Chapter Eighteen

Gianna wrapped tape around her palm once before winding it around each finger. This gave her fingers more support and stability. She made sure to avoid wrapping the tape too tightly so she could still move her hands with ease. Next to her, Caelian also sheathed his hands, preparing them for their upcoming sparring match.

Adrenaline surged through her, causing her to bounce on her feet. She loved mock fighting with Caelian. Loved the rush she got from it. Back when Caelian suggested she learn self-defense, her fear had been the greatest motivator. Nightmares were a nightly occurrence, as was constantly looking over her shoulder even though Pietro Romanelli would never be able to get close again.

They started the dance slow, circling each other around the mat. Caelian moved closer, throwing out a punch or a kick here and there. She countered quickly, punching back and grinning. With each pass they moved closer together and Caelian struck first, trying hard to sweep her feet to bring her down. She beat him back with each and every thrust, going around and around, back and forth. As they moved fluidly around the mat, Gianna began to attack first so that Caelian had to go on the defense. Then their positions traded, putting him on the offense. The more they tried to outmaneuver each other, the more intense their sparring grew until he managed to knock her to the floor. He pulled a rubber knife from the back of his training shorts, but before he could press it to her throat, she kicked his arm, sending the knife flying, and brought her knee up to his groin.

Luckily, he wore a cup.

Caelian grunted and tapped out. Gianna immediately rolled away, panting from the exertion of fighting a six-foot man made of solid muscle. A moment later, he kip-upped to his feet and looked down at her.

"Stretch out and then weight training," he ordered.

She saluted him. "Aye aye, cap'n."

"Brat," he muttered.

He turned and stalked off to lift dumbbells, and she stuck her tongue out while his back was turned. A shrill ring echoed in the gym, causing her to push to her feet to hurry and grab her phone.

"A message came through for you," Seth said, not bothering to say hi.

"Well, good morning to you, too," she quipped. "Message from who?"

"Gunner."

Dread suddenly hit her. Gunner rarely checked in since one slip up could mean his death.

"I'm on my way." She ended the call and turned to Caelian, who stared at her with his hands on his hips. "We need to get to the war room."

He grabbed their equipment and followed her. The gym wasn't attached to the house but located next to it, so it took them a few minutes to make it to Seth's side. When she entered, Seth and Mauro wore solemn expressions. Without saying anything, Seth held out a piece of paper. Gianna took it and skimmed it quickly.

Tommy Reynard killed by father.

She blinked, her heart cracking in two. When Pietro killed Macy, she disappeared from everyone and that included her best friend, for obvious reasons.

"What?"

"He was the butler."

Surely, she misheard. "How did we miss that?"

"He went by Reynolds."

That name she recognized from Gunner's reports. Her best friend, now dead, and for what? Why had he changed his name to work for Pietro? Tears rose up in her eyes. She'd lost everything, and now one more person.

"Why?" she asked, swallowing down the lump in her throat.

"Isn't it obvious?" Caelian laid a hand on her shoulder. "He was trying to figure out what happened to you."

Gianna wiped the wetness from her eyes. "He should've forgotten about me."

"Anyone who meets you could never forget you. He knew what could happen. Knew how deadly Pietro could be. This was his choice."

"Yes, but that doesn't stop my heart from hurting."

"I know," he murmured. "Remember the goal. Bring down the Romanelli house."

****

The next morning, her eyes were puffy from crying through the night. She hadn't slept at all because every time she closed her eyes, she pictured Tommy facing down the barrel of a gun. She knew exactly what had gone through his mind in those last few seconds. It haunted her still. She sat on the balcony eating her breakfast, reading through what Seth had uncovered, looking for any minute information that could be exploited. Pietro had his hands in many different pots, and Seth was following tendrils hoping to narrow down an offshore account or … something. Pietro had to have more skeletons in his closet.

Mauro stepped on the balcony and cleared his throat to capture her attention. "Matteo is here."

She blinked. "You're kidding."

He just raised an eyebrow as if to say I never kid.

"Shit," she muttered. "I don't have my contacts in."

"I'll have him wait in the den. You can sneak up the servants' stairs."

She nodded and wiped her mouth before grabbing the reports and hurrying through to the kitchen. She made her way up the back staircase to her private bathroom. Slipping her contacts in, her turquoise eyes changed into brown. Brushing her teeth, she added lip gloss and took a deep, fortifying breath as she stared at herself.

"You can do this," she pep-talked herself. "He's just a man. A cruel, vicious bastard, but still, just a man."

She turned and left, heading back downstairs. He stood when she entered, followed by Mauro pushing a tea and coffee tray. He set everything up as she greeted Matteo.

"This is a surprise," she said as she sat. He followed suit and sat down on the couch opposite her.

"Thank you for seeing me," he said.

"Of course. You will be my husband, after all. Coffee? Tea?"

"Coffee," he replied.

She glanced at Mauro and gave him a nod, and he poured each of them a cup. Gianna relaxed into the soft cushions of her chair and studied Matteo. He studied her right back, an eyebrow raised. Her treacherous heart pounded with yearning.

"A sad cup of coffee is a depresso."

His brow furrowed. "Excuse me?"

She waved her hand. "Never mind. Just trying to lighten the mood."

Matteo stared at her in confusion for a moment before he took the cup Mauro held out for him. "Thank you."

Mauro inclined his head in acknowledgment. He fixed her own cup of coffee before handing it to her. She smiled and nodded, and then he turned and left them alone.

"About our engagement—"

"I'm not changing my mind," she said, interrupting.

"No, that's not why I'm here. I just, uh, received some disturbing news and thought … well, not sure what I thought. I just wanted to visit with you."

She connected immediately with his words. "I'm sorry."

He pointed to her face. "Looks like you did, as well."

"Yeah. I'm not a pretty crier."

"You're still beautiful."

Gianna flushed, not sure how to take his compliment. Not sure if she should even feel any connection with him.

"I went back to Chicago, as you know. Brought back my best man. His name is Rocco."

She remembered him. "I haven't thought of attendants."

"Figured if we're doing this, might as well do it right. We only get one, don't we?"

His tone gave a hint of bitterness, and a thought struck her. "Do you have someone in your life?"

"No," he replied stiffly, not looking at her. "No one. Not anymore."

She cocked her head, her heart thundered in her ears. Did he no longer love the woman who had replaced her in his life?

"Sounds like a bad breakup."

"No, she … died." He took a deep breath. "I want honesty between us."

Honesty? That was laughable. "About what?"

"I loved a woman once," he replied. "Loved her so much that when she died, my heart and soul went with her. As you know, mafia marriages are for life. I just want everything laid out, so there's no miscommunication. I won't be able to fall in love with you. Not like you should be loved."

Now, Gianna was really confused. He couldn't be talking about her, could he? Not after he was the one who ordered her death.

"I'm sorry you lost her," she said softly. "That must have been traumatic."

He nodded, and then like it never happened, all emotion was wiped from his face. He returned to stone-cold apathy.

"If it makes you feel any better, I lost someone, too," she finally said, testing the waters.

His brows pinched together. "Is that why you agreed to this marriage? Trying to move on?"

She took a deep breath. "Partly. I told you the main reason."

"Inheritance."

"Yes," she replied. "I don't expect to fall in love again either and I understand the reason why you mentioned that. You can't really bounce back from that type of heartache, can you?"

"No. You can't." He took a deep breath and seemed to come to some type of acceptance. "So, we can forge a life together under mutual respect and perhaps our children can fill a void that seems bottomless."

The idea of having children with Matteo filled her with pangs of regret. Once upon a time, she had daydreamed about what their kids would look like. She had thought he'd make a wonderful father, before she found out he was nothing more than a rich criminal. But all thoughts of happy ever after died with Macy Moore. Once she married Matteo, she'd have access to the Romanelli household and offices, able to fulfill the plan she and Orianna had set in motion.

"Would you want to raise them here or in Chicago?"

"As you can guess, my business is in Chicago," he replied. "Once we have kids, however, we can divide our time between there and here. I know Italy has a lot of memories for you."

The idea that she'd be around Pietro gnawed in the back of her mind. "Can I say something without you getting angry?"

"I guess?"

"I don't want your father around any child we have."

He frowned. "May I ask why?"

With that question, she had to navigate a slippery slope. "Because I got a bad vibe from the choose-me-and-not-my-son speech."

Matteo grimaced. "Yeah, that was unexpectedly disturbing. If that's your wish, I will uphold it."

Now, his agreeing did surprise her. "Thank you."

He shrugged. "Wasn't like he was a great father, and I doubt he'd be a decent grandfather."

She tilted her head. His bitter tone surprised her. "Do I sense a touchy subject?"Matteo didn't say anything right away, and she remained silent to either allow him to gather his thoughts or to end the conversation. Then he began to talk.

"As the son of the Romanelli don, my father made sure I learned from the ground up," he said quietly. Carefully. "Solider to capo, to his consigliere. Every step of the way he beat the softness out of me."

She never knew he'd been abused as a child, but it made sense. It made her sad to think of him as a little boy being groomed by his cold, heartless father. It certainly explained a lot, including how he was so quick to push her aside. The knowledge made her sympathize with him in a way she hadn't expected or wanted.

"Maybe our children can be educated in England. Far away from all the bullshit."

Her heart stuttered in surprise at his words. "I didn't think we'd have a choice in that."

"Maybe I am being unrealistic," he muttered. "I just don't want any child of mine to have the heartache I've had."

"Heartache?"

He nodded, not answering, so she prompted him.

"Was it the woman you loved?"

"She, uh, was killed by a rival Famiglia."

He had been talking about her, completely confusing her. If she asked him, would he tell her a name? And if it wasn't her name, how would that make her feel?

"What was her name?" she asked softly.

"Her name was Macy."

Gianna's heart skipped a beat, and her mind went blank. Did he know she was Macy? He didn't look like he knew who she really was. So what the hell was happening? How could he say he loved her if he ordered her death? Then a thought blazed to life.

"You said she was killed by a rival family?"

He nodded, staring her in the eyes. "Yes, that's what I was told."

The truth and sincerity in his dark gaze were undeniable. She had no idea what was happening. Everything she thought she knew was being turned on its head.

"I'm not quite following. You don't know what happened to her?"

He shook his head. "I was shown a picture and told that she was killed as a warning to the Romanelli house."

Maybe she was crazy to fall for his bullshit story, but something urged her to believe him.

"You told me that you were in a war. Was it with them?"

"Yeah. I've done some bad things in my life. Never thought I'd perform genocide, though." He stared her in the eye. "I don't want you to fear me. I'd never hurt you."

"I don't fear you," she said softly. "Fear comes from the unknown, and I think I'm beginning to understand you."

He blinked and his brow furrowed in confusion. He looked at her like he couldn't figure something out.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Um, yes. Sorry. Lost my train of thought for a moment." He cocked his head, studying her. "Fear comes from the unknown. I'll have to remember that."

Never in a million years did Gianna think she could reconnect with Matteo, but if he was truthful, then Pietro Romanelli was more despicable than she thought.

"Would you mind if I came back again?" he asked quietly. "I think it'll help our married life. I-I like this dialogue we have going."

Strangely, she did too. "Yes," she replied.

When he smiled at her, she couldn't help but smile back.