Page 81 of The Godfather’s Christmas Twins

They both ignore me.

"Come on, babies. I know it’s hard to get up. Our bodies are still on Vegas time. But we need to get moving or we'll be late." I pull back their blankets, earning twin groans of protest.

In the kitchen, I fumble with the coffee maker, desperate for caffeine. The kids shuffle in, still in their pajamas. I'll need to hustle them through breakfast to leave time for getting dressed.

"Max always cooked breakfast," Dario says, picking at his cereal. I don’t think he’s trying to hurt me, but his words do. Max is a superhero and I’m just plain Mommy.

"Can't we do school at home like before?" Daniella asks.

I force cheerfulness into my voice. "You’re going to see your friends today. And I bet Mrs. Peterson will be so happy to have you back in class."

"But Max?—”

"Max isn't here," I cut in, perhaps too sharply. I soften my tone. "Come on, let's focus on getting ready for a great day."

The distraction works, barely. As I help them dress and pack their backpacks, fighting my own exhaustion, I wonder how long it will take before Vegas, before Max, stops haunting our morning routine.

Finally, we’re out the door and down the front steps. I clutch my children's hands as we navigate the busy Manhattan sidewalks. The morning chill bites through my wool coat, so different from Vegas's milder winter.

"Look, Christmas lights!" Dario points at a neighboring townhome.

"I wonder if Max has lights on his house," Daniella says.

We dodge other parents and children heading to school, weaving through the familiar yet somehow foreign routine. After weeks of homeschooling in Max's quiet compound, the city'senergy feels overwhelming. But this is our life, the one we had before, the one we need to embrace again.

The school building comes into view and a few kids call out to the twins. Dario and Daniella’s faces brighten as they wave.

At the entrance, I kneel down to straighten their scarves and give them each a kiss. "Have a wonderful day, my loves."

"Can we call Max tonight?" Dario asks.

My chest tightens, but I keep my voice steady. "Let's focus on having fun with your friends today, okay?"

I watch them disappear into the building, their dark heads bobbing among their classmates’. The ache in my heart threatens to surface, but I push it away and instead reach for anger. Anger at Max for turning his back on these two beautiful children. How could anyone not want them?

I pull my coat tighter against the December chill as I walk home from dropping off the kids. I have to get back into my own work routine. I mostly work from home, thanks to Nic’s support. I could have not worked at all, living on an allowance provided by Nic, but I wanted to work. So he gave me a job that allowed me to raise my kids and help support us. When the kids started school, I continued to work from home, with occasional trips to the office. And of course, in Vegas, I worked remotely.

Today, I plan to take my time resettling into work. Maybe I’ll even take a midmorning nap. It’s one of the perks of working at home. As long as the work is done, my day is my own.

As I approach the front steps to my townhome, a black sedan pulls up alongside me and parks. A man steps out, blocking my path. Dark suit, clean-cut. I recognize him as one of Nic’s men, but not one who is usually working as a driver.

"Mrs. Cantore? Your brother needs to see you right away." He opens the backseat door.

I take a step back. "Nic didn't mention anything about a meeting this morning."

"It's urgent business. He sent me personally to escort you." He gestures toward the car's open door.

I have no reason not to believe him, except that it’s odd that Nic hasn’t called. “Let me call Nic.”

“He’s in a meeting this morning.” He shifts his weight, moving closer. "Don Nardone was very clear about bringing you in right away."

I can’t explain it, but my instincts are telling me something is off. “I’ll need to get my briefcase.” I move toward the steps thinking once I get inside the house, I can call Nic. "I need it to review the documents Nic wants to discuss."

I take another step back, scanning the crowded street. Plenty of witnesses, but in New York, people tend to mind their own business.

Before I can take another step, the man lunges forward. His grip crushes my arm as he shoves me toward the car. I try to scream, but his other hand clamps over my mouth. The world tilts as he forces me into the backseat.

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be," he growls, then slams the door.