Opening the oven, I checked on the roast I was making for our six month anniversary dinner.
Perfect.
I wanted everything to be perfect tonight. Santo had said last night that he wanted us to have a quiet evening in to celebrate six months of being married. As the only son of the second-in-command to the Head of the Body, Santo was in demand since he would one day take his father's position, and whenever we went out, men stopped him, wanting to talk, wanting a bit of his time. Currying future favor, Santo always told me.
"I just want to be with you tomorrow," he said, his eyes dark and intense. "No interruptions, no stares, just the two of us at home together, away from everyone."
I'd met Santo for the first time at my sixteenth birthday party. My father was a couple steps lower in rank than Santo's father, so I'd been surprised to see Santo walk into our house. All of us girls knew Santo by sight and we spent endless hours talking about him, wondering who Dario La Forte would betroth him to. It was a dream we all cherished -- being the beautiful man's wife