"Happy tears."
"Is that a thing?"
"Yes, Bruno." She laughs through her tears. "That's a thing."
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Antonella
Bruno is going to kill Valentino.
I check my phone again. The text from Valentino arrived three minutes ago.
On our way back. He's already furious. Good luck.
Good luck.
That's all he gives me.
Good luck.
I shove my phone into my pocket and survey the living room one more time. The dark chocolate espresso torte sits on the dining table, forty candles arranged in neat rows across its surface. Streamers hang from the ceiling—Lily's contribution, insisted upon with the kind of determination only a five-year-old can muster. A banner reading "Happy Birthday" stretches across the fireplace mantel.
It looks like a children's party exploded in a mafia compound.
Bruno is going to hate it.
"Stop fidgeting." Oliver appears at my elbow, pressing a glass of sparkling water into my hand. "You're making me nervous."
"I'm not fidgeting."
"You've checked your phone four times in the last minute."
"Valentino texted. They're on their way back."
Oliver winces. "How mad is he?"
"Valentino used the word 'furious.'"
"Ah." Oliver takes a sip of his own drink. "So we're all going to die tonight."
"Don't be dramatic."
"I'm not being dramatic. I'm being realistic. Your husband pointed a gun at my head for hugging you. What do you think he's going to do when he walks in and finds a surprise party?"
I don't have an answer for that.
Across the room, Gianna is helping Lily arrange napkins on the table. My sister has been staying at the compound for the past week because she was bored, and she's settled in better than I expected. She and Lily have become inseparable—two bright spots of energy in a house full of serious men with guns.
"The napkins need to be folded like swans," Lily instructs, demonstrating with intense concentration. "Mommy showed me how."
"Swans?" Gianna looks at the crumpled paper in her hands. "This looks more like a... blob."
"Try again."
Gianna sighs but complies.
I smile despite my nerves.