Page 64 of Silent Snowfall

“Rose!”

I scooted to sit beside her, thanking every saint above that she was tucked in a corner of the room and none of her friends were with her. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Nonna crossed herself.

I fluffed my dress, keenly aware of the mess between my legs as I tucked my legs under me.

“Well, did he tell you who he was?” Nonna asked, canting her head.

“No!” I choked. “I can’t believe I ever went along with this insanity.”

“Well, of course you did.”

I gaped at her. “What do you mean?”

“Who do you think set you two up?” she huffed. “The Shelf Elves were a ruse to introduce you. It was his idea to wear the balaclava. But…did he take it off?”

“No,” I grumped, already knowing it would be useless to badger her into telling me the identity of the masked stranger. “You trust him then?”

Nonna nodded. “I do—”

Her hand whipped out. The suddenness made the chocolate torte tip off the plate and roll away onto the floor. My arm was in hers a second later.

“This is pretty,” she gasped, holding my wrist. “Maria had one just like it.”

Maria Ravello sat next to her father, Dante. The cousin to the don preened as her father waxed on about her marriage to a prominent member of the organization. A spring wedding, and she would be a pretty bride.

She slid her gaze to the don, however, and I couldn’t help but feel sick about it. She was a vulture, preying on the most eligible of mates, no matter how improper it was.

“I’m sure the mafia princess has many pretty things,” I grumped, dragging my eyes away from the barbie doll.

“No, my Maria,” Nonna explained. “Their grandmother.”

I looked at the bracelet. It did feel old. The style was vintage.

Nonna touched the clasp. “It is hers. That’s where she dented it on her fiftieth birthday.”

Cradling my forearm—and ignoring the bright red mark from the garland—I studied the bracelet. If it was a family heirloom, that meant…. “He’s a Ravello.”

Nonna nodded. “He is.”

A stone sank into my stomach. I’d guessed as much, but this confirmed the worst. The man breaking into my grandmother’s house wasn’t just a mafia soldier. He was somehow related to the mafia family. Which meant there was an even greater chance I would lose him.

I tugged my wrist free and crossed my arms over my belly. “Let’s go, please.”

“I think that would be for the best,” she murmured, flicking a glance around. “Don’t want anyone coming over and seeing those hickies on your neck.”

I gasped and slapped a hand over my throat. “Now, Nonna!”

“Don’t yell,” she hissed. “Get up. Help me up. There you go.”

Taking a step, I tripped on a pillow.

“Don’t step in the cake!” Nonna warned in a stage whisper.

Several pairs of eyes swiveled in our direction. Cheeks glowing hot, I dashed from the ballroom, my grandmother right behind me. The air in the hall made me choke. Damn him for breaking the thermostat. It was cute, but at what cost? Making the don’s Christmas guests bake?

Nonna paused near the coat closet, picking through the jackets and furs. I was practically dancing on my toes, ready to brave the cold rather than be caught.