Dumped My Ex, Married the Mafia Don novel · Chapter 31 of 32

Chapter 31: Federal Hill

I didn't say anything for a long time.

The tap over the sink dripped once.

"The chair goes to him," Valerio said. "The one with the cigar. He's wanted it since my father died. He can have it."

"And you?"

"The trucks. The restaurant. The things with receipts." He turned the cup again. "No envelopes. No two in the morning. No basement."

"Valerio, I never asked you for that."

"I know you didn't."

"Then why?"

"Because tomorrow your name goes on a church register next to mine."

His voice was very even.

"And on Monday it goes on a court filing. I won't be the reason anybody reads one of them sideways."

I looked at his hands on the table.

The old white scars across the knuckles of the right one.

"And Tito?" I said.

"He counted to sixteen frogs in a room with a gun in it." He looked up. "He's not going to count any more."

I reached across the long table and took his scarred hand in both of mine.

The way I had the first night, with the gauze and the brown stuff that stings.

"Is the cigar man going to be a problem?"

"He's going to throw me a party," Valerio said. "He's already ordered the cake. From Fiorella."

I laughed so hard I had to put my head down on the table.

The church was on Federal Hill, three blocks from the bakery.

It was Fiorella's church. She'd been baptized there. So had her daughter.

On Saturday morning both sides of it were full.

The aunts on the right, in every color but black.

The Gatti cousins on the left, in black, because they hadn't believed Fiorella when she said this one was for joy.

The barber. The dry cleaner. The bodyguard, in the front row, with his bitten thumb in a fresh bandage for luck.

The capo with the cigar, unlit, in his breast pocket.

The old judge from across my landing offered me his arm at the back of the church.

"I'll be slow," he said. "The cane."

"Good," I said. "I want to see everything."

The organ started.

Fiorella came down the aisle first, in a dark blue dress.

She was holding Tito's hand.

He wore the grey suit and carried the rings on a little cushion in both hands.

He held it the way he'd once carried my diploma back into an elevator.

He didn't run.

Halfway down, he turned around and walked backward so he could watch me come in.

Fiorella let him.

Then it was my turn.

I walked down the aisle in a plain ivory dress I'd bought with my own money.

The retired judge on my arm stopped twice to nod at people.

Valerio was waiting at the altar.

Black suit. White shirt, closed this time, with a tie Tito had picked. Orange.

He watched me the whole way.

The priest was old and kind and very thorough. He didn't read anything like a parking ticket.

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