24. Gia

24

GIA

I stare at the Christmas decorations scattered across my living room floor, trying to summon the enthusiasm to deck our halls like I promised the kids. But my heart isn't in it.

We arrived home Friday, and yesterday, we tried to adapt to the time change and jet lag. I’ve determined that it’s easier to fly east to west than west to east. Today, I got us all up at nine, which was sleeping in for us. But it was only six in the morning in Nevada, so it was difficult to rise and shine, even for the kids.

Today is Sunday, and to help keep us busy and, to be honest, distracted from Max, I pulled out our fake tree to decorate for the holidays.

"Can we video call Max to show him our tree when it's done?" Daniella asks, holding up a glittery ornament.

"No, sweetheart." I hang a red ball on a branch. "Max is busy.”

"But he said we could visit anytime," Dario protests, dragging over another box of decorations. "You promised we'd go back for Christmas."

I hadn't promised any such thing, but arguing with a five-year-old's selective memory is pointless. "We’re going to spend Christmas with Uncle Nic and Aunt Bella and the babies. It’s the babies’ first Christmas. Won’t that be fun?"

The twins exchange that look they get when they're not buying what I'm selling. They've been doing it more the last few days, especially when Max comes up in conversation. Which is often.

"I miss his pancakes," Daniella sighs. "And movie nights."

"And the playground," Dario adds.

I focus on untangling a strand of lights, blinking back tears. They'd carved out such an easy routine in Max's home. Now we're back to just the three of us, and while I love our little family fiercely, there's an emptiness I can't shake.

"Mommy, are you sad?" Daniella's small hand touches my cheek.

"No, baby, just frustrated with these lights." I force a smile and kiss her palm. "Why don't you two find the star for the top of the tree while I make us some hot chocolate?"

In the kitchen, I take a moment to get it together. This isn't the first time I've had to rebuild after Max Giraldi turned my world upside down. But it's harder now, knowing our children miss him as much as I do. Knowing he’s rejected not just me, but our children as well.

But a moment is all I take. All I can afford. I put a pot of milk on the stove and focus on the here and now.

Monday morning, I drag myself out of bed at six, my body convinced it's three in the morning. The time difference continues to kick my ass. In Vegas, we'd developed such an easy rhythm, lazy mornings with Max making breakfast while I got the kids ready for our homeschool day.

Now it's a battle to wake them up in what feels like the middle of the night. "Daniella, Dario, time to get up for school," I call out, flipping on their bedroom light. They burrow deeper under their covers.

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's energy 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.

My chest constricts as panic sets in. I reach for the door handle as he moves around the car toward the driver’s side. But the door doesn’t open. I tug and tug the handle, push and push on the door, but the child safety locks must be on.

He gets into the driver’s seat and whips away from the curb, merging into traffic.

This can't be happening. Not after everything with the stalker, not when I thought we were finally safe. Is that why we’re home? Because Max caught Benny?

My mind races to the twins, grateful they're secure at school, even as terror grips me about what this man might want with me.

I fumble in my coat pocket for my phone, fingers trembling as I try to unlock the screen. I need to call Nic.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the man says, his tone deceptively calm. "Unless you want something unfortunate to happen to those beautiful children of yours."

My hand freezes over the keypad. "You stay away from my kids."

"That depends entirely on you, Mrs. Cantore." He holds out his hand. "The phone, please. For their sake."

The threat in his voice is unmistakable. With shaking fingers, I place my phone in his palm, feeling another piece of my security slip away.

He opens the window and tosses the phone out with a cold smile.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

"Ricardo Avila. Your brother and I have some… unfinished business to discuss."

The name is familiar but I can’t place why. “What do you want with me?”

"Your brother has been quite busy since taking over from your father.” Ricardo looks through the rearview mirror, frowns, and then makes a quick right that has me nearly falling over. “He’s dismantled decades of profitable arrangements. It's time someone reminded him how things really work in this business."

"And kidnapping me is supposed to accomplish that?"

"You're just the beginning, Mrs. Cantore." His eyes glitter with malice. "By the time I'm done, Niccolo Nardone will understand exactly how much he has to lose."

My blood turns to ice when I remember where I’ve heard this name. Ricardo, or Ricky Avila, was on Nic’s list of possible stalkers, according to Max.

The texts, the cryptic messages, the feeling of being watched, it was all him.

"You're the one who's been stalking me." My words are a whisper, more to myself than him.

Ricardo's smile widens. "Did you miss me while you were gone?”

"All those months… you were watching me and my children? What kind of sick game are you playing?"

The sick, amused expression evaporates, replaced with a menacing rage. "This isn't a game. Your brother killed my father, took apart everything your father spent generations building. Don Gino was a great man and my father was a loyal soldier, until Nic decided to play king."

"Your father chose the wrong side," I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. "He knew the consequences."

"And now your brother will learn about consequences too." Ricardo sneers. "Starting with his precious baby sister. Then maybe those sweet children of his. What are their names? Mary Anne? Eleanor? Brandon. Old-fashioned names. Not even Italian.”

It’s Marianne, but I don’t correct him. Nor do I mention they’re special names between my brother and Bella during a time when Ricky’s revered Don Gino was trying to kill them.

"You're insane," I breathe. "Nic will hunt you down."

"That's exactly what I'm counting on." Ricardo checks his rearview mirror again. "By the time I'm finished, he'll understand exactly how it feels to watch his family suffer while he's powerless to stop it."

“I’d be careful underestimating my brother. Gino did that, and look what it got him.”

His jaw tics, like he doesn’t like me talking about my father’s failures. "Nic is the one who shouldn’t be underestimating me. When this is all said and done, I’ll be in charge and he’ll be dead.”

"You clearly don't know my brother as well as you think." I meet Ricardo's gaze steadily through the rearview mirror. The fear is still there, but it's being replaced by something stronger. Determination.

“We’ll see. In the meantime, you and I will be spending a lot of time together.” The look he gives this time through the mirror is a leer. It sends a chill through me, but I keep my expression impassive. I refuse to let him see how terrified I am, to give him the satisfaction of feeling his power over me.

The car weaves through Manhattan traffic, each turn taking us further from the busy streets I know. Ricardo drives with a self-satisfied smirk. He thinks he's won already.

My children's faces flash through my mind. If I don’t make it out of this, what will happen to them? Of course, Nic and Bella will take them in. But what about Max? He knows they’re his children. Will he fight for them?

I close my eyes, knowing the answer, knowing the kids will never know the truth about Max. I suppose that’s a good thing. They worship him as their Uncle Max. It would break their hearts to know Max is their father and didn’t want them.

“Don’t you worry, Mrs. Cantore. I don’t plan to kill you.” He must think my closed eyes are a sign of fear. “No, you’re too valuable to kill. When Nic is gone, I know you’ll fetch a pretty penny.”

I turn to look out the window, as if his words don’t affect me. But in truth, they terrify me.