by Kali Brixton
While standing around the gravesite, there were whispers that perked my ear, with the words traitor and rat thrown around a few times. Knowing what I know now, I wasn’t for certain if the first term only applied to his cooperation with the police or not. If DA Redmond’s information is accurate and he had indeed gotten involved with the local drug game, a business my father swore today in the car that Antonio detests, then his death came at the hands of someone close to him.
Like the someone who’s sitting at the head of this table and eating dinner like it’s a normal Thursday evening.
“Gee!” A blur with a mop of dark hair and piercing golden eyes beelines to Gia, breaking the silence amongst us. I’ve only seen Roman, the toddler of one of the house staff, a few times as he’s kept well hidden. Yet when I do, he’s always running to Gia. Her eyes light up as the first genuine smile I’ve seen since the last time I saw her and Roman interact spreads widely over her face. He shimmies up into her lap, while she fusses over him.
Roman strikes me as being around two, close to Rory’s age if his size is an indicator. Comparing him to Rory puts me in mind of lunch last week and the adorable little girl who could charm the pants off of anyone—even if her nickname for me is less than desirable. The little redhead was immensely entertaining as I got to know Greta and her a little better. It was unfortunate that Ev left lunch so early, especially when I was hoping to see her interact with Rory more—and selfishly, to soak up a few minutes with her where she couldn’t ignore me. Ever since Kieran's Rian bomb, it’s been pretty cold between us. Yet being around her and Rory for the brief time I was reminded me of how she’s a natural with kids, just as Gia seems to be with Roman.
Tianna, the boy’s mother comes rushing through. “Mi perdoni, signore. E scivolato via,” she apologizes quickly, rushing toward the child who apparently slipped from her sight for a moment.
Antonio’s hand comes up, halting her in her steps. A noticeably uncomfortable expression passes over her face as she waits for him to speak. “I believe we could all use a little joy today. Don’t you, Gianelle?” He levels a watchful stare at his daughter, who ignores him in favor of the little boy who’s currently enamored with her beaded necklace. “If you don’t mind, that is, Tianna.”
“No, signore,” she acquiesces, leaving the room with her child comfortably sitting and talking up a storm in a language only Gia seems to understand.
Antonio clears his throat. “Luca, what’s new with the law firm?”
I tear my eyes away from the handsome little boy, a very welcome distraction tonight for us all. “Things are going well. I’m working on my first adoption case.”
“Children are wonderful, aren’t they?” he remarks, watching Gia and the little boy interact. “It gives me hope for the future.”
I nod, as I’ve had dreams before of my future children, especially in the last year or so. Little boys and girls with my tan complexion and black hair, but their big green eyes are always what stands out most to me.
Setting his fork down, he wipes his mouth with his cloth napkin. “Tell me, Luca. Is adoption a notion you’d be willing to entertain? I have no doubt that you and Gia will have children of your own someday, but adoption’s close to my little jewel’s heart.”
I can’t help but smile at her and Roman, so happy in their own little bubble. Gia lifts her eyes from the little bites of food she’s cut up to feed to our new table guest to her father. She says nothing, but I can tell he’s hit on a topic that’s important to her.
They stare at each other for a moment, a silent conversation being held between them before I interject. “I think anyone who has it in their heart to take in a child and love them as their own is a very special person.”
Gia flicks her dark gaze to me, a soft smile in place.
“So, I take it you’re open to it then?” he presses on, earning the stare of my father and Gia. Because of the marriage arrangement, it’s always been assumed that Gia and I will have our own kids to continue the bloodline, just as it was expected of my sister and Giacomo.
Adoption isn’t something that is usually pushed by the patriarchs, which piques my interest in Antonio, seeing as how he’s all about honoring tradition and keeping the lineage intact. “Yes, sir. I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”
“That’s good to know.” He rests his elbows on the table and rubs his hands together. “My advice is to take a year and get to know each other a little better, then maybe explore the option together. There are so many children in need of a good home. Hopefully, they’ll be grateful for the sacrifices you all will be making to bring them into yours.”
I nod, chancing a look at Gia, who looks like she’s about to burst with joy. Growing up a Cervelli, I can imagine how little of that was probably found in this home over the years.
“Now, speaking of children and the future, I think with the recent unfortunate events this family’s had to endure, it would be nice to focus on some positive things. Like your upcoming nuptials.” He picks up his utensils and picks around at his food once more. “I’m thinking a late November wedding will be something to raise everyone’s spirits.”
Gia’s head snaps up. “But Father, I have my finals around that time.” Although Gia only went in person one semester at UGA, she switched to online after she received permission to add to her course load, taking the maximum amount of hours allowed each semester plus attending summer sessions. Her fast-track education was the only thing that spared me from having to marry her when she turned eighteen, as Antonio felt giving her a chance to get her double-major business degree would be helpful when it came to his various businesses. He had also made the snide comment to my father when I went to law school that it might prevent what happened between Lia and Giacomo from repeating itself.
I’m more than fine putting off the wedding for another month or so—or forever, if everything works out—but that notion doesn’t seem to sit well with Antonio.
Never sparing his daughter a glance, he saws through the chicken cutlet still on his plate. “Then, it’s a good thing we can afford to hire a wedding planner, isn’t it?”
She silently nods in agreement while brushing Roman’s wavy hair back.
Antonio spares a glance at her tense face and bellows toward the open dining room door. “Tianna?” His maid comes scampering into the room, no doubt waiting in the wings as so many seem to do in Antonio’s life. “I believe it’s time for little Roman here to get ready for bed.” He motions to Tianna, who quietly goes to extract him from Gia’s lap. Roman pouts as he’s taken from her, just as the sadness which was there earlier returns to Gia’s face.
With her still living in Antonio’s home, I’m sure Roman provides her with a much-needed reprieve from everything that no doubt happens under this roof.
Even though DA Redmond made it sounds as though Gia may not be too far removed from her father’s dirty dealings.
My father and I offer our condolences to Antonio once more as we depart for the evening. We nearly make it to my father’s sleek black Mercedes before the sound of shoes pounding the pavement behind us grows louder.
“Luca!” I glance over my shoulder to see Gia sprinting toward me. Her breaths are steady when she comes to a stop, like a practiced runner’s would be. She notices my father by his driver's side door. “Mr. Giordano, may I speak to Luca for a moment, please?”
He flicks his gaze over to me, then back to her. “That’ll be fine.” Slipping into the car, he turns the engine over, creating a noise that might block out our conversation in the cab.
“I’m sorry to hold you up, but I needed to apologize to you before you left.”
My brow furrows as she’s not said a rude word to me today. Or ever, in fact. “Apologize for what, Gia?”
She swallows hard and knits her hands together. “I’m sorry I’ve been so standoffish with you all this time.”
I don’t understand. If anything, I’ve been much more standoffish toward her than the other way around. She�
�s maybe been a touch aloof, but considering the situation we’re in—two strangers thrown into an arranged marriage together—awkwardness is to be expected.
“Did you…did you mean what you said about adopting someday?” Her question sparks hope in her eyes.
Apparently, Antonio was right. His daughter’s heart really does have a special place in it for adoption. “Of course, I did.”
She gives me a big smile before dropping her gaze. “I know this marriage isn’t what either of us asked for, but…” she trails off as she takes a deep breath, then continues. “I hope I can be the kind of wife you deserve.”
Her words strike a chord with me. As sweet as she seems to be, there’s only one person I want to fill that role in my life—and it’s not the girl standing before me. I give her a small smile. “You deserve to have a good man in your life, Gia.”
A tinge of sadness passes over her face, disappearing as quickly as it came. She stretches to kiss my cheek before pulling back to look me in the eyes. “You’re not like them, are you?”
Them? “Like who?”
Her gaze darts over her shoulders, focusing on the enormous mansion she calls home. “My father and my brother,” she says, melancholy dripping throughout her words.
I shake my head and stuff my hand in my pocket, rubbing the warm metal of my compass—a reminder from long ago. My destiny may have pointed me in the wrong direction, but with any luck, my path will be shifting very soon. A path I hope will lead me to where I belong—to whom I belong. “No, Gia. I’m not.”
But I’m not the one who can save us from damnation.
Only you have the power to do that, Gia.
Only you.
28
Everleigh
What an absolutely gorgeous day to murder someone.
Crisp late October air, Saturday sunshine that warms the soul just a little differently, and leaves which are in that I’m-green-but-I’m-sorta-something-else-right-now stage. Absolute perfection.
Seriously, Mother Nature. You’re on some next-level, A-game shit today.
You go, girl, with a zig-zag snap. Now, whip up a tornado and drop a dilapidated house on the fucker’s vehicle sitting at the end of the Hope House parking lot.
Pulling my brand-spankin’-new teal Dodge Durango into the spot furthest away from him, I put it in park and contemplate which knife I’ll need to use while I’m slashing his tires. Three, mind you, not four because then the insurance will pay for them, which dismisses the entire point of doing it. As the Hellcat engine goes from a roar to a purr, I gather my purse and my will to live along with the fall-themed, apple-cinnamon blondies I baked for today.
It was supposed to be a relaxing day full of fun, laughter, and frolicking in the backyard of the Hope House lot with the kiddos. It was meant to be a chance to recharge my batteries after two crappy nights of dealing with assholes at RISE and losing my school ID badge somewhere between the club and my classroom.
Now? I haven’t even stepped foot on the asphalt and the day’s officially already gone to Hell in a handbasket because Luca Giordano’s car is sitting where it shouldn’t be, taunting me, challenging me to enjoy my day.
Even worse is the fact that my mother is sitting there on the porch, chatting away with him like she’s known him forever. Well, to be fair, she has, but still…
I mean, what good reason could he possibly have for ruining this lovely visit, coming to the one respite I have left in my life that he hasn’t violated yet? Lord knows when he showed up to my classroom after school this past week with some paperwork for Rory’s adoption, I wanted to staple his full lips to my bulletin board and use that muscular ass of his as the classroom bongo for music time. Or when he invaded our arts and crafts time a few weeks ago when my kids brought in some old newspapers and Tommy Gregory wanted to use the picture of Luca and Gia in their engagement announcement as the centerpiece for his artwork instead of letting me keep it for my knife throwing practice.
But did I do that? No.
No, I did not because I have good ol’, down-home Southern manners, dammit. I know when to stay in my lane and on my side of town. Certain others? Not so much.
Where’s the infamous ice queen?
“Veef! Veef!”
She just melted into a puddle at the sound of Rory’s excitement. Glancing in my rearview mirror, I see the back of my little sidekick’s rear-facing car seat and her clothed limbs, which are bouncing wildly in celebration of the four or five falling leaves fluttering in the gentle breeze.
Maybe today isn’t a total bust.
Okay. Game face? Check. Purse and phone? Double check. Blondies and a gorgeous ginger? Check and check. Tire-slashing can wait. There’s a little girl who’s ready to play in the leaves and a big girl ready to snap seven hundred pictures of the little one doing so.
Rory and I had our weekly sleepover last night, something she’s been getting more accustomed to as time wears on. Greta agreed to let me bring her with me to meet some of the kiddos while I volunteer today. After we finish up here, Rory will go back home and I’ll get to work on my own reconnaissance mission. Greta’s allergies bother her in the first few weeks of “Southern” fall, which extend from the beginning of October to mid-November. I’m sure she’s delighted to pop a few Benadryls and sleep off the nasal assault from the changing of the seasons, which means more fall fun time for me and this little cutie pie.
“Hey, sweet girl,” Mom calls from the porch, meeting us halfway. She wraps me in a quick hug before picking up Rory and smothering her with kisses. “And my other sweet girl.”
Two pairs of warm brown eyes and a familiar pair of hazel ones watch the interaction, making my skin prickle and itch. Someday, he won’t have this effect on me. Until then, I’ll keep holding on to the hope my “someday” is just right around the corner.
“Did you bring dessert for the birthday boy?” Mom asks as we join the three on the painted porch.
No, because he should be celebrating at the Cervelli mansion with his bride-to-be instead of charming the pants off everyone here, including my soon-to-be adopted daughter.
Luca gives me a smile. With our birthdays only two days apart, it’s not like I can forget when it is. But I sure as hell wasn’t expecting him to be here on it.
“You know it’s not a Saturday without some sweets,” I muse, winking at Grace, the eight-year-old I tutor sometimes when I visit, and her half-brother Allen, the four-year-old I made a Lego tower with two weeks ago.
The kids cheer in unison, running into the house to tell the others I’ve arrived with some homemade sugary contraband in tow.
“Rory, it’s good to see you again.” He gently brushes his hand over her little arm twice as Mom gets close.
She shies away from his touch and buries her head into my mom’s shoulder. Then, as she loves to do with men, she gives him a side glance and a coy little grin.
“Luca, would you care to go ask Aileen to gather the kids in the activity room?”
My aunt Aileen, the inspiration behind Hope House, is no doubt cookin’ up a storm in the kitchen for today’s soup and potato bar. “Not at all,” he says to Mom before turning to me. “Want me to take that in for you?”
“I’ve got it,” I comment coolly. A disappointed look my way from my mother prompts me to add, “Thanks anyway.”
He nods and heads inside, the screen door creaking loudly as it stretches its hinges.
Mom watches as he heads in, waiting until he’s in the house. “You’ll never believe why he’s here.” I scrunch my brows together as she brandishes a folded-up piece of paper from her back jeans pocket. “This is such a blessing, Ev. You don’t know how much we needed the funding with all our recent additions.”
Unfolding the check with one hand while I balance the blondies with the other, I see a generous amount written out to Hope House, with Jarrett Thompson’s signature on the bottom. Why did Luca’s law firm just donate five grand to them? “That’s really generous, Mom, but why?”
She shifts Rory on her hip and shrugs. “I don’t know, but it couldn’t have come at a better time. Luca was kind enough to drive it here after I told him it would probably be a few days before I could meet him.”
Damn. I can’t think of anything snotty to say about that. Well, except I can’t understand why Dad couldn’t have met Luca on his way to or from the APD.
Heavy footsteps approach the door, causing it to squeal once more when he opens it. “Aileen said she’s on it.”
His gaze falls to me again as I find an interesting chip in the siding paint to examine, happily avoiding it. “Well, I guess I’d better head on.”
I’ll be damned. The day’s already improving. Thank you, Universe...
Mom gives him a one-armed hug on the side that’s not saddled with a child. “Luca, please tell Mr. Thompson we appreciate the donation so much.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies with a bright smile.
Ugh. Those damn dimples.
“You got plans for the big day?”
Oh, no. I know that phrase and that tone Mom’s using all too well.
He shoves his hands in his front jeans pockets, causing his pec muscles to flex, hints of black lines peeking out from the neckline of his lightweight sweater. “I’m going to call Papi Dean here in a bit, but that’s about it.”
She gives him a sympathetic look. Kyleigh Greene, you cut that out right now. “Well, if you’re not busy, why don’t you stay and eat some lunch with us? We’d love to have you as our guest. Right, Ev?”
Thanks a lot, Universe. “Delighted,” I say, gritting my teeth as I turn on my heel to take these blondies into the kitchen. It’s his birthday, remember? And don’t forget how nice it was of him and his law firm to help Hope House. I’ll remember, all right. But for now, I need to remember where they keep the powdered laxative. The day might not be lost just yet. Maybe I can give the birthday boy an explosive surprise he’ll never forget.
