Arranged Mafia Marriage

Chapter 22Felicity

22

Felicity

I sit at the kitchen island, idly stirring my coffee as I gaze out the window at the New York skyline. The penthouse is quiet this morning, a nice counterbalance to the chaos of the past few weeks. I’m lost in thought when Kiril’s deep voice breaks the silence.

“Felicity, we need to talk.”

I turn to face him, noting his serious expression. “What’s wrong?”

Kiril runs a hand through his hair, a rare sign of uncertainty from him. “It’s about your father. Santino’s health is deteriorating rapidly, and he’s requested another meeting with you.”

My stomach twists at the mention of Santino. Our last encounter was emotionally charged, and I’m still processing my feelings about him. I understand his actions, but it feels insulting that he gave me money, as if that could heal the wounds his absence inflicted. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that again so soon.”

He moves closer, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I understand your hesitation, but this might be your last chance to speak with him. The doctors tell me he isn’t fighting as hard as he could, and perhaps you could give him a reason to keep pursuing recovery?”

I bite my lip, torn between my lingering anger and the nagging feeling that I might regret not seeing him. “What do you think I should do?”

He gives me a look full of sympathy. “I can’t make this decision for you, but I’ll support you either way.”

I take a deep breath while assessing my options. The silence stretches between us as I consider the implications of both choices. Finally, I nod. “Okay. I’ll see him.”

He gives me a side hug. “I’ll make the arrangements. We’ll leave in an hour.”

As Kiril steps away to make a call, I finish my coffee and head to our bedroom to change. I opt for a simple black dress, appropriate for what feels like a somber occasion. When I return to the living room, Kiril is waiting by the elevator.

“Ready?” he asks, extending his hand.

I take it, drawing strength from him. “As I’ll ever be.”

We descend to the foyer in silence, and I’m dreading the impending meeting. Viktor is waiting with the car, his face impassive. As we slide into the back seat, I turn to Kiril. “What should I expect? Is he much worse than last time?”

Kiril’s jaw tightens. “Santino is still in that private medical facility. He’s weak but lucid. I’ve seen him, and he’s not hooked up to wires. It’s more like he’s lost some of his spirit, but you’re under no obligation to stay if you’re uncomfortable.”

I nod, mulling it over as we drive through the city. I watch the bustling streets, trying to calm my nerves, but I’m not really seeing the details. It’s all a blur as I think about Santino dying. There’s a small pang of regret at the idea, but mostly, I feel numb. That isn’t the natural response, and it makes me sad to feel that way. Kiril’s hand rests on my knee as though he’s reading my thoughts on my face.

The car pulls up to the same unassuming building, and Viktor quickly ushers us inside. I know the way to his room this time, but before we enter, Kiril turns to me as I freeze in the hallway outside Santino’s room, suddenly unable to go in. The news of his worsening condition has me on edge.

He places a hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to do this,” he says softly.

I shake my head. “I do. He’s my father, regardless of our past.”

Kiril nods and exhales softly. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

My eyes widen. “You aren’t coming in?”

He lifts a shoulder. “Santino has requested to speak to you privately, but I’ll come if you need me.”

I hesitate before shaking my head. “I can do this.” And I can ask him to come in if it turns out I can’t. Taking a deep breath, I enter the room. The sight of Santino, frail and bedridden, makes my chest ache. I contrast it with how much better he looked that night at “Samovar,” and it’s clear to see he’s suffered another setback.

He gives a small but genuine smile when I step fully inside. “Felicity, you came.” His voice is hoarse and reedy.

I approach his bedside, hesitant. “I did. How are you feeling?”

He attempts a smile, but it comes out as a grimace. “I’ve been better, but seeing you gives me strength.”

I sit in the chair beside his bed, unsure what to say. He reaches out, hand trembling, and I take it, surprised by my own action.

“I have something to tell you,” he says in a weak whisper. “About Damiano. Heard what he tried to do in Atlantic City… Has to stop…”

My interest piques. “What about him?”

He glances at the door. “Make sure we’re alone.”

I look around, already knowing no one else is with us. “We are. What is it?”

He takes a labored breath. “Damiano has a secret. A weakness.”

“A weakness?” I lean closer, eager to hear more.

Santino nods. “A child. A son, in Naples. With a woman named Isabella.”

The revelation stuns me. “Damiano has a son and abandoned him in Naples?”

“Yes. Tony. He’s five years old. Damiano’s Achilles’ heel.” He frowns. “Not abandoned. He keeps them there for safety.”

My mind races at the news, and my heart feels like it’s going to jump out of my throat. “Does anyone else know?”

Santino shrugs. “Very few. It’s his most guarded secret.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I ask suspiciously.

His grip on my hand tightens. “Because you need to know to protect yourself, to bring Damiano in line, and because I trust you not to hurt my grandson to get my son’s attention.”

The words catch me off guard. I swallow hard, pushing down the emotions threatening to surface.

“There’s more.” He pauses for a sustained breath, and his color marginally improves. “Damiano’s been skimming profits from our legitimate businesses.”

My eyes widen. “Skimming? For what?”

“An offshore account. For the boy and Isabella. I’ve known... turned a blind eye.”

The consequences of that information hit me. “If the others found out...”

Santino nods gravely. “It would turn them against him. Destroy everything he’s built.”

I process this, my mind whirling with possibilities. “Why now? Why tell me all this?”

His gaze is filled with regret and resolve. “Because I can’t let him continue this feud against you, Felicity. I want to make things right. With you, with the family. I want you and Damiano to have a sibling relationship, but he needs to get his head out of his ass to make that possible.”

His words hang in the air between us as I struggle to respond, torn between the years of resentment and the unexpected vulnerability of this moment. “I don’t know what to say.”

He squeezes my hand with a marked lack of strength that leaves my chest aching. “You don’t have to say anything. Just use this information wisely. Protect yourself, and maybe... find it in your heart to forgive an old man’s mistakes.”

I sit in silence, contemplating his words. The door opens, and a nurse enters, signaling the end of our visit.

As I stand to leave, Santino calls out, “Felicity?”

I turn back to him.

“Remember,” he says, his voice weak but urgent. “Family is everything. No matter what.”

I nod, unable to form words, and exit the room. Kiril is waiting, looking poised to jump if there’s any hint I’m in danger. “Are you okay?” he asks.

I shrug, my mind still reeling from the revelations. “I’m not sure, but I have some information we need to discuss.”

Kiril’s expression turns serious. “Let’s talk at the penthouse.”

As we walk away from Santino’s room, I cast one last glance back. The door closes, leaving me with a heart full of jumbled emotions, and a head full of dangerous secrets. Kiril’s hand on my lower back guides me through the lobby and into the waiting car. As soon as the door closes, I lean against him, unsure what to do with my newfound knowledge.

The ride back is tense, but I focus on my breathing and I feel a bit better.

When we arrive, Kiril dismisses Viktor and leads me to his office. He closes the door behind us and turns to face me. “What did Santino tell you?”

“Damiano has a secret family in Naples. A woman named Isabella, and a five-year-old son, Tony,” I blurt, unable to keep it in any longer.

Kiril’s brows form a deep V. “That’s unexpected, and potentially very useful.”

“There’s more. Damiano’s been skimming profits from the legitimate businesses to support them. Santino’s known about it but turned a blind eye.”

His nostrils flare as though he’s smelled something interesting, like blood in the water. “This is going to change everything. If the others found out…”

“It would destroy him. Santino gave me this information to defend myself. To use against Damiano if necessary, but he’s hoping we can find a way to be a family.” My tone betrays my doubts.

Kiril paces the room, clearly working through the possibilities. “We need to verify this information, and if it’s true, we need to act quickly.”

I nod. “What do you suggest?”

He stops pacing and looks at me. “We send a team to Naples. Discreetly observe Isabella and Tony to gather evidence of their connection to Damiano.”

“And then what?” I ask, a knot forming in my stomach as I recall Santino trusts me not to hurt Tony even if I have to use this information to control Damiano.

Kiril’s expression is grim. “We bring them here. Not to harm them, but as leverage.”

I frown. “You want to kidnap a child and his mother?”

“Extract,” he says with a crooked grin that quickly fades. “For their protection as much as ours. If Damiano’s enemies discover them, it would be much worse.”

I understand they’d be in danger if we have to use the information about my brother skimming money. “Okay, but how do we do this without tipping off Damiano?” I ask.

He moves to his desk, pulling out a laptop. “I have contacts in Naples. We’ll start by having them do some reconnaissance. Once we confirm their location and routine, we’ll send in a small team.”

He types rapidly, sending encrypted messages. “Who will you send?”

“Viktor,” says Kiril without hesitation. “He’s the best, and I trust him completely.”

Viktor’s unquestioned loyalty makes him an ideal candidate. “When do we move?”

Kiril looks up from the screen. “As soon as possible. We can’t risk Damiano moving them, or someone else discovering this information before we’re ready to use it.”

“Only if we have to,” I say with a hint of warning.

He frowns but nods. “Of course.”

“What about me?” I ask. “I want to be involved, as usual.”

He studies me for a moment, then nods. “All right. At some point, I might have to go there, or at least leave you to intercept this Isabella. If that happens, you’ll keep me abreast. Monitor communications and coordinate with the team in Naples, but you stay in New York, understood?”

I agree, relieved to be included. “What’s our timeline?”

Kiril turns back to the laptop. “If all goes well, we should have them here within a week.”

My stomach churns with nausea. It could be pregnancy sickness, but it feels more like guilt with a large dose of shame to be resorting to such tactics. Whatever we have to do, I won’t let Tony or his mother be caught in the crossfire of our feud.

The next few days are a hurricane of activity. Kiril’s contacts confirm Isabella and Tony’s location in Naples, sending back photos and detailed reports of their routines. I pour over the information, memorizing every detail. Tony looks like a miniature version of my brother, and it’s strange to realize I’m related to both of them, though I’ve never met my nephew, and Damiano wants no part of a familial connection.

Viktor assembles a small team, handpicked for their discretion and skill. I sit in on their briefings, contributing what I can from my analysis of the intel. My role is small, but I hope I’m contributing something. At least I’m learning.

On the night before the extraction, Kiril and I are in his office, going over the final details. The tension in the room is almost physical.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask, looking up from the maps spread across his desk.

Kiril meets my gaze. “It’s the best move we have. With Isabella and Tony here, we control the game.”

I nod, but nagging doubt persists. “And what happens after we have them? What do we do with a five-year-old boy and his mother?”

Kiril’s expression softens slightly. “We keep them safe and comfortable. They’re not prisoners, Felicity. They’re insurance.”

I think about Tony, innocent and unaware of the turmoil surrounding him. “He’s just a child. He doesn’t deserve to be caught up in all this.”

Kiril moves around the desk, placing his hands on my shoulders. “I know, but this is the world we live in. Sometimes we have to make hard choices to keep what’s ours. If someone else uses them against Damiano, they’ll be in a much more precarious situation. We’re the lesser of the evils.”

I look up at him, seeing his resolution. “I’m not sure doing evil is excusable.”

“It is when it’s for our family, our future. Each other.”

His words comfort me, despite my continued doubts. I sway toward him, drawing strength from his presence. I can’t argue with his reasoning. I’d do just about anything to protect him and our baby, though there are still lines I’ll never cross, like harming a child. My role seems clear suddenly. I need to ensure Tony and Isabella emerge from all this safe if not entirely unscathed.

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s do this.”

The next morning, we gather in Kiril’s office. A secure line connects us to Viktor and his team in Naples, giving us play by play updates on what’s happening. Everyone is frozen in anticipation, our nerves overtaking the room like thick smoke.

Viktor’s voice crackles over the line. “Team in position. Target is leaving for school drop-off.”

I grip the edge of the desk, my mouth dry. My hands are so sweaty that they keep slipping from the wood, but I keep clawing at it, trying to stabilize myself for what’s to come.

Kiril places a reassuring hand on my back. “Proceed,” he commands.

The next few minutes are agonizing as we listen to the team’s coded communications. Finally, Viktor’s voice returns. “Package secure. En route to extraction point.”

Kiril and I exchange a look of relief. Phase one is complete. Now comes the delicate task of bringing Isabella and Tony to New York without alerting Damiano or anyone else.

As the team makes their way to a private airfield, I wonder about the consequences of our actions. We’ve just turned a child’s world upside down, but as I look at Kiril, I remind myself why we’re doing this. For family. For survival. For our future.