28. Cristiano

C ristiano

I jerk into her soft body, pumping so much of myself into her I feel dizzy. My lips are pressed to her cheek. Slowly, she frees her knuckles from between her teeth and then sobs. It's only a hiccup, but it draws my heart up my throat.

I put my palms to her face and lick a tear from her cheek. "Are you okay?" I whisper.

She pins her lips together and nods, then I let her bury her face in my neck.

I gently lower her feet to the ground and hold her steady as she lets it all out. "Shh, Trilby. I've got you." I hold her close and match my breaths to hers.

A few seconds after her sobs subside, she lifts her head, and I almost drown in her damp lashes. She licks her lips and peers up at me.

"That was incredible," she says in a gentle voice.

" You are incredible," I say, dropping a kiss on her nose. There's more I want to say. So much more. But it would be meaningless, because I have to leave. Not just because I have business to get back to, or because I feel indebted to a brother who only begrudgingly saved my life, but because I now worry what he might do to his new wife if he gets even a hint that I want her for myself.

I drop my gaze to her thighs and see the streaks of red mixed with my cum sliding down the length of her legs. Without a second thought, I rip off my shirt and get to my knees.

She gasps in shock and sobs behind a clamped hand.

I clean her up with single-minded focus, using my fresh white shirt to mop up every drop of blood until she's perfectly clean, then I press kisses to the flesh between her legs, silently thanking her for trusting me to be the first one to go there.

A shard of grief rips through me when I remember I won't be her last or her only, and I stagger to my feet, shoving the soiled shirt into my back pocket. When I lift my gaze, hers is on the gun tucked into my waistband.

"I'm not going to stay for the wedding," I say. My chest tightens until I can barely breathe.

She looks back at me thoughtfully, then she nods. "I'm glad it was you," she whispers.

I drop a kiss on her lips. "So am I. But I don't deserve it."

She smiles sadly and shrugs. "It was always yours."

I inhale deeply and pull a pen out of my pocket. "May I?"

She gazes back at me confused, but she nods anyway.

I push the neckline of her dress to one side and write out my cell number on her right breast, where it will be hidden from everyone but her. "If you need anything—anything at all —you call me." My voice cracks. "Do you understand?"

She swallows loudly. "Yes."

I place my hands on her shoulders and dip my head so she can't avoid the seriousness of my stare. "Your safety is the most important thing in the world to me."

Her bottom lip quivers.

"If you ever feel like you're in jeopardy, don't waste a second, all right? You call me."

She nods again, and I pull her close one last time.

"What about your shirt?" she asks eventually.

"I have a clean one in the car. Don't you worry about me. Just get back to the dinner. Say you got lost in the maze out back—it isn't unheard of."

She's about to pull away when I press my cheek to her ear. "I ..."

For some reason the words won't trip off my tongue. I fucking love her. But I can't tell her. It wouldn't be fair to either of us. So I drop my voice to a low moan.

"I will never forget this."

Her eyes catch mine before she turns away. "Neither will I."

I feel Savero's eyes on me as I walk back to the table. Trilby is already back in her seat and talking animatedly with her sister. I made sure to leave it a good ten minutes before I returned, but Savero still eyes me with suspicion.

He turns his face from the table as I approach. "Anything I need to know about?" His voice is quiet, but his tone is severe.

"Just a work call. Things are getting heated though. I should probably head back sooner than planned."

His gaze is pointed when he looks up at me. "So what's keeping you?"

I blink. "Nothing."

His glare doesn't falter. It's as though I'm looking back at a plastic figurine. Something in his manner has darkened since Father died, and it reminds me of the child he used to be. He can sense there's something I'm not telling him.

"My bags are all packed. If I leave tomorrow afternoon, I can be back at my desk first thing Monday."

He arches a brow.

I rest a hand on his shoulder, and his gaze tracks it like it's a foreign object. "You know where I am if you need me," I say, now suspecting I'm the last person he'd contact if he needed anything.

His gaze pans back to mine, and there's a calculating look in his eyes. "Drop in before you go. I'd like to say goodbye without all this around." He flicks his hand in the general direction of the table.

"Sure." I nod. "I'll come by on my way out of town."

He watches me carefully as I say goodbye to the two capos seated either side of him. As much as I want to, I don't let my gaze flicker to the girls across the table. I leave the terrace without looking back once.

I walk around the outer edge of the house, not wanting to be reminded of where I was just thirty minutes ago, with Trilby Castellano riding my lap. It's taking all my energy just to leave her behind. It feels wrong. All of it. I know all the reasons why, but there's something else too. A feeling I just can't put my finger on.

I slam into a small figure, knocking them back into the side of the house.

"What the f—" I recognize the man. It's J. W. Ranch, Father's head gardener. I'm amazed he's still alive—he must be about ninety years old.

"Mr. Di Santo, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to get in your way. I?—"

"Nonsense, Ranch. That was my fault. I wasn't looking where I was going." I reach out to guide him back onto the path. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"No, no, sir. I'm fine."

His skin is weathered and his limbs all bone and hardly any flesh, but his manner is still spritely, and I bet his mind is as sharp as a spear.

"Ranch, I've been meaning to ask ..."

He looks up at me eagerly. "Yes, sir?"

"There's a plant at the front of the house. I've never seen anything like it before. Mama always wanted yellow flowers, but these have dark red stalks. I've been wondering what it is."

A shadow falls across his face. "I know exactly which plant you mean." He starts walking toward the front, and I follow.

He stops by the terracotta pot where the eerie-looking berries sprout out of the blood-red stalks.

"They look like eyes," I say.

"Yes, they call this ‘doll's eyes.'" I notice he doesn't bend down to lovingly stroke the fruits like I've seen him do with most other plants and flowers.

"I can see why. Who put it here?"

"Truthfully, sir ..." He shrugs apologetically. "I don't know. It appeared here one morning about six months ago. The late Mr. Di Santo knew nothing of it, but I'm afraid he was too preoccupied with business to give it much thought."

"Let's get rid of it," I say, knowing Mama would be turning in her grave at its sheer creepiness.

"I did try, sir." Ranch looks at the floor, and it draws my brows together. "Mr. Savero Di Santo told me not to bother with such small matters. He wanted me to dig out a new pond, you see. Over there."

I follow where his finger is pointing, and sure enough, there's a new pond in the middle of one of the lawns.

"I'm sure Mr. Di Santo will want it removed when he has children though." Ranch says this casually, as if my chest didn't just harden like drying concrete.

"Why?"

"This is one of the most dangerous plants in North America, sir. It's said that the berries taste real sweet, but they're deadly."

I force back a shudder and repeat my instruction.

"Get rid of it, Ranch. And make it a priority."

He nods and backs away. "Yes, sir."

Instead of heading straight back to my apartment, I drive around the coast and head north. There's someone I want to see before I leave this place behind.

I pull up to an entrance and peer into the camera. Within seconds the gates swing open, and I drive past the security guards, eventually parking up outside a redbrick house.

The front door opens, and a thick-built man with graying hair and errant eyebrows opens his arms.

"Cristiano, my boy. I thought you were never coming."

I grin as I approach and let him clasp my face, planting three kisses on my cheeks.

" Zio ," I say, smiling. "It's good to see you."

Augie Zanotti isn't really my uncle, but he's as good as family.

"You too, my boy. How long are you home for?"

I follow him into the house. "I'm leaving today. I just wanted to pay my respects before I go."

He turns to me with a frown. "You're not staying?"

"No. That was never the plan, Zio . Savero has everything under control, and I have businesses to get back to."

He stops mid-stride and pins me with a serious look. "You think Savero has everything under control?"

I shrug. "Yes. Why?"

Augie's eyes narrow. "Who's his underboss?"

"Nicolò. He's a good capo."

"Not good enough."

I'm surprised at the roughness of his tone.

"What about you?" I ask. "We haven't seen you around since Father died."

"No ..." He turns and continues walking, and I follow him into the living room. He waves a finger at a servant before we both sit. "Your father and I agreed I would continue as underboss, but only if ..."

His pause makes me look up.

"Only if what?"

"If you were to succeed him as don."

I blink, confused. "That would never happen. I'm the second son—that was never my destiny."

Augie closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "It would have been, if Gianni had moved faster."

"I'm not following."

Augie sighs and lifts his gaze. He looks suddenly tired. "Your father wanted you to succeed him, Cristiano, not your brother."

My head thumps as if it's in a vise. "What? Why?"

"He didn't think Savero was ready to lead."

I shake my head slowly. "He's far more ready to lead than I am. I'm not involved in the family anymore. And Father permitted that."

"And he regretted that decision till the day he died."

I swallow. "He didn't say any of this to me. How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Augie stands, and his arms flop by his sides. "He wanted to show Savero the respect of having this conversation with the two of you, but it wasn't easy getting you both together. Why would I lie about this, Cristiano? Why would I lie to you? You're like a son to me."

I frown. "And Savero isn't?"

Augie rolls his eyes and then settles them back on me. "You know as well as I do that Savero was never an easy boy. He gave your father a lot of trouble. He didn't like how close I was to Gianni either. He could be a calculating son of a bitch sometimes, you know."

"No, I don't."

"You don't remember him slashing my tires so I couldn't visit my mama in the hospital? You don't remember him putting bullets into two of my soldiers? Blowing up the laundromat? Those were things he did to spite me , Cristiano, all because I took his father's attention away from him a few too many times." He sighs as the servant returns with a pot of coffee and some fresh water.

A distant memory prods at my mind: Savero at twelve years old, his back pressed against the boating shed, with the barrel of a gun aimed at his forehead. It's an image I've recalled many times, usually in the haunting depths of sleep, but I can never see the person holding the gun. This time, as Augie keeps talking, I trace the arm holding the gun. It looks familiar. It's an arm that held me often as a child; a hand that shook mine as I became a man.

I shake the vision away. It's almost twenty years old. Unreliable.

It couldn't have been Father.

Especially after Savero saved me from drowning.

My brother may not be the most likeable or honorable made man in this city, and he may not like me, but I owe my life to him.

"You were never like that," Augie continues. "You accepted things as they were. You understood this world at a young age. You were unemotional, logical, sensible. Savero is hotheaded, irrational ... He has a temper he simply can't control. He's a loose cannon, and in this world, that is a dangerous thing indeed."

A thought makes my stomach reel. "Did Savero know this was Father's plan?"

"No. God no." Augie, rightly, looks horrified by the prospect. I can't think of a single thing more painful than to hear you're not considered fit for the role you were born for.

"What was Father going to do?"

"He was planning to talk to you both on his sixtieth birthday." Augie shakes his head again. "You know how your mama always said she wanted at least one of you to ..."

"... live past the age of sixty," I finish. "Yes. That's why I chose to leave."

"Your papa never made it that far."

"I know. It was a shock to us all," I say. "I still can't believe he died of a heart attack. He was fit and healthy." A thought occurs to me. "The autopsy ..."

Augie presses his lips together and nods. "I insisted Savero show me the report, but it was all there in black and white. Cardiac failure," he says with a sigh. "It really was down to his heart."

I pick up a glass of water and drink it down in one go. The summer heat is getting to me more than usual.

"I wouldn't have accepted the job anyway," I say, standing to button up my jacket. It's time for me to go before the thought burrows itself any deeper. "I don't want to be don any more than my brother wants to be anything else. I couldn't take that away from him."

Augie stands. "You're leaving already?"

I sigh heavily. "There's nothing for me to stay for." The lie settles uneasily in the pit of my stomach.

"Please think about it. It's what your father wanted." There's a grave note in his tone.

"There's no need," I say with finality. "I could never do that to Savero."

Then I turn to leave, and though Augie's gaze tugs at me like a rope, he doesn't stop me.