Her answer was the same.
“Are you prepared, as you follow the path of marriage, to love and honor each other for as long as you both shall live?”
It was my desire and perhaps, even longer. The jury was still out on life beyond our earthly bodies, yet at that moment, I didn’t want this restrained to a mere fifty or sixty years.
“Yes,” we replied in unison.
“Are you prepared to accept children lovingly from God and to bring them up according to the law of Christ and his church?”
“Yes.”
And then the time came for the words I’d rehearsed. I remembered my line. After all, the script hadn’t been too complex. I’d confidently uttered my two words when Father Mario asked his question.
“Do you, Oren, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love and protect, to have and to hold, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, from this day forward, until death do you part?”
Something about the last line unexpectedly hit me hard. I didn’t outwardly flinch, but the pistol under my tuxedo jacket, the one that was never far from me even in slumber, was a reminder that death was more of an inevitability than a farfetched unpredictability. Probably every man in the church—save the priest—was armed. It was the way of life and death. Nevertheless, I’d spend my time on this planet assuring that Angelina’s and my time together would be long and fruitful.
After our exchange of the rings, when at last my bride and I turned toward the congregation, we basked in the smiles and applause. There was no doubt that this was an occasion of all occasions. The pride and joy of the Costello family—the princess—was now married. Taking in the adoration, I leaned in and gave my wife another kiss, enjoying the way her cheeks grew pink in front of the crowd.
“I love you,” I whispered, “and I’m going to make you proud.”
Moisture gleamed in her eyes as her smile bloomed. Despite the murmurs of others, I only heard her voice. “You already do, Oren Demetri. I’m proud to be your wife.”
Rose spared no expense as the reception continued beyond the fall of night into the early hours of the next morning. The wine flowed as course after course of food came only to be replaced by more. Guests laughed, sang, and danced. There were toasts to our future and ones by closer family with not-so-veiled threats. They were all said in fun, but what is it they say about truth in jest?
The hall in Brooklyn was large. While the family partied inside, Costello soldiers patrolled the exterior. The gathering within contained not only the Costello family but others from the commission. The invitation to attend was an honor. It would be treated as such. The women weren’t the only ones to plan the festivities. Much time and debate over the guest list occurred within the walls of Carmine’s office.
Inviting the Bonettis was a step in the redemption of past sins as well as a demonstration to the world regarding the strength of the New York commission. The soldiers who’d done the deed nearly a quarter of a century earlier—killing Angelina’s parents—were no longer with us, nor was the Bonetti consigliere who’d ordered the act. Her parents weren’t the only casualties. The war had resulted in more bloodshed than had been seen in decades.
The Omertà was clear: victims and family had the right to avenge wrongs.
What was committed against her parents was wrong.
Now it was done.
Both families survived. All five families survived. The lines were drawn, and over the last twenty-five years a kind of peace and understanding had ensued. Each festivity that united the families validated a future. Not inviting the Bonetti boss or underboss or any of the others from the other three families and their wives could be construed as an insult. Amazing how something as simple as a wedding invitation had such far-reaching implications.
The families of the New York commission needed a united front. Philadelphia, Chicago, Vegas...the outside world was there, watching. The commission was stronger united.
When Rose had proclaimed that Angelina’s wedding would be big—huge—she spoke the truth. This was about her and her family. I was simply the man at her side.
At a little past midnight, hand in hand, my wife and I made our way to the remaining guests to say our goodbyes as they all wished us well.
“Evviva gli sposi!”
“Two weeks?” Carmine asked not for the first time.
We’d discussed the plans for our honeymoon at some length. There were deals in the works in need of overseeing in Brooklyn as well as in the city. I’d played a role. I would again but not during the next two weeks.
Before I could respond, Vincent’s hand came down heavily on my shoulder. “Pop. It’s their honeymoon.” He spoke to me, “Enjoy. Just remember when you’re home, you’ll owe me.”
“It’s my honeymoon,” Angelina repeated playfully, seemingly unaware of how accurate Vincent had been. “He’s all mine for two weeks.”
“And you should enjoy,” Carmine replied with a kiss to his niece’s cheek. “Check in. Let me know you arrive safe. The only foreign country you should visit is Italy.”
“Zio, I’ve been to Italy. This is the tropics.”
His nose scrunched. “Sicily is warm.”
“Zio.” Her head tilted to the side.
Carmine eyed me up and down before turning back to Angelina. “Then it is right that you go to a place you’ve never been with your new husband.”
Her husband.
That was me.
Carmine extended his hand. “Keep her safe.”
“Always.”
Chapter 7
Our first night as husband and wife was spent in the airport awaiting our early morning flight. With cups of coffee as fuel, we sat in vinyl chairs as the crowds gathered. Surrounded, we relished our isolation. I watched for threats yet found none. The light at the end of the tunnel was bright and accepting. We’d made it.
As the sun moved higher, casting pink hues over the skyline, our plane ascended into the clouds, skirting the city as it flew south along the coast to our tropical location.
Though I couldn’t remember ever being so exhausted, I didn’t sleep in the airport or on the plane as Angelina rested with her head upon my shoulder. With her dark hair pulled back to a low ponytail, small wisps of loosened tendrils fell over her peaceful expression. While I fought the urge to clear them away to better see her face, I realized that she too had been under a lot of stress and needed the rest.
It had been too easy to concentrate only on the demands of my schedule, but planning our wedding had been more. And now we were traveling through the sky to have our reward.
I didn’t rest as we flew, knowing if anything happened, she was mine to protect. She, on the other hand, rested comfortably. At the same time, I was invigorated by her slumber. Instead of being worried or scared, she was secure knowing I was with her. That was what I wanted forever.
There was a car waiting, the driver holding a sign with our names. This was the life I wanted to give her, people at her disposal as she enjoyed life’s bounties.
The exclusive resort was everything the travel agent had promised. Our room was not a room, but a luxurious hut secluded in a grove of palm trees overlooking the ocean. The bedroom was large with a whirling fan attached to the thatched roof that circulated the warm air. The infinity pool on our balcony appeared to never end, blending into the crystal blue waters.
As we explored our temporary home, it was my new wife’s reactions that I enjoyed. The surroundings could have been an igloo in the Arctic if it brought the same joy to her expression. Angelina squeezed my hand and whispered her approval as we were given the full tour.
Our days were spent lounging in the sun and shade, and our nights were filled with one another. It was exactly as I’d hoped, falling asleep with her soft, warm body at my side and waking the same way.
We ate fresh fruits that dripped with sweet goodness, as well as other foods that we couldn’t pronounce. Seafood was plentiful, as were the refreshments. As
the sun beat down, we sipped tropical iced drinks in all colors.
The resort offered jeeps and drivers to take us to other areas of the island. We laughed as water fell from over a hundred feet above in a clear, cool fall. The refreshing mountain runoff cooled our sun-warmed skin. We clung to one another, steadying each other, as our bare feet slipped upon the wet, smooth rocky surface.
Time gave us freedom to go where we’d not been able to go—not only with our lovemaking, but with our words. We talked without the restraint of curfews. Our past was behind us with only the future beyond. As sparse, fluffy clouds floated through the cobalt-blue sky, we shared the depths of our dreams and aspirations.
I was a simple man. I longed for the love and devotion of my childhood with the spoils of success. If my goal had been to obtain more than my parents, I could stop now. I was there. However, that wasn’t what I strived to accomplish. I wanted more: for Angelina’s every desire to be granted, for our children to be loved by a family that reached beyond the two of us, and for them to be raised to strive for even more. Satisfaction was a poor excuse for lack of incentive. I’d willingly pay my dues to watch those I loved enjoy what was mine to give. I wanted what my father once told me was not mine to demand, but to receive and to give. I wanted to be respected.
Angelina had dreams, too. She wanted children and a family—to have what was stolen from her and what her aunt and uncle supplied. She also wanted more. To my great surprise, she wanted to work, something that Carmine apparently had discouraged. She didn’t want the money—nor need it. Her desire was to use her degrees. Though she’d studied architecture, it was history that she loved. Her master’s degree was in both. She spoke about dynasties and historical periods. Awe and excitement brought her visions to life in her words. Ancient civilizations and people. She painted colorful, vivid pictures with her descriptions.
Without mentioning it to anyone, before we became engaged, she’d applied for a job at the Met—The Metropolitan Museum of Art—for a part-time position working with recreating historical scenes. The position was to help create and design sets for different displays based on the historical information and the architectural ruins.
Though she’d applied before we were engaged, now that we were married, she knew that she didn’t want to do it forever. Children were in our future, and we weren’t exactly young. However, this was still a dream. Angelina wanted to prove to herself that her studies were valuable.
With her sunglasses on her head, she looked my way. Her lip disappeared behind her teeth as her eyes widened. “I know I should have told you or Uncle Carmine, but I knew what he’d say. I also hoped that after we were married, his opinion wouldn’t matter. Only ours. Things were so hectic before the wedding, and besides, I didn’t expect to get the job.”
“And why would you doubt that you’d be hired?”
She shrugged. “I’ve never worked. Not really. It was a long process. I met on multiple occasions with many different people. The position was dependent upon a grant. Into the process, I was asked to help write the proposal. I’d never done that except in theory. It all took time. The money was finally granted very recently. I only found out last week.”
She’d known for a week.
At first, I was taken aback that she’d known and hadn’t said anything. And just as quickly, I recalled our opportunities for private discussion. There hadn’t been many in the last...months. “And what did you tell them?” I asked.
“I said I was getting married. I hoped they’d hold the position until I returned; if they couldn’t, I understood.”
“So you accepted it? Without talking to me?”
“No. I asked them to hold it. When they said they would—that I’d been instrumental in obtaining the grant—I told them I’d give them my answer when we returned.” She took a deep breath and looked into my eyes. “I told them that I hoped when I was back to New York that we could make it work.”
“You want it?”
“I do.”
“To travel into the city?”
She sighed. “I can’t explain it. Even if we decide it won’t work, I did something—me. Because of my help, the Met secured a grant that will help to build replicas that will educate and inform. I’d like to be an even bigger part, but knowing that I was a part...even a small part...it makes me happy.” With each word, her eyes radiated her desire. Her need to do more for others emanated from her soul.
She was an angel. Of that I was certain.
I shook my head as I cupped her cheek. “Mio angelo, if it makes you happy—whatever it is—I’ll never say no. You worked hard. You deserve this.”
Her squeal of excitement echoed, scaring a flock of birds, sending them scattering from a palm tree. It also dimmed my dread of facing Carmine, telling him that I’d given my okay while suspecting that he wouldn’t approve. He’d worry about her safety traveling into the city. He’d insinuate that I was incapable of providing for her—why else would she work? But for her, I’d stand my ground. This wasn’t about money, and when it came to her safety, it was time for him to realize that it was no longer his concern. It was mine.
“I love you,” she said.
After wrapping me in a hug, we both lay back in the shade of the cabana. Her dark glasses went over her eyes as she relaxed.
I wasn’t quite as tranquil. While the crash of waves filled my ears, many thoughts ran through my brain.
“How would you feel about a driver?” I finally asked.
Time had passed and she appeared near slumber. My angel was lying with her tanned bikini-clad body next to mine. Slowly, at the sound of my question, she lifted her sunglasses and looked my way. “Why? I can take the subway. There’s a stop not far from the Met. I’ve done it many times.”
“Because you’re my wife.”
“And your wife can’t take the subway?”
“I have a friend, Franco.” A smile came to my lips as I tried to lighten the change in mood. “You probably don’t remember him, but he sat beside me in our sophomore English class.”
Angelina was now sitting, her sensual legs crossed in front of her. “I only remember you from that class.”
“He remembers you. He’s worked hard but didn’t stay in school. I’ve known him for a long time, as long as you. He’s worked for Vincent and for some of the others. He’s loyal. I trust him.”
“Was he at the wedding?”
“Not inside.”
She nodded knowingly. “Oren...I...”
“Think about it, mio angelo, for me. Let me have the peace of mind to know that while you’re traveling around the city, you’re safe. If I can’t be with you, then someone I know is.”
“Oren, I don’t want to be kept. I’ve never wanted that.”
“Does a kept woman have a job?” I leaned toward her, pushing her gently back to the soft terrycloth lounge cover. “Does a kept woman show the world her incredible knowledge, skills, and intelligence by writing grant proposals and designing stages from history?” I didn’t let her answer as my lips captured hers and my bare chest pressed against her, flattening her breasts. “This opportunity means so much to you. I can see pictures in your words. I know that your sketches will be magnificent.”
“Oren?”
Finding my way between her now outstretched legs, I held myself over her and continued to pepper her with kisses as my hands began to roam. “Now, tell me, mio angelo, does a kept woman have her husband’s full adoration as she holds his heart in the palm of her hands?”
“I-I...don’t...”
I kissed her again, my kisses moving from her soft pink lips to her exposed neck and collarbone. As her neck stretched and her lips parted, I reiterated, “Not kept, cherished.”
Her breasts heaved behind the small triangles of material as she fought not only her rebuttal but her notions.
“Mio angelo, you are cherished. A driver?”
Our location was secluded, only the two of us surrounded by trees and water. Whenever the waite
r came near, he rang a bell. There’d been no bell. I lowered my kisses to her flat stomach and progressed lower until goose bumps sprung to life in my wake. “Angelina?”
“Oren?”
I moved lower, inch by inch, the taste of saltwater from our recent swim combined with my angel’s sun lotion and her magnificent scent on my lips. “For me?”
“Y-yes.” Her answer was breathy, dripping with desire. “Yes, a driver.”
Chapter 8
Through the window of the plane, the night sky was filled with glittering snowflakes. White blanketed the ground beyond the plowed wet tarmac. We were back in New York.
“It looks cold,” Angelina said.
I simply nodded. The warmth of our honeymoon in paradise was gone. My mind was now filled once again with all the things I needed to do. Our time to spend together was back to the exception more than the rule. However, this would be different; now, we were married.
That should make it better, right?
“Mio angelo, we’ll go back to our home and get warm.”
Her lips curled upward. “I like the sound of that, our home.”
Once we collected our suitcases, we stood out on the sidewalk, our breath puffing out clouds. Angelina rubbed her gloved hands together as I assessed the line of taxis. Hordes of people were ready to make their way to the city. Before I was able to hail a cab, I noticed the black sedan slowly moving through the arrival lanes. It was like the night by the jewelry store. Something in my gut told me it wasn’t my imagination. We were being watched.
My first instinct was to reach for my gun. It was there, where it belonged in my holster. I’d had to keep it in a locker at the airport during our trip. We’d stopped by the locker to retrieve it, before going for our luggage.
I scanned the crowd. The sidewalk was bustling, even this late on a Saturday night. Pulling a gun wasn’t a good idea. Instead, I reached for my wife’s hand and pulled her behind me.
“Oren?”
The car came to a stop at the curb. I held my breath as the driver’s door opened.