No Regrets (The Ferrari Family Book 2)

by Hazel Parker

  No Regrets

  The Ferrari Mafia Family Series

  Book Two

  ~

  Hazel Parker

  No Regrets – Ferrari Family Series © 2020 Hazel Parker

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1: Brett

  Chapter 2: Chelsea

  Chapter 3: Brett

  Chapter 4: Chelsea

  Chapter 5: Brett

  Chapter 6: Chelsea

  Chapter 7: Brett

  Chapter 8: Chelsea

  Chapter 9: Brett

  Chapter 10: Chelsea

  Chapter 11: Brett

  Chapter 12: Chelsea

  Chapter 13: Brett

  Chapter 14: Chelsea

  Chapter 15: Brett

  Chapter 16: Chelsea

  Chapter 17: Brett

  Chapter 18: Chelsea

  Chapter 19: Brett

  Chapter 20: Chelsea

  Chapter 21: Brett

  Chapter 22: Chelsea

  Chapter 23: Brett

  Chapter 24: Chelsea

  Epilogue

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  Author Bio

  Prologue

  December 26th, 1997

  “Hey, keep the grandkids out of here, Bill!”

  I sat in the Ferrari Estate basement with my beautiful wife, Mary, in the chair to my left and my three boys, Nick, Frank, and Bill, across from me. They weren’t really boys by this point, however. They had grown into fine young men who had helped build Ferrari Wines into a legitimate, booming business.

  Bill’s kids, though, were still very much boys—and in one case, a girl.

  Which, perhaps fortunately or unfortunately, depending on my mood for the given day, reminded me of the fact that there should have been four of our children sitting across from us, not three.

  “Go easy on them, Alf,” my wife said. “Even Brett just turned seven.”

  “That’s old enough to listen when your daddy tells you something,” I said.

  Bill eventually got the grandkids to stop peeping around. They’d learn about this conversation someday, but “someday” wasn’t going to be for at least another eleven years for Brett and much longer for the youngest, Leo, who had just been born.

  “Sorry about that, Dad,” Bill said.

  “As long as they don’t come back down. Now then. The three of you boys have done a wonderful job of helping to raise Ferrari Wines into the business it has become, and I am forever grateful. However, just as Mary and I will soon have to take a step back into retirement, someday, the three of you will have to as well. And some…”

  I let my eyes drift to Nick, he of the more “indulgent” type.

  “And some of you seem to forget we left Las Vegas for a reason. In any case, however, am I correct in understanding that Leo is the last grandchild?”

  Bill nodded yes. Nick and Frank had never bothered to have kids, something I constantly harped on them about but that I had no choice but to accept. If Mary couldn’t get through to them, I sure as hell could not.

  “Good,” I said. “In that case, it’s time to set the will. Now, before we get started, understand this—through our hard work, we have built the Ferrari Estate into an enormously successful unit, but we did not do it through blind luck or, more important, illicit means. That means that, Bill, your kids are going to have to follow some rules to get this piece of the pie.”

  “I understand,” Bill said.

  “Back in Italy, nothing was given to you. You had to earn it. We took care of our own, but they had to prove they could stand on their own two feet. So—”

  “Alf, dear,” Mary said. “You’re rambling again.”

  I sighed. She was right. I loved my wife, but damnit, I hated when she was right.

  “The point is, just as the three of you had to prove yourselves outside of the family business before coming back here, so too must the kids. This estate is not a damn handout; it’s our way of saying thanks for what was done. So, first stipulation. All grandkids, assuming they are over the age of eighteen, must either be attending a four-year university or working a job that pays at least fifty grand a year. I am not going to let them skate by working cheap jobs.”

  I could hear Mary sighing next to me. I was sure she could see I wasn’t going to pay attention to her concern—she and I had had more than enough conversation hashing out some of those details.

  “Second point—too many people in today’s world don’t want to commit. They want to chase the opposite sex, throw honor and respect out the window, and just seek thrills. If the grandkids want to stay a part of this family, they need to be married by thirty. If you get married after thirty, it’s too late.”

  “Thirty?” Nick said in surprise.

  “Yes, thirty.”

  It was of no surprise to me Nick had said that. He had never gotten married himself, and the only reason I had given up harping on him was a combination of Bill having kids and Mary convincing me that Nick having kids would do more harm than good.

  “I will make sure, just as I made sure for your generation, that all marriages have prenups attached to them so that our assets are protected. I am not going to let some cheap woman steal away with half of a portion of our inheritance.”

  None of the boys could disagree with that.

  “Oh, and this is my last stipulation. And this goes for everyone, not just the grandkids.”

  It got so silent in the house, if I did not know any better, I would have guessed that even the grandkids could sense the seriousness of the moment. It was just as well.

  “The three of you must do everything you can to keep the grandkids out of the other ‘family business’ at all costs. I do not care what it takes. They must never know about this and must never get involved.”

  I didn’t need to explain why. All three of the men in front of me remembered what had happened to Maria. Mary cried about it at least once every day. I kept a photo of her in our room. The grandkids didn’t know she had ever been around, but that was on purpose—if they knew she was there, we’d have to explain why she was no longer with us.

  “I cannot say this any more explicitly. If everyone follows these guidelines, the Ferrari wealth will remain in Ferrari hands. If they do not, they do not get a piece of the pie. Am I understood?”

  My three sons all nodded immediately.

  “Good.”

  We went over some of the finer details from there, such as maintaining a good image in public, what would happen if someone got married but their beloved passed away, and on and on. Although it was a mouthful, and I knew that the sons would need it in writing at some point, I had thought it through so thoroughly and so carefully that there just wasn’t any way I would forget anything. B
y the time I finished, I felt like I had given a legal order more than some guidelines for the will.

  “Above all else, just remember this,” I said. “Keep the kids out of the family business. Keep them on the path to a safe, healthy life. And everything else will be fine.”

  The adults nodded and then left the room one by one. It wasn’t long before it was just Mary and me. Every time we went from a group setting to just the two of us, I always looked at her with complete gratitude. Every day with her alive was a blessing, and I never forgot how close she had come to death. I couldn’t forget, given how the incident that had nearly killed her had killed my dearest daughter, Maria.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Mary said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Mary shook her head. This was not the usual look that she gave me when we were alone.

  “The more rules you give people, the more people will look to circumvent them,” she said. “I know you want to do right by these kids, but they’ve got to grow up and make mistakes on their own. We can’t expect the promise of generational wealth to make them rule-followers.”

  I sighed. I understood there were downsides to everything, but I failed to see any downside to being on the straight path. Although maybe they would benefit from some struggle, I preferred their struggle to be “I didn’t get the job I wanted,” not “my wife and daughter are dying in the hospital bed because of my connections and fights.”

  “I don’t expect the kids to be perfect,” I said. “Given that I don’t think our son Nick is ever going to get married—”

  “He wants to move back to Las Vegas.”

  I sighed.

  “Is he trying to make it so that we ban him from the family?” I said with a sad laugh.

  Mary was unamused, so I changed the subject.

  “I just want our grandkids to avoid the life we had. The things we suffered.”

  “I know,” she said. “But the more you try and control these kids, the more they will suffer. Rules just make kids creative in finding ways to break them. Or they just get defiant.”

  She was right. I myself had broken more than my fair share of rules back in the day.

  But that didn’t mean we couldn’t have standards to strive for.

  “We’ll see,” I said.

  “I know it will happen,” Mary said. “You should just hope if you choose to be so strict that the kids will get lucky and find true love anyway. That’s what the Polozzi’s are doing.”

  “The Polozzi’s didn’t…”

  I stopped myself from saying the ugly truth. Mary had a hard-enough time just thinking about it; me reminding her of our daughter’s death was the last thing she needed.

  “The Polozzi’s don’t know what it’s like,” I said. “Maybe their tune will change if tragedy strikes.”

  Mary shrugged.

  “Not everything needs to spring from tragedy, Alf,” she said. “Sometimes, just letting things organically happen results in the greatest outcome.”

  Chapter 1: Brett

  Present Day

  “God, help me.”

  “I’m not sure God can help you with this one.”

  I looked up at my sister, Layla, with exhausted eyes. I had put on my best suit for this day, combed my hair, even shaved the stubble I usually liked to have. I had done everything I could to look the part of the dutiful grandson.

  That was, except have a ring on my finger.

  “If God came down and told Alf Ferrari, ‘thou shalt let thy grandson live thy life,’ Alf would challenge him for rule of the universe,” I said with a laugh.

  “I mean, it’s simple, right? You just change your player ways, get married tomorrow, and boom, you become a millionaire many times over. Or, just do what Nick did—have an exceptional talent, leverage it, become so famous you have no privacy, and then hook up with a chick that somehow puts up with you!”

  Boy, if Nick heard half the things we said, he’d probably never speak to us again.

  Then again, if any of us heard half the things we said about each other, we’d probably be at each other’s throats first.

  “You’re so sweet, Layla,” I said. “All right, I’m going to go. Unlike me, you have half-a-decade before you have to start wondering if all those millions from the grapes outside will vanish.”

  “Yes, how much of a blessing that is,” Layla said. “Maybe while I’m at it, I’ll also give thanks that my biological clock is—oh, wait, not infinite like yours.”

  “Such a tragedy,” I said before I actually stood up.

  But even though visiting my sister at Ferrari Wines had brought much laughter, smartass remarks, and general relaxation, the instant that I stepped outside of her office, all of the feelings that had crippled me rushed back.

  Fear. Anger. Frustration. Anxiety. Bitterness.

  I didn’t expect my grandfather to become a modern hip Californian who believed in smoking dope all day and having swinger parties, but some of the stipulations the four of us had gotten when Leo turned eighteen—and me twenty-five—had seemed like the kind of thing the Catholic Church would swallow heavily at. They were so strict that not even Mother Theresa would have looked at them and thought them justified.

  Plus, I mean, why the fuck would I ever want to give up my lifestyle and fun when it almost literally entailed a different woman every weekend?

  It wasn’t all driven by a desire for pussy, though. Some of it just came from the fact that work kept me constantly busy, working late into the evenings and on weekends; my days off were not Saturday and Sunday, but Monday and Tuesday. Not a whole lot of women wanted to go get cocktails when the bars weren’t open.

  But if I were honest, the thrill of the chase and the glory of not being committed were awfully high on my priority list.

  I walked down a couple of hallways and came to my grandfather’s office, which really kind of doubled as a home-away-from-home. I raised my hand to knock. I took a deep breath.

  And finally knocked.

  “What?” my grandfather said impatiently.

  “It’s Brett, can I come in?”

  A few seconds passed.

  “What?”

  I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t usually this disdainful of my grandfather, but with my thirtieth birthday not very far off, I wasn’t in much of a mood for archaic and ridiculous people. I pushed open the door enough so he could see me.

  “Oh, Brett,” he said. “Come on in, grandson. How go the customers today?”

  “The usual,” I said. “They have many questions, and I have many answers.”

  “Haha, I knew you had the charm to be our sommelier,” he said. “People love it when you can speak so confidently about our wines. You’re half the reason we’re world-known!”

  So does this mean I get half of the business when it’s all said and done? And does this mean that you will also let me have my share of the will without your rules?

  “Thanks, Grandpa,” I said. “I actually came to talk to you about something else.”

  My grandfather motioned for me to take a seat in front of him. He had his feet kicked up on his desk, watching some golf tournament on the television screen. He had never needed to try and look “busy,” and old age had only further entrenched him in this belief.

  “It’s about the will.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, though he did it loud enough that I strongly suspected he did it just for the dramatic effect. “Brett, I am not sure what you want to talk about. It’s an open-and-shut discussion.”

  That was exactly what I was afraid of. But with only a year and some months until I passed thirty, I figured I could wedge my foot in and pry open the conversation some.

  “Yes, but times and people can change,” I said. “I don’t see any reason why getting married at thirty-four would differ at all from getting married at twenty-four—”

  “Thirty-four?” my grandfather shouted. This time, he was not acting any part. “Heavens, why don’
t you just tell me you’re going to wait until you get Social Security checks to get married!”

  It took a great deal of strength not to roll my eyes.

  “The point of all of this is to make sure that we don’t dilute the family name or do anything bad to it, right?” I said. “I am your sommelier, and a world-class one at that. I got a master’s in viticulture and enology at UC-Berkeley. I am the one who meets all the clients, gets them on board, and pushes our wine out. If I’m responsible for half the family business—”

  “Brett, I will tell you to save your breath right there.”

  He took his feet off the table and stared right at me.

  “You want a piece of that will? You find a woman in your life to marry before your thirtieth year ends.”

  “This is bullshit!”

  Well, I guess I was now trying to actively find ways to further get myself out of the will.

  “You have beliefs that are so archaic, they might as well have come from Jesus Christ himself,” I said. “I don’t have time to have love because I slave away and sacrifice myself for the damn company! And even if I didn’t, times have changed, Grandpa. It’s not just me. The women out there aren’t looking for happily ever after. They’re looking for happy after tonight. I can only do so much, and this is stupid.”

  I expected my grandfather to slam the table in response to my swearing, roar for me to get out, and then give me a disgusted glare every time he saw me until my grandmother intervened and calmed him down. I almost wanted it. I was so heated, I wanted to see my anger pan out somehow.

  But instead, my grandfather took a deep breath through the nose, closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly.

  “I am sorry I snapped at you like I did,” he said. “Understand that just because we may disagree on when one should get married does not mean I don’t love you. In fact, the whole reason I have these ‘archaic’ beliefs is because I have seen what happens when you don’t have structure and order in place.”

  I was still heated, but the surprising calm my grandfather displayed was bringing me down.

  “This family has been afflicted with tragedy and witnessed horrors that you will never know or understand.”