by Bethany-Kris
More nails in the coffin.
Corrado didn’t ask for this.
None of it.
Back and forth he went again.
It never ended.
Christ.
“Anyway,” Ginevra said, oblivious to the battle in his mind and heart, “I think they must love you a lot, and your brothers, if they’re willing to throw you a party at this age. And not just any party ... look at us, this feels like an affair.”
As she said that, the elevator came to a stop, and opened up to the front lobby of the building. Parked right in front, in full view of the windows, was the white Maserati he’d had taken out of the Toronto storage unit where he kept it when he wasn’t in the city visiting.
“And that’s ours, I bet,” she said beside him.
Corrado sighed. “It is.”
“Like I said, a whole affair.”
He really wished she would stop using that word.
But not for a reason she would know.
• • •
Corrado helped Ginevra step out of the Maserati, and her eyes widened at the sight in front of them. Parked at the very end of the long, winding drive that led up to the three-level, two-wing monster that was the Guzzi Mansion, they had a way to go yet before they properly arrived.
Not that it mattered.
She could see now.
The wealth was on full display.
“Is this your—”
“Childhood home, yes,” he said. “It sits on several acres of private land, and the mansion itself could house a good hundred people or more ... living wise. It has a pool, ballroom, three dining rooms, a library that, in all honesty, is bigger than most public ones, and well, that’s just scratching the surface.”
“Who is the reader?”
Surprising him again.
Those damn questions.
Corrado almost said Alessio before he caught himself, and realized she meant in his family. Although, Alessio was his family, too. “My mother. And you should know, this place ... this night, despite being for my brothers’ and my birthdays, and all of the rest of it, is my father’s doing. Like the library, and the tiled rose design at the bottom of the pool. Anything my mother wants, my father gives her. She is the queen here, and expect that she’ll be treated as such. If she wanted to sit on a throne during the party, trust that one will be provided for her to do that.”
Ginevra smiled slyly.
He didn’t miss it.
“What?”
“I was just thinking you don’t sound at all bitter about that fact. Your mother being spoiled, and loved, I mean.”
“I’m not. It’s all I ever knew.”
Knowing the cobblestone driveway might be a little tricky for Ginevra in her stiletto heels, he wrapped an arm tightly around her side, and pulled her close to him. He didn’t miss the shiver that raced through her body, but he did his very best to suppress his own reaction to it. It wasn’t like he needed to walk the rest of this very long driveway with a hard-on.
Right?
Apparently, he did.
Fucking hell.
“Oh, wow,” Ginevra said softly, her gaze drifting over the pots of roses that lined the middle of the driveway about midway, leading the rest of the way to the mansion. Twinkle lights colored the grass on either side, and hanging from the maple trees were rows of silk and chiffon that matched the white roses and lights. “This is something else.”
“I am sure the inside will be just as ... excessive,” he settled on saying with a laugh. “And all for a birthday party, too.”
“Hey, it’s something different than balloons and streamers.”
Right.
Except the balloons were roses.
And the streamers were made of silk and chiffon.
Right.
“It’s the Guzzi way,” he murmured. “And you’ll fit right in looking like you do tonight.”
Ginevra glanced up at him, those brown eyes of hers reminding him of an ocean. Expansive, dark, and deep. Oh, so dangerous, but pretty, too.
Just pretty enough to drown him.
He swore the music filtering out of the mansion, and the low tones of chattering people as they neared the grand, marble entrance faded away. There were far too many things about this woman that continued to draw him in, and ensnare him in her web of trouble. And then there were parts of him that recognized things in her that didn’t fit him at all.
Things that fit someone else in his life far better. Except she didn’t know that, and neither did the man who needed to know what was happening here.
This was a mess.
How many times had he said that now?
It didn’t make it less true.
Corrado cleared his throat, needing to break their connection.
Because they couldn’t have that at all.
That connection.
Not now.
Not ever.
“Let’s have a good time, hmm?” he asked, turning back to face the mansion.
Ginevra glanced down at the ground. “Sure, Corrado.”
24.
Corrado
The most crucial thing to know about Corrado’s mother?
Nothing and no one would ever be as important to Cara Rossi as her five sons, and husband. By most standards, one could absolutely consider her a mama bear. And yet, on the flip side of that same coin, she was also fiercely protective of her sons’ freedom and happiness. She, like his father, Gian, had made every effort to ensure their sons thought for themselves. That they understood the right choice was sometimes the hard one. They gave them protection and privilege, but also space to grow, and figure out who they wanted to be.
Never once had Corrado felt pushed to be one thing by his parents. He knew, safely, that his brothers felt the same way, even if they had clearly chosen a path more like his father’s. But his mother?
Cara was the voice of reason.
The loudest voice, too.
She made it her first priority to know that her sons were happy, even if she didn’t pry for the details as to why. Maybe that was why, when Corrado called his mother’s name across the hall, her soft smile stayed permanently affixed in place as she laid eyes on the woman at Corrado’s side, and his arm tucked around Ginevra’s waist.
She didn’t act surprised.
Not concerned.
Cara simply smiled wider, and opened her arms to Corrado like it had been far too long since she had seen her third oldest son. He let go of Ginevra to hug his mother. She took him into her embrace—lest she find trouble somewhere she shouldn’t be because someone pried too much, and she slipped up.
Behind his mother, Corrado found the hoard of his brothers waiting, and their father standing behind the Guzzi sons. Chris stood next to Marcus, and beside the oldest, the youngest at only twenty, Bene and Beni smirked at one another like they were sharing some kind of secret. The second set of Guzzi twins very well could be doing exactly that. Those two shared a bond with each other like even Chris and Corrado didn’t have.
Sometimes, it could be unsettling.
He was used to it now, though.
Cara leaned back, her hand still pressing against Corrado’s cheek, and he took that chance to pull Ginevra close again. God, he loved his ma. There was just something about her that felt like home in a way nothing else could. “Happy birthday, my boy.”
Corrado smiled. “Little old to be a boy, Ma.”
“Not to be my boy.”
He knew better than to argue.
She would always win.
Another lesson from his father.
“And who is this?” Cara asked, her smile turning on Ginevra in an instant. For the first time, Corrado loosened his hold on Ginevra, but not by much. Just enough to allow her to lean away from his side and take his mother’s hands that she offered. His mother looked back to him, asking, “A friend?”
Nice.
That was smooth of his ma.
Cara wouldn’t outright ask about his per
sonal business—she never did. He was sure his mother assumed things, and put two and two together when she could about him and Alessio, but she never verbally confirmed it. It probably helped that his mother was a therapist, and always had a knack for knowing—or being able to pry—all her sons secrets from them, sometimes without their help at all. He figured seeing him without Alessio at his side would be a surprise.
Hell, it was a shock to him, too.
“Yeah, Ma,” Corrado said, “Ginevra is a friend.”
Cara still smiled, unfazed. “Ciao.”
Ginevra’s gaze darted to him, a silent question there, and he nodded. “Ciao. You have a beautiful home.”
“A bit much at first, don’t you think?”
To her benefit, Ginny didn’t miss a beat.
“Not at all.”
Cara shrugged. “I always thought it overwhelmed you a little coming up on it for the first time.”
The first time ...
Corrado shot his mother a look, but she studiously ignored it. If that was his mother’s sly way of saying Ginevra had never been here before, well, he heard it loud and clear.
“Actually, I thought it should be in a magazine.”
His mother laughed. “Oh, it’s been printed a few times. Not magazines, though. More the newspapers. Usually, from reporters trying to catch us coming in, or out.”
“Cara.”
All it took was the dark call of his mother’s name by his father, and Cara rolled her eyes upward like she thought it was ridiculous. Ginevra pressed her lips together, probably in an effort to keep from smiling. Corrado found he had to do the same when his mother muttered, “Yes, Gian, don’t talk about that ... I know, I know.”
Gian made a soft noise, and then turned to take a small flute of champagne from a server as she passed, but otherwise, he said nothing.
Corrado chuckled, knowing he should probably change the subject. “The place looks great, Ma.”
“It better,” she replied. “But back to this beautiful woman ... Ginevra, you said?”
And that, in a nutshell, was his mother.
Ginevra gave him a wink. “That’s me.”
He could plainly see that twinkle in his mother’s eye—that curiosity. “I think you and I should spend some time together tonight, and—”
“Oh, Cara, there’s the director for the hospital,” Gian said, coming up to slip his arm around his wife’s waist, directing her in an entirely different direction as he did so. At the same time, his father passed Corrado a look that said, we will have words later. He didn’t doubt it. “We need to discuss that donation with him, yes?”
Cara made a face. “Fine.” Then, turning back to Ginevra, his mother grinned. “I will find you later, okay?”
“You got it, Cara.”
And to Corrado, his mother added, “Make sure you dance with her—I taught you well, use it.”
Well ...
Gian gave Ginevra a warm smile over his shoulder. “It was very nice to meet you, Ginny. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of you.”
Corrado blinked, but his mother and father were already gone. Next to him, Ginevra’s brow furrowed. Clearly, she hadn’t missed his father’s slip, either. Ginny, he called her. Like he knew exactly who she was, because she had not told them her nickname yet.
He passed a glance to his twin, wondering ... he’d given Chris a few details, about the same he gave to Alessio, about what he was doing in Toronto at the moment. The only added thing his brother knew was the fact that Ginevra was a woman, and that was simply because he had brought Corrado clothes for her to wear those first couple of days.
Chris tipped his glass of whiskey up to take a drink, seeing the question in his brother’s gaze. A simple nod gave Corrado all the answer he needed. Yes, his brother had shared what he knew with his father. No doubt, Gian had then made some calls to connect the rest of the dots with the information he had.
Great.
“Where the fuck is Les—”
“Ginny, do you want to dance?” Corrado asked, turning his back to his twin, and his other brothers before Bene could finish that question.
She smirked up at him. “What, don’t want to introduce me to the rest of the Guzzi bunch?”
“We’re a hoard, really. And no, I am sure you’ll get more than your fill of my brothers before the end of the night. I had to live with them for eighteen years, trust me when I say it won’t kill you to lose two extra minutes with them.”
She hit his chest, but he was already walking them away. A quick glance over his shoulder let him know Chris was taking care of that situation. A sharp shake of his head to the rest of their brothers quieted them all, and yet, every one of them turned to watch Corrado and Ginevra walk away.
Like they just knew, too.
Corrado had secrets.
One too many to name.
It kind of felt like his family probably knew some.
• • •
“What is this?”
Ginevra walked further into the hall of paintings, and spread her arms wide as she did a little circle. Corrado stuffed his hands in his slacks pockets as he watched her joyful moment. That, and he liked the way that dress draped over her body, and glimmered when she moved.
“This,” he said, “is the hall of Guzzis.”
Stopping under one particular piece of art in the hallway, she leaned a bit over the red rope to get a closer look at the name under the piece. The man in the painting, surrounded by his wife, and children when they were just toddlers, stared straight ahead like he owned the world.
At the time, it probably felt like he had.
“Frederic Guzzi and family.”
“My grandfather.”
Not that Corrado had ever seen much of the man growing up. He didn’t approve of some of the things that brought Gian and Cara together, and so, the rest of them suffered for it. A part of him always thought that was quite selfish, but he didn’t think Ginevra needed to know that family dirt just yet.
“Do you have one?”
Corrado let out a laugh. “Not quite—we have a portrait, or two, as a whole.” He pointed at the end of the hallway where a painting featuring his mother, surrounded by all her boys in a forest as she sat on what looked like a throne, was on prominent display. “There’s one.”
“Oh, wow.”
“But no, I don’t have one of just me.”
“Why not?”
“Our family’s tradition has always been family portraits, or those featuring the head of the house, usually the male. My father made my mother an exception to that rule, though.”
Like everything else between his mother and father.
“Ah,” Ginevra said, grinning back at him, “so you aren’t the head of your household yet since you don’t have one, right?”
“Exactly, and I’m unmarried, without children ... so no portrait, either.”
“Corrado, there you are.”
He spun to the side fast, finding his father watching him from a separate entry into the large hall of portraits. Next to Gian, stood Chris, Marcus, and two other men who rarely left his father’s side. His consigliere, and underboss for the Guzzi Cosa Nostra.
“I wanted a word, if you had a minute,” Gian said, gesturing at the hallway.
Corrado opened his mouth to refuse—Ginevra, after all—and he didn’t feel like getting the twenty-one questions from his father that were sure to come once Gian had him alone. Not that it mattered, apparently, because his father wasn’t going to give him a choice.
Perfect.
“Chris will entertain Ginevra, I understand they’ve met before,” Gian said quickly.
Corrado kept his face passive. “Met is stretching it. They’ve seen each other from afar.”
“What, you don’t trust your twin with the woman?”
He gave his father a scowl. “That’s unfair.”
“The low shots usually get me what I want, you know.”
Of course.
“
Corrado?”
Behind him, he found Ginevra smiling. “I’ll be okay for a while. Go with your dad.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Besides, Chris can probably tell me more about these paintings, right?”
Chris laughed next to their father. “I certainly can.”
“Good. See? Everything’s great.”
So it seemed.
Ginevra gave him a wink over her shoulder when Chris stepped into the hallway, and took her arm in his before they both turned to look at another painting. Dismissed from their conversation, he was left with his waiting father, oldest brother Marcus, and the other two men.
“My office, then?” Gian asked.
“I guess so,” Corrado replied.
• • •
Corrado’s father stopped pretending to be polite the very second the office door closed, leaving him, his dad, and Marcus within. Standing just outside were Gian’s other two men who had not been invited in.
Something Corrado was sure they were unaccustomed to, considering what he knew.
“I will give you two minutes,” Gian said, rounding his desk and pulling out the large leather chair to sit in, “to give me every pertinent detail about that woman, and your business with her, Corrado.”
He smirked. “Or, you could just save me the time, and tell me what you know.”
Gian made a face. “That’s less fun, though.”
“But quicker, and I would—”
“Like to get back to her, I imagine,” his father murmured, steepling his fingers over his desk. Corrado opened his mouth to deny that statement, and the connotation behind it, but Gian was quick to add, “You know, I watched you for a while ... the two of you. I could explain your hand constantly reaching for her, or staying on her, when I also know that you are supposed to be hiding the young woman from her family. Except ... you know she’s safe here, and two feet of space won’t really make much of a difference, would it?”
Corrado swallowed back his denial.
What would be the point?
“So,” Gian continued, “the only explanation why you keep touching or reaching for her is because you want to. And then if I move onto the way you watch her ... the way you stare when you think people aren’t looking, and I am left wondering something here.”
