Page 236 of Vicious Intentions
A very loud family, at that.
“Matty! Get down from that tree!”
“No, Papa! I want to see my school from up here,” Matty shouts back at his father, using his little arms and legs to climb higher along the branches.
“Papa! I want to climb too,” Lina mutters, tugging at her father’s beard.
“You’re too little,principessa. But one day soon, I’ll teach you how to climb every tree in our estate myself.”
“Promise, Papa?” She pouts.
“Fuck my heart,” I hear him groan under his breath. “I’ll make you any promise you want, sweet girl. Just don’t cry, okay?”
“Okay,” she says, looking pleased as punch before jumping out of his grip and running toward her playhouse.
I let out a chuckle as I continue tapping away at my computer, uploading the new photographs from our trip to Zurich last month onto the cryptic website Enzo and Lucky made for us so our families back in the States could keep up with our latest adventures and shenanigans.
That’s another joy that we get to share with our children.
When Matteo and I were backpacking through Europe, we realized how much we both loved traveling and seeing the world throughnormaleyes. And by normal, I mean civilians. Because that’s what we are now.
Long gone are the days when we feared going anywhere, terrified someone might gun us down or kidnap us. Those fears no longer have room in our world. Now we get to experience the small joys of everyday life like any other couple.
Matteo and I even have jobs now. My husband owns a food truck that he drives into the city during the lunch rush, while I spend my afternoons giving private piano lessons to neighborhood children. We make our own schedules and always make sure one of us is home when Matty and Lina come back from school.
Not that money has ever really been an issue for us.
Every few months, one of our family members just so happens to take a ‘business trip’ that conveniently includes a layover in Amsterdam. Sometimes that layover only lasts a few hours, while other times it turns into a couple of days. Never more than two, though. We can’t have anyone back home growing suspicious. But every time they show up at our doorstep, they always arrive with two duffle bags in tow.
One is filled with gifts for the children.
The other is filled with cash.
I think the last bag Niccolò brought with his wife is still buried somewhere in our barn because Matteo and I genuinely ran out of places to hide the money. It’s not like we can deposit it all into our bank accounts under our false aliases. A piano teacher and a chef depositing over a hundred grand every few weeks would surely raise some alarms. If not with the syndicates, then definitely with the tax man.
Money bags aside, neither of us minds the impromptu visits.
Those stolen weekends with our family have become some of my favorite memories.
That and the summer months we spend at Misha’s compound, knowing we’ll get to see at least half of my family there.
Even my parents have caught the travel bug. Now that neither of my fathers is tied to the Outfit anymore, they’ve traveled the world more times than I can count. Another great excuse to come see their grandbabies at least every few months.
“Papa!” little Lina calls out, my husband still watching Matty like a hawk in case he falls out of the tree.
“Yes, sweetheart?” my husband replies, his eyes never leaving our adventurous son.
“When is Aunt Stella coming to see me?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t you mean when is your aunt coming to seeus, Lina?” I ask, uploading another picture to the website.
“No.” She shakes her head. “I mean me.” She points a little chubby finger at her chest.
At five years old, my Marcelina is already a force to be reckoned with. Everything revolves around her. I blame her father for that. My sister too.
The moment Lina came into the world with red hair like my mother and Stella, it was love at first sight for both of them. If her father isn’t spoiling her rotten, then Aunt Stella is more than happy to do it for him.
I’m just grateful Lina prefers princess castles over sharp blades.
