“Never speak of her again, understood?”
“You let Falcone kill your own wife. You should be ashamed.”
“She had long stopped being my wife, and she’d never really been it in the true sense of the word. If Nevio hadn’t killed her, I would have done it and I would have enjoyed every second of it.”
Antonaci let out a cackle. “I hope you’ll enjoy her barren body. No babies for you.”
I was on my feet before he’d finished his sentence and stormed back onto the stage. Nevio was quicker. He sat atop Antonaci and gripped his throat, nose to nose, a wide grin on his face.
I reached his side when Remo threw a knife at the man I’d choked moments before, impaling it in his throat, causing blood to spew out and cover everyone around.
“I could tell he was going to say something to piss me off again,” Remo said with that twisted grin.
Nevio pressed his fingers into Antonaci’s eyes but I shoved him aside. He looked ready to attack me too. “Not his eyes,” I growled. “I want to see his suffering in them.”
Nevio smiled as if for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to kill me. I held out my hand and Maximus tossed me a hammer and a few nails.
“He’s mine, don’t forget,” Nevio said in an eager voice.
“Don’t worry. There’s going to be enough left of him for you to torture.” Once I’d impaled Antonaci’s knees, shins and palms with nails, I swallowed my own rage and stepped back to allow Nevio his turn.
If I’d thought he’d been surprisingly controlled before, I now got why. He’d held back his rage to have it for Antonaci.
When Remo and Nevio were done with the seven men the stage and everyone on it was covered in blood. It dripped down the stage onto the ground below, reached the shoes of the soldiers standing too close.
“The Famiglia and the Camorra stand together from this day on. We’ll be stronger. We won’t tolerate disobedience. You’re either loyal or you’ll die,” I shouted.
Mom watched me take one hard-earned step after the other. I worked even harder now that Amo was in New York. I wanted to make progress so he wasn’t so worried about me anymore. I wanted this to be his Christmas present.
“Do you have a moment?” Mom asked.
I limped over to her with my crutches and sank down beside her. “Is something wrong?”
Mom shook her head quickly and took my hand. “I talked to the doctors who did your surgery and also a few other specialists.”
I frowned. Had she not told me everything? Was there more? What if my injuries were even worse than I thought?
“Don’t look so scared. This is positive. I think it is.” She let out a nervous laugh, and touched my cheek. “When they did the surgery on you, they didn’t have to remove your ovaries.”
I nodded, because I knew that. It was why I didn’t have to suffer through an early menopause.
“That means you can have your own babies.”
“I could, but I can’t carry them.”
Mom nodded, her hold on my hand tightening. “You could use a surrogate.”
I began to shake my head. That would require an amount of trust in a person that was difficult to achieve. The idea that a stranger had my baby inside of her and could possibly hurt it…
“If you trust me, I’d gladly carry a baby or babies for you.”
My lips parted in utter shock. “Mom.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “I talked to the doctors. My age won’t be a problem because we’re not using my old eggs, only my womb and that’s still fine.”
Mom was only forty-one. Chances were high she could still conceive too. “You hated being pregnant.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”