Page 197 of Vicious Intentions
“Thank you, Paolina,” Anna says, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “We promise we’ll be home before dinner.”
“Nonsense. Stay out as late as you want. Just promise me you’ll enjoy yourselves.” My mother flashes us a beaming smile.
I place a kiss on her cheek before whispering in her ear, “If anyone asks, you don’t know where we are.”
“Don’t worry,figlio mio. Your secret is safe with me,” my mother replies with a mischievous wink, patting my cheek lovingly.
I pull Anna’s trench coat closed before slipping into mine, making sure our pirate costumes stay hidden from the soldiers standing guard at the door. Anna’s wig and eccentric make-up will obviously grab their attention, but they’ll just assume it’s some absurd fashion statement or some new trend Manhattan’s upper crust invented this month.
I know it’s risky not having my men tail us, but I want Anna to feel the way she did back in the Hamptons.
Like anormal, as she puts it.
I offer them a curt nod, placing my hand protectively at the small of my wife’s back and leading her into the elevator. Once the doors close, I let out a breath.
“No one knows what we’re up to, do they?” she asks, worry lacing her voice. “Are you sure it’s safe? What if we bump into one of my brothers on the street? Or Stella? What if…”
“Shh.” I press a finger gently to her lips. “None of that is going to happen. And if it does, we’ll deal with it. Right now, my only concern is putting a smile on your face. That’s all.”
She exhales slowly, forcing herself to relax. She trusts that I wouldn’t take this kind of risk without planning for every possible outcome. And she’s right. Thefamigliamight not know where we are, but that doesn’t mean I left anything to chance.
For the rest of the day, I guide Anna through the city with a quiet sort of pride. First, a gallery where she lingers in front of every painting like she’s trying to memorize each brushstroke. Then a small music hall tucked beneath the glow of neon signs, where I spend more time watching her than the stage. My heart clenching with the way she closes her eyes and lets the music carry her somewhere gentler than this life.
Later, I lead her into a narrow bookstore hidden between crowded storefronts, her fingertips gliding across worn spines as though every story is something precious. In those moments, New York stops feeling like a city I need to conquer. Instead, it becomes something I get to share with her.
I could’ve taken her to the flashy tourist traps the city parades for outsiders, but I wanted her to see my New York first. The hidden corners. The quieter magic.
By the time we leave the underground poetry reading, the sun hangs low over Manhattan, streaking the city in amber and gold. I grab hot dogs from a street cart, and we wander through Central Park hand in hand as dusk slowly settles around us, the last light catching in Anna’s hair beneath her ridiculous pirate hat.
Around us, couples in Halloween costumes drift through the park without a second glance in our direction. Like them, Anna and I become just another faceless pair in the crowd. And that anonymity feels a lot like freedom.
I love New York in the fall, especially Central Park. Leaves in every shade of gold, crimson, and amber blanket the ground, while the sun lingers stubbornly above the skyline, unwilling to say goodbye just yet.
Anna and I settle onto a patch of grass, her head resting in my lap as we soak in the last warmth of the fading light.
We talk about all the places I took her to that day, then about the books she’s read—or tried to read—while I was gone.Eventually, the conversation drifts toward the future. A life after the war. One that isn’t stained by violence and bloodshed.
“Matteo?” she asks, pensively.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“We never had this discussion before…. Not really. But…do you want kids?” she asks, looking up at me.
“Only if my wife wants them.”
“That’s not an answer,” she frowns.
“I’m happy as long as I’m with you. If children come into our lives, then that will just be a bonus.” I smile at her, brushing the black bangs off her forehead, wishing they were her normal golden locks. “Though I would like them to look like their mother.”
“Funny. I was thinking how much I’d like a boy who looks like his dad.” She smiles lovingly at me.
“So is that what you want? For us to have children in the future?”
She mauls her lip and then stares at me with sad eyes.
“I’d like us to have a family…I just don’t know if I could bring children into this…life.”
My heart cracks at the sincerity in her voice. At how badly she wants it, yet still won’t allow herself to reach for it because she’s terrified of what this life would do to our children.
