Thirty.

Maria

I don’t dare speak on the car ride back to the penthouse. The Mercedes is filled with boxes and bags from Bergdorf’s, Saks, and Bloomies. My wedding gown sits on my lap in a huge rectangular box that feels heavier than a boulder, dragging me deeper into the depths.

Larissa and Naomi talk nonstop about people I don’t know, and from the sound of it, people I don’t want to know. It’s safer for me to say nothing.

I hope my stupidity doesn’t get Mercy into trouble with Dad. Her opinion of me is right. I don’t know anything about being on my own. I glance over at the two women who are making it seem so easy. Say the right thing. Wear the right clothes.

But it’s not so easy when I do it. And it’s not like I had a crash course on how to live the Mafia life.

Pedestrians cross in front of the car at the red light. One man looks exhausted from his long day. He wipes his forehead on the sleeve of his white shirt as he carries his jacket in his hand. I wonder if he knows how lucky he is to b