Page 35 of Silent Snowfall

“Yeah, well, he’s not my don,” I muttered.

“Mom? What’s a don?” Mat chimed in.

“Uh…um….”

Oli poked his brother in the ribs. “A boss, dummy.”

“Hey! Don’t call your brother dumb,” I snapped.

“A boss for what?” Mat insisted.

Oli’s stage whisper could be heard three states away. “Crime lords, dummy.”

Nonna reached out and bopped Oliverio’s ear. “Your mother just told you not to use that word. Do I need to wash your mouth with soap?”

I would dearly love to see her try.

“No, ma’am,” Oli said quickly, tone full of contrition.

Huh…that was surprisingly nice.

Thankfully, the boys dropped it.

I, however, wasn’t giving in that easily. I would wait until closer to the party. I would feign illness if necessary. There was no way in hell I was going to a mob party, and I didn’t give two flying fungi if the don was the one who’d invited us.

“We’ll start speaking exclusively in Italian,” my grandmother informed my sons. “That way, you can learn while we refresh your mother’s knowledge.”

I lamely picked up a gallon of milk, hugging the sweaty jug against my chest as condensation smeared across my sweater.

“It’s not that bad,” I mumbled.

“Cara mia, you said the boys would die together and turn on the lights,” Nonna smirked at me. “I’m pretty sure you meant kill each other and explode the house.”

“Yeah, well….” I pouted and promptly changed the subject. “Why would Mr. Ravello invite you anyhow? You’re not doing anything fishy, are you, Nonna? Like working for him?”

Her eyes sparkled. “I’m always doing something fishy. But no, I’m retired from the life.”

Now why did I find that hard to believe?

“Then why?” I hissed under my breath.

Nonna waved me off. “Lucian’s grandmother and I were the best of friends. God rest her soul.”

That was that. I knew instinctively it would take me lying on my death bed to get out of the Ravello Mob dinner. And I also knew that only death would stop my grandmother from being a mobster.

Chapter 12 – Lucian

Walking from Massimo’s Mercato to the Salted Biscoff, I replayed the interaction over in my mind. It seemed to go well. At least Uliva was thrilled. Rosetta looked like a deer caught in the headlights. I’d lingered in the next aisle over and caught her hushed attempt to speak Italian to her grandmother. There were several responsible souls I could charge with looking after the twins, but they’d all been invited to our Christmas party.

Cavolo. I should have considered the fact that Rose wasn’t comfortable leaving her nine-year-olds alone. But I would fix that. There had to be someone I could ask to stay with them.

I dusted the scattered flakes of snow off my shoulders before stepping into the warm interior of the café. Giuseppe looked up from his phone and gave me a subtle nod. Our target was here.

At last.

The fucker was stupid enough to finally risk showing his face. The stalker must have felt safe enough to venture into town in daylight.

Or desperate enough.