glance at the calendar to know what the tally was. I had been keeping score meticulously, even though it was not a number I would ever forget.
334 days since I had last slept through the night.
What a coincidence, I thought, that’s how long I had been married. Even my inner voice was dripping with sarcasm.
Even in sleep, Thaddeo was grating on my nerves. The movement of his chest, the sound of his snores, the way his mouth was parted, with drool sliding down onto the pillow—
We’ve woken up bitchy today, haven’t we? I asked myself as I rubbed my eyes, like that wasn’t how I woke up every morning.
I turned my head, glancing at the clock. Five o’clock in the morning.
I wasn’t falling back asleep—that ship had sailed. Once my mind was awake and moving, settling back down into rest was near impossible, especially with the graphic image of my father’s dead body still visible in my mind’s eye.
I slipped out of bed, not worried about waking up Thaddeo, and began my morning routine.
As usual, Thaddeo’s house was quiet. Most of the Falcones kept to their respective establishments, not spending time at each other’s houses unless it was absolutely necessary. Even family events were celebrated at restaurants and parks, instead of backyards and dining rooms.
It was different from how I had grown up...somehow colder.
My books were stacked up by the back door in the kitchen, leaning against a pot of foxglove–where I had left them. Worn and torn, some covered in dirt and dust. I grabbed the one at the top, barely glancing at the title.
Yesterday’s newspaper was tossed carelessly on the counter. When Thaddeo had finished reading it, I had swiped it from the table, unable to help my curiosity. Usually, the global political platform didn’t interest me—after all, we may live on the same Earth, but we were in two very different worlds.
However, on the front page, the title had read: EITHNE MCDERMOTT, WIFE TO ALLEGED MOBSTER, FOUND MURDERED.
I had never met anyone from the McDermott family, but her death had caught my interest. Who had murdered her? Was it her alleged mobster husband or someone else? Why?
I didn’t know why I had resonated so much with this woman, cared so much about her passing. Perhaps I felt some sort of phantom sisterhood with her, with us both being wives to alleged mobsters. Maybe it was because I often felt surprised every morning when I woke up, slightly relieved, and yet disappointed, that Thaddeo hadn’t killed me in my sleep.
I left the newspaper where it was. I would mull over the image of Eithne McDermott later.
The crisp morning air went straight to my bones as I stepped outside, causing goose bumps to rise up and down my arms.
October had washed over New York, bringing with it beautiful red and orange flora and the Halloween spirit. I didn’t mind the chill, the bite in the air; I always found it cleared my head.
I kept moving into the garden, breathing deeply. Like all things Thaddeo owned, the garden was perfect, with flawlessly shaped flowers, clean pathways and gleaming statues. Despite the obvious care, it was plain, traditional. I didn’t mind—as long as it was quiet.
Out here it was silent, empty of distractions and irritating noises. No heavy breathing, no snoring.
No one but me.
I dug my toes into the wet grass, my eyelids fluttering closed. An icy breeze slid along my skin, the scent of morning dew filling my nose, birds chirping in the distance.
Ever since I was a child, I had been separating myself from people, sounds, stimulants, to gain some peace and quiet—though I used to do it up in trees. In the past year, I had been doing it more and more, especially as my ability to sleep was beginning to deteriorate.
Early morning was my favorite time of the day—when the world was quiet. The sun was rising but the pace of our lives hadn’t started up yet. Everything seemed softer, mellower. No harsh midday sun or oily afternoon burn. Just foggy silence.
A twig snapped.
The sound cut through my revelry.
I twisted my head towards it, eyes open and alert.
Around Thaddeo’s property was a thin band of trees, a small forest of sorts. It offered another form of security—well, it would, if Thaddeo bothered to take full advantage of it. I had suggested cameras or soldati in the branches once or twice, but my husband had laughed the idea off.
I couldn’t make out anything among the shadows of the