about to give me shit. Maybe a little bit of both, but it should be all the latter. I shouldn’t have anything but negative thoughts for my fiancé, not after his poor showing at the gym. Sure, he’s handsome, but a pretty face, good hands, a muscular chest, solid forearms, ripped abs, toned biceps—none of that makes up for a shitty personality.

“You’re not supposed to talk to him yet,” Simon says, but his tone isn’t angry. That’s good at least.

“It’s a dumb rule. I’m going to spend my life with the guy. Why shouldn’t we get to know each other?” I say it as lightly as I can, but Simon’s still not looking at me. Sometimes I think he’s taking this arranged marriage thing harder than I am.

Except I haven’t given him any trouble about it. He approached with the idea and made it very clear that this would be strictly optional, but as soon as he told me his reasoning and made it clear that a match with the Quinn organization could be extremely beneficial to everyone involved, I knew I was going to say yes. That’s what I always do when it comes to our Famiglia, and I’m not even bitter about it. I love my family, my brothers, my mother, and even my father when he’s not being an enormous asshole, and I’d happily sacrifice everything I am for them. I just wish Simon could look me in the eye while I do it.

“I don’t want to make this harder on you than it needs to be,” he says, taking another long drink of wine. “The idea was to avoid you getting your hopes up or to have them dashed with enough time to change your mind.”

“Lucky for you, Brody’s a good-looking guy, so that’s not a problem.”

“Elena, that’s not what I mean.”

“Isn’t it? You were worried I wouldn’t be attracted to him and try to back out. But believe it or not, I’m not marrying the guy because I want to fuck him.”

He winces. “Can you not?”

“Oh, get over it. You’re the Don of a mafia family. You can hear your sister say the word ‘fuck.’”

“Not in the context of you having sex.” He waves an annoyed hand in the air. “We’re off track. I’m just saying, maybe it was a dumb rule, but it was a well-intentioned dumb rule.”

“And that’s why I’m not mad about it,” I say as gently as I can. “And it’s also why I didn’t listen.”

He grins and finally meets my gaze. “You’ve always been like that, you know? You’re great at following rules so long as you think they’re worth following.”

“It’s my greatest super power, knowing which rules are worth breaking.”

“Tell that to Dad. It used to drive him nuts.”

“That’s because our father believed whatever he said was God’s honest gospel.” Although I don’t know what he thinks these days. After the attack, he’s been much humbler and more like himself. Still in pain from a gunshot wound that never healed right and still struggling to get around without pain drugs, but I think retirement suits him.

Simon finishes his glass of wine and puts it down. “The Quinns have deep ties with the Chicago Police Department, and right now we need all the help we can get keeping the cops off our fucking ass with the way this war’s been going. I just want to tell you again how much I appreciate what you’re doing. I know it isn’t easy, but this match is going to help our family win this war, and it’s going to make us stronger in the long run.”

“You don’t have to keep saying that. I’m not doing anything Davide didn’t already do.”

“True, but that worked out for him. And anyway—” He stops himself and looks down at the island.

“And this is your decision, but Dad’s the one who pushed Davide into his marriage, right? Simon, stop beating yourself up over it, please. I’m at peace with this decision.”

He takes a deep breath and blows it out. My oldest brother is a good man and a very good Don, but he’s new to the full responsibilities and he’s still finding his way. He doesn’t want to be like our father and he still tries to take advice and wants to make everyone happy, but that’s not leadership. Sometimes, when you’re the boss, you’ve just got to piss people off to get shit done.

“If you’re so at peace, how about you stop disobeying my orders?” he says and starts heading toward the door.

When he steps out onto my porch, I follow him but stop as he goes down the stoop. I squint out at the oasis, at our little home in the middle of the city. There’s still construction going on as all the damage done during Santoro’s raid gets patched over, but for the most part, life is returning back to normal.

“You’re doing a good job,” I tell him and he pauses down on the sidewalk.

“I wonder about that.”

“Seriously, nobody could’ve done better. That attack would’ve destroyed anyone else, but you’re holding it all together. You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

He grunts, not looking back at me. “Thanks, Elena.”

I watch him walk away. My smile slowly fades and I bring my wine to my lips. Sometimes I wonder why I can’t let anyone take care of me the way I take care of everyone else, but that’s just not how I work. Simon’s stressed, and so I’ll tell him what he needs to hear so he can handle it better. But when he tries to make me feel like my sacrifices are worthwhile and important, I shut the conversation down.

That’s just how this goes. I’m the one helping my family, not the other way around. I shoulder some of their burdens so they’re not crushed under the weight of the stress constantly hammering them into the sidewalk, and I’m happy to do it. Only I wonder if I’m taking on too much.

“And that’s why I have you lovely ladies,” I say, going back inside to finish watering my plants. “So nobody thinks I’ve lost my fucking mind when they catch me talking to myself.”