Chapter 3

GIOVANNI

T here were three places in my house that were forgotten by most. My mother’s room, the greenhouse in the back where she used to garden, and the main floor library. My father refused to go in the first two—or so I thought until recently—and the third I’d only seen him in four times, typically for some kind of meeting.

I, however, spent a lot of time in this room. The rustic interior and mahogany shelves were my refuge from the ghosts that haunted these halls. It was the one place I didn’t smell death.

There was no blood staining the floor, or drowned out screams buried in the walls. Just the sweet smile on my mother’s face while she read The Little Prince to me. This room was where she was still alive. And right now her memory was being sullied by the stench of a cigar.

My father looked up as I walked into the room. “There you are.”

“Here I am.” I gritted my teeth and resisted the urge to rip that cigar out of his hand and burn him with it.

“I don’t like being kept waiting, Giovanni.”

Well, I didn’t like him sitting in that brown leather armchair. That’s where she used to sit.

“What do you want?”

My words may have sounded a bit short. My father’s arched brow told me that. But I hated the way he sat there, with a cigar in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other, as if he owned the place.

He set his glass down on the small table next to his chair and sat forward. “You care to try that again, Giovanni?”

That was his way of telling me to show him some respect. Well, fuck that.

“Did I stutter?” He was just going to give me some more bullshit crap to do for Aldo. Why the hell would I kiss his ass for that?

Needless to say, my father wasn’t impressed with my response. And he wasn’t the only one. Saul, who was standing in the right corner of the room, stepped forward.

“That is no way to talk to your boss.”

“He’s not my boss yet, is he?” I snapped back at him. “I haven’t taken the Omerta .”

Did he forget that little fact, because I didn’t.

“No, I suppose he isn’t, but he is your father.”

“Sure.” I snorted. “You might want to tell him that.”

Saul’s jaw ticked as he rolled his shoulders back. “The fact that you have the same name as that man infuriates me.”

“But I do, Saul.” I could hear his teeth grinding from here. “And no matter how far you stick your nose up my father’s ass, you’ll never be a Mancini.”

“You ungrateful little shit!” Saul stormed forward, and I clenched my fists.

I wanted to hit someone, and since that person couldn’t be my father, Saul was the next best thing. Plus, it wouldn’t be the first time we traded blows. Last week we got into it over Romeo sticking his nose in my business.

Unfortunately, my father intervened before it could get that far.

“Enough!”

One barked out word brought Saul to a stop. He still wanted to hit me, but there was no way he’d go against my father’s wishes.

“Sorry sir.” He apologised, making me roll my eyes. “But no one should talk to you like that. Even if he is your son .”

He emphasised the word son as if it was blasphemous. Can’t say I blamed him. My father had been more of a parent to Saul than he ever had to me.

“I’m sure Giovanni didn’t mean to be disrespectful.” My father swung his gaze my way. “Isn’t that right, son?”

As much as I wanted to tell him off, I bit my tongue and swallowed my pride. “That’s right.” I meant all the disrespect. “It’s been a long day.”

That part was true.

“You’re forgiven.”

How generous of him.

“Now have a seat. I want to talk to you about the Omertà .”

Here it was, the moment I’d been waiting for, when he told me he changed his mind.

“I completed the job.” I pointed out, while walking over to sit in the chair across from him.

A deal was a deal. I held up my end.

“Well…” My father hummed. “Completed is debatable.”

I sighed.

“But you did find an impressive way to handle the situation.”

Did I hear that right? Did my father just pay me a compliment? That couldn’t be right.

My brow rose. “Impressive?”

“That’s what I said.” My father confirmed before waving at Saul to refill his glass.

I stared at my father, trying to figure out what his game was, while Saul walked over to grab a crystal decanter off a table in the left of the room.

“ I impressed you ?” There was no way I heard that right.

“Yes son. You impressed me.”

I was officially stunned.

He held up his glass for Saul to refill and added, “It only took you eighteen years.”

There we go. That was the parent I knew.

“Do you have any other half assed compliments to give me?”

“Don’t want half assed compliments, then don’t do half assed jobs.” My father said.

I did what he wanted me too. Agreed to marry and breed someone I hate, and it still wasn’t enough for him.

“What do you want from me?”

“The same thing I do from all my men.”

Except I wasn’t one of his men. I was his son.

Rolling my eyes, I sighed, “Whatever.”

Saul grumbled in the background, while my father sat back and took a sip of his drink. No one said anything for a few minutes. We all sat there in this tense silence, and the longer it went on, the more I wanted to shove that cigar down my father’s throat.

“Can I go?” I placed my hands on the arms of the chair and prepared to leave.

“You will be swearing your oath while your uncle is in town.”

I stopped with my ass half lifted out of the chair and looked over at him. “I’m still taking the Omertà ?”

“Of course.” My father nodded. “You’re a Mancini.”

Wasn’t expecting that. I didn’t trust it either. “Okay?”

I waited a few seconds for the other shoe to drop, but my father stayed silent. Something didn’t feel right. Maybe it was Aldo’s voice in the back of my head, or knowing that my father wanted him there when I swore my oath to the family, that was fucking with me. All I could hear was his voice.

‘You were supposed to kill the boys.’

Those words played over and over in my head. Notching up my need to kill louder and louder, as my father thrummed his fingers on the table. I needed to get out of here.

“Is that all?”

“Yes.” My father tipped his head in a nod then said, “Oh, there is one more thing.”

Here it comes, I thought as he reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out a small black box.

“Here.” He placed it on the table between us. “I had this resized for you.”

“What is it?” I asked while eyeing the box.

“Your mother’s ring.”

It felt like all the air in the room suddenly got sucked away. Suddenly all I could think about was The Little Prince. Why would he give me that?

“Shouldn’t Romeo get it?”

Heirlooms like that typically went to the oldest child, not the youngest. Especially when they’d been passed down through generations. My great, great, great grandmother wore that ring.

My father shrugged. “Kendall won’t care.”

He wasn’t wrong. She wanted that marriage about as much as Romeo did. Not to mention our mother’s ring wouldn’t mean the same thing to my brother as it did to me. It was just a piece of jewelry to him. To me…

I stared down at the table.

“It’s just a ring, son.”

No it wasn’t. It was so much more than that. That box sat there like a treasure I wanted to covet and push away at the same time. I remembered what that pink teardrop diamond looked like on my mother’s hand. How it sparkled in the light like her eyes when she smiled. The way she used to play with it when she was worried about my father. As if that gold band gave her comfort.

“Is there a problem?”

“No.” I lied.

That ring was a symbol of love for my mother. Did I really want to taint that by giving it to a Ford? I also didn’t want Romeo to have it. If I didn’t take it, that’s exactly what would happen. Yet, I couldn’t make myself reach out and grab it.

“Saul, give us a minute.”

My eyes were stuck. Saul walked out, my father sat forward and I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

“Did I ever tell you how I met your mother?”

“Grandpa arranged your marriage. Mom told me the story.” She always spun it like a fairy tale. Two children were placed in a match by their parents and fell in love.

“Did she also tell you I tried to have her killed before the wedding?”

My eyes snapped up to his. “You did?”

“Oh yes.” He nodded. “I hated her.”

“Why?” Did she do something to him?

“Because my father picked her.”

“That was it?”

“That was it.”

“She didn’t do anything to you?” I clarified.

He shook his head. “No.”

“You tried to have her killed because grandpa picked her out?”

“Yes.” He nodded.

I didn’t think I could hate him more. The bastard didn’t even seem bothered by it. That was my mother he was talking about. The only woman in the world I loved. Why was he even telling me this?

“If this is your attempt at father/son bonding, then you’re failing.” Not to mention he was about twelve years too late.

“We’re more alike than you think, Giovanni. I hated my bride, and you hate yours.”

“We are nothing alike.” My situation was completely different. I didn’t hate Nova because someone else picked her. I hated her because her brother killed mine. My hatred was driven by revenge, not selfishness.

“You haven’t heard the rest of the story.”

Did I need to?

“Let me guess, you changed your mind when you saw her because it was love at first sight.”

“Oh no, I still wanted her dead.”

That might’ve made me a little curious, that didn’t mean I wanted to hear him out. But I also knew he wouldn’t let me leave until I did.

So, I sighed and waved my hand. “Fine. Tell me your story.”

I wanted to groan when my father swallowed down a mouthful of scotch, and settled into his chair. This wasn’t going to be a quick talk.

“I found two men that had no association with the family—I couldn’t have my father finding out—gave them the codes to the backdoor of her hotel and arranged for minimal security. They were to go into her room, shoot her execution style and leave, all within fifteen minutes.”

Sounded like a simple plan.

“They got in the room and had the guns in their hands. Everything was going as planned. Well, almost everything.”

The answer to that was obvious. “You changed your mind at the last minute.”

“No. I still wanted her dead for months after we were married.”

That didn’t make sense. If everything went as planned and they got in the room, then she should be dead. What did he do, hire the dumbest hitmen alive?

“So, what happened?” How did the great Cesare Mancini fail?

“I had the staff schedule for that day planned down to the second, but they took longer than fifteen minutes. One of the guards happened to be walking past her room and heard a commotion. He broke in, shot them, and we were married two weeks later. Things didn’t change until your mother told me what happened that night.”

What did he mean “What happened?”. “Did they rape her?”

I was going to kill him.

“No.” He waved his hand. “They were shot before things went that far.”

Why was he talking so casually about this?

“Do you know why she didn’t tell me what happened to her?”

Because he was an asshole who didn’t deserve her?

“She didn’t want me to feel guilty.” He snickered and shook his head. “Your mother had no idea that I had hired them. She thought they were just two random guys that broke in, and she was worried about my guilt. That’s the moment I fell in love with her.”

Okay, so… “What was the point of your story?”

Did he want me to hate him more?

“My point is, this…” He leaned forward and pushed the box closer to me. “It's just a ring, Giovanni. And your fiancé is just an arrangement. But they both belong to you. And one day they might be something more.”

I snorted. “Nova will never be anything more.”

“Then why is she still alive?”

“I’m not allowed to kill her.” He was the one who decided the parameters of our agreement, or did he forget?

“I wasn’t allowed to kill my fiancé either, but that didn’t stop me. If you really wanted her dead, then she would be dead. So, I’ll ask you again, Giovanni, why is Novalee still alive?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I wanted to once again point out the agreement he made, or that I still had plans for her brother. But honestly, I just didn’t have an answer. For him or me. I should want her dead. I did at one point. Now when I thought about Novalee Ford, I wanted…

“Put me down you giant oaf! I will beat you with my shoe.”

I wanted to pull my hair out.

My father and I both turned to look out in the hall where Nova’s voice was coming from.

“It seems your fiancé is here?”

“I sent Marty to pick her up.” I should’ve told him to drown her.

“Alright bozo you asked for it.”

My father arched a brow at me. “I see you still haven’t gotten her under control.”

“I’m working on it.” Sighing I pinched the bridge of my nose.

We heard a thwack, followed by Nova’s triumphant giggle. Then a sound that made me shoot up to my feet.

Did he just fucking hit her?