The Rocchetti Queen - Bree Porter Page 0,68
Their little chests rose and fell in sync. A plush elephant separated them, stopping Dante from rolling onto his cousin.
When Chiara ran into the nursery, I pressed a finger my lips, hushing her.
Seconds later, more di Traglias walked in. Including Nataniele di Traglia, patriarch of the di Traglia family. An old man who had been with the Outfit since he was a young boy and scooped off the Sicilian streets by Don Piero. His family was vital to peace in the Outfit, a fact we all knew.
Alessandro followed, running a hand around my back in comfort. We stood together, staring down the di Traglias.
“The child. Adriano,” my husband said, gesturing to the crib.
Chiara went to rush forward but Nataniele grabbed her arm, gently holding her back. He didn’t spare a glance at the child. “Adriano?” he asked.
“It was the closest I could get to his mother’s name,” I said.
He bowed his head.
Chiara’s eyes watered. “I want Salvatore dead! Our family’s reputation has been destroyed, and now we have bastard!”
“That’s enough, Chiara,” I said softly. “If you’re going to be a problem, you can leave.”
She fell quiet.
To Nataniele, I said, “Your family is a very important part of the Outfit. What Salvatore Jr did is unacceptable and was not an action we support.”
His gaze moved to Alessandro behind me, but my husband nodded in agreement with my statement.
“I have been a part of this organization for a long time. The death of your grandfather broke the Outfit in ways we cannot yet see, but his death also caused old feuds and bargains to disappear,” Nataniele said. “Due to an incident with my son, your grandfather stated that no Rocchetti and di Traglia will marry.”
It had been a punishment due to what happened with the Ossanis. A murderous tale that wasn’t mine to tell. But Don Piero had been clear with his instructions.
“We know this,” Alessandro said gravely.
Nataniele glanced around the room, at the plush giraffe and olive-green walls. He glanced at the changing table and Dante’s tiny little shoes. Even the mobile, with little lions on it, caught his attention.
“My family is a respectable one,” Nataniele said, once he had taken in the nursery. “A strong, proud family. The death of Adelasia and birth of Adriano have damaged us. We are unable to arrange marriages for our daughters and our sons are struggling to be accepted by capos.”
I looked to my son, so young and innocent. “I am sorry your reputation has taken such a hit, Nataniele. It brings us no pleasure.”
“Thank you, Mrs Rocchetti,” he said, ignoring the fact that growing up he used to call me Sophia and I called him Zio Nataniele. “There is only one way to ensure my family is allowed back into the Outfit.”
Alessandro did not dance around any longer, growing bored with the sly words and comments. “My wife told me there are no available girls. Portia, your youngest, has been betrothed to Tommaso’s grandson.”
“We would be willing to forfeit that match,” Nataniele said, not sounding convinced.
“No,” I spoke up, “I will not risk alienating the Palermos.” To Nataniele, I said, “The next girl born into your family will marry my son, joining the two families.”
Nataniele nodded. “I want it publicly stated. Our reputation is in tatters.”
Old promises ran through my brain.
I, Alessandro Giorgio Rocchetti, pledge on my omertà vow to never agree to any of my future children’s marriages without their consent or approval.
I, Sophia Antonia Rocchetti, pledge on my beloved Gucci handbag to never sell my children off like broodmares.
Upstairs, in the corner of my bedroom, was my singed Gucci bag. When Alessandro had found me burning it, he hadn’t reacted. Instead, he had held my hand tightly, languishing in his own broken oath.
We didn’t have any other choice. The di Traglias were too important to the Outfit and their reputation had taken too much of a hit.
I’m sorry, my son, I thought, staring at my baby. Hopefully you will find what your father and I have managed to find in our arranged marriage.
Alessandro snorted. “No. When the child is born, we will announce it.” He stretched out his hand. “When the girl turns eighteen, she will wed my son.”
The other man shook his hand, cementing the agreement. “The next girl born into the di Traglia family will wed your son when she turns eighteen.”
And so, the deal was made.
“And Adriano?” Nataniele asked.
“He belongs to the Rocchettis,” Alessandro said. “He is not any of your concern.”
The old man nodded, looking faintly relieved.