The Last Bell at St. Patrick's

I snapped back to reality and found several family elders in the front rows watching me with complicated expressions.

"Viola."

Old Anthony, a man of considerable standing in the family, tapped his cane against the floor.

"What Damian did today wasn't decent. But as the future Don's wife, and the family's bookkeeper, you have to withstand this kind of test. Bella's father did the Caruso family a great service. Damian can't just ignore her."

He paused, then added:

"You've always been the reasonable one. Don't throw a fit."

I nodded. "You're right, Uncle Anthony. I won't make a scene."

With that, I slipped off Damian's trench coat and handed it to the bodyguard beside me.

Lifting the heavy train of my gown, I walked down from the altar, step by step.

No outburst. No dramatics. In the side hall, I changed out of the wedding dress and back into my usual black tailored suit.

I handled the aftermath of that absurd wedding with grace, smiling as I saw off every guest who'd come to watch the show.

It wasn't until late at night that I got back to the Caruso family estate in Long Island.

The fireplace in the living room was roaring. Damian was already home.

He was pouring a drink. When he saw me, his hand paused.

"Why are you back so late?"

There was a faint note of exasperation in his voice, like he thought I was sulking about the wedding.

"Viola, I'm sorry about today. But someone tampered with Bella's car. She was terrified. I just got her settled into Safehouse Seven in Long Island."

Safehouse Seven.

The "coded fortress" Damian had promised was ours and ours alone.

The highest security level. The passcode was my birthday.

I stared at him. "You put Bella in Safehouse Seven?"

"Yes."

Damian rubbed his brow.

"It's the safest place. She can't handle any more stress right now. Don't go bothering her."

"She's in Safehouse Seven. Then where do I go?"

"We have better rooms here at the estate."

His tone dropped, taking on that familiar lecturing note.

"Viola, the Don's wife shouldn't fixate on one house. You need to learn tolerance. Bella's only staying a few days."

"Mm."

I gave a quiet hum.

That calm "mm" made Damian's brows furrow deeper.

"Why aren't you fighting me?"

He stared at me.

"I thought you'd throw a fit."

"Didn't you always tell me not to make scenes? That this is a test of my grace?"

I looked back at him, calm.

"I'm being sensible now."

The living room fell into a suffocating silence. We just stared at each other.

After a long time, Damian let out a sigh and reached out to touch my hair.

"Don't be like this, Viola. Once this blows over, I'll give you a bigger, grander wedding. I'll make today up to you, double."

Make it up.

So seven years of my youth, and the mockery of all New York, could be made up.

I turned my head and dodged his hand.

Damian's hand froze midair. His face went cold in an instant.

"Viola, don't give me this cold-war attitude."

He lowered his voice.

"I'm tired enough already."

"I'm not giving you a cold war."

I turned and headed upstairs.

"Besides. I'm tired too."

When I got to my room, my phone buzzed.

A message from Bella.

[Viola, thank you for letting me borrow Safehouse Seven. Damian said the passcode was originally your birthday, but he just changed it to mine to put me at ease. Don't blame him. He just cares too much about my safety.]

I read it. My fingers hovered over the input box. In the end, I typed nothing and locked the screen.

If this were before, I'd have called Damian, furious, demanding answers.

But now, I just felt tired.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a business card a guest had slipped me at the wedding.

On it was the silver-stamped emblem of another family. The Gambino family.

I looked at the address and contact info, and my decision was already made.