Merciful Vows: A Bittersweet Second Chance Romantic Suspense (The Giannotti World Book 1)

by Vanessa Luisa

  “I know that, Daddy. That’s why I love you both so much!”

  “I love you too.” My throat burns and I know now is not the time to break down outside her school. I hold it in, but fuck I’m an emotional guy when it comes to family.

  We embrace and she kisses my cheek with a cute giggle. “I gotta go now, Daddy. Bye!”

  “Have a beautiful day, carina.”

  Once Slonne’s out of sight, I rise and am about to pull out my phone when a hand brushes my bicep.

  What the…?

  I stare down at red manicured nails and turn to find a woman around Valencia’s age. Her blonde hair’s in a tight updo and she’s sporting maroon colored workout gear. There’s a wolfish grin on her lips which concerns me more than the hand caressing my arm. Her presence aggravates me more than anything after what Slonne told me about Samuel. I hope it becomes apparent by my narrowed brows. “Sorry, do I know you?”

  “Not yet, I’m Zoe!”

  “Giulio.” I nod, taking a step back to reclaim my space. “I’m Slonne and Oscar’s dad.”

  “Oh, I know who you are!” She laughs, batting her lashes as if it’s the most hilarious thing in the world. Okay…When she doesn’t stop, I dig into my pocket and feel for my car keys. “I’m Samuel’s mom. I’ve been seeing the news and hear there’s a new witness in the case, right?”

  “Yes. It’s pretty new so—”

  “Hey, listen to this.” She cuts me off. “I was thinking since Slonne and Samuel are getting close, how about a play date? I can do this Saturday for lunch. They’ll love that and you know, you and I could have a nice little lunch to ourselves. Just the two of us. Do you like Rosé?”

  Me? Rosé?

  I glance around to ensure we’re not on Candid Camera.

  Nope. Nothing.

  I’m all for women making the first move but this woman is too much and most importantly, I’m not looking for anybody else. Even though we’re on horrid terms, I already found the love of my life. No one will ever replace Valencia Giannotti, nor will I ever love someone the way I love her. The way I still love her, even after all these months.

  “Zoe, I appreciate the offer. The thing is, I’m not interested in a date if that is what you’re implying. I also don’t think it would be a good idea for Slonne and Samuel.”

  “Oh, come on! You’re telling me that you’ve gone all this time without Valencia and you haven’t once thought about being with somebody else?”

  I’m struck silent by her brazen question. How did dropping our children off at first grade escalate to her accosting me about a date and my personal life? As I’m trying to make sense of the situation, I notice the ring on her left hand—why is Zoe soliciting any sort of date with me?

  I motion to my car. “Sorry, but I have to go.”

  “Damn, you’re even more delusional than Valencia.”

  “Excuse me?”

  The mention of my wife triggers my defense mechanisms. The fact that we’re currently not talking makes it worse. I should have stayed quiet but this woman is not getting away with talking about the love of my life as if she has the upper hand. I know nothing about her and I want it to remain this way.

  “What my wife and I have is not your business. But for your specific information, no I haven’t been with any other woman and I don’t plan to. Now, is that all?” Slonne’s words about Samuel come back to me in that moment. “Actually, no. What is your business is teaching your son how to respect girls. My daughter has told Samuel on numerous occasions to stop kissing her. He hasn’t listened. No is always no. If you don’t explain the facts of life to your son, this matter will soon include the principal. Kindly stay out of my family’s life. Have a good one, Zoe.”

  “Oh, please.” She scoffs, arrogance bright in her eyes. “It’s not my fault if my son likes the girl in the class with the saddest sob story. Tell Slonne to suck it up. Weak kids don’t win. Like mother like daughter, huh?”

  Suck it up?

  Weak kid?

  Like mother like daughter?

  All of a sudden it feels as though my father is standing in front of me. That four letter word, weak, digs deeply in my mind and the words are out before I can even think about it.

  “When you throw around a word like that, you are the weak one. Slonne reached out for a friend and Samuel gave her more than she bargained for. She doesn’t want him kissing her anymore. Make sure he knows it. Stay the hell out of my family’s life and never, ever, call my wife or daughter weak again.”

  I slip inside my car before Zoe can reply.

  Christ.

  My heart is racing.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I realize I told her everything I wish I’d told my father.

  I wish I could text Valencia. I wish I could tell her that if Zoe has ever bad mouthed her, she won’t anymore. I wish I could tell Valencia that I’m sorry and all I want is her.

  It’s what I’m desperate to tell her, but I fear it may be too soon. I’ve never not wanted Valencia, but with all the shit in the way, I’ve needed her in different ways. I miss the person she once was, but it would be selfish to openly admit that to her. Logically and morally, she will never be exactly the same woman I married, and I will never be that exact man. Addilyn’s abduction has changed us and as much as I want to tell her I want her, as much as I want to sink inside her, I know better…or do I?

  Even through the chaos, I’m still in love with Valencia Giannotti.

  I’ll never stop.

  But deep down I know we need time to heal. I need time to comprehend what she truly means to me now. Valencia needs time to understand what my true intensions were when I hid that the police called. It’s been too much for us. Letters. Terrors. False hope. Bryce’s advances.

  Bryce.

  The thoughts remains lodged in my mind, alongside the next. Today, on this Friday fucked-up-day, not only am I chasing the thoughts cluttering my brain, I’m also chasing up Bryce McCarson. He hasn’t shown up, answered my calls, nor responded to the knocks at his duplex. He isn’t seeing clients. I’m beyond the stage of disappointment. With Bryce, I go full on Terminator.

  Marcus and I haven’t been on the best terms since our blow up. We stay professional with clients, but it’s still tense. I don’t even want to remember how catastrophic of a day today is turning out to be, which is why when Lance calls, I’m relieved.

  He offers to meet me in the Seattle neighborhood of Cascade, where our assisted retirement village project is located. While on his routine check monitoring the construction progress, he unveiled damage that needs my attention.

  So much for forgetting just how messed up my life currently is.

  I avert my gaze to the driver beside me at a red light minutes before I arrive. What initially captures my attention is the glossy black 1950’s Chevrolet. I know it’s a Styleline Deluxe because my father used to have the exact model. Pietro Giannotti was the car enthusiast and while I couldn’t care less for him, the car beside pulls me in for all the wrong reasons.

  It was mom’s favorite car to drive around in. The elegant Mafioso spin as she liked to call it. Even with her declining health, she insisted we drive up to New Jersey’s Coast for at least a week during the summers. Like in 92’. I still recall sitting in the backseat with the windows rolled down, that sultry humid breeze the closest I’d ever get to Sicily again before my twenties. My father with that constant brooding stare towards me in the rearview mirror and a lit cigar. My mother complaining to him about the clouds of white smoke and glancing over at me with an apologetic smile. I remember the constant changing of stations on the AM radio with my father wanting to be informed with talk radio while my mother only loved opera.

  Every pedestrian turned, ogling the car. Other motorists honked in appreciation.

  It was a show car, which is why when the man’s gaze meets mine I give a curt nod. This stranger can’t feel my racing heart or the way my sweaty hands grip the wheel at the memory. That was the last time we made it to
the coast before my mom passed the following year. My anger at the discovery of my father’s affair had me take a baseball bat to the car. I had only managed to dent the bumper and a small section by the Chevrolet emblem before Clare, my step-mother, stopped me.

  Red fades to green and I allow the car to merge in my lane in front of me. The second I do, my body freezes up. Oh, God. This Chevrolet has the exact dents…I’m sure of it. But it’s been eleven long years since his passing, what are the chances it’s my late father’s? The chance it was sold to somebody in Seattle? That they haven’t fixed it? It’s a common damage point on a car. The chances are slim. But it still shakes me, and for a second, it’s as if my father is in front of me.

  It couldn’t be…

  At the next red light, the driver meets my gaze in the rearview mirror. An intimidating lengthy stare, one I don’t look away from. I stare so deep that for a second his dark eyes turn a soft shade of gray with slate blue. My father’s shade. I blink and they’re dark again.

  I’m seeing things…

  It didn’t happen…

  As he takes off straight ahead, I turn onto a side street. I can’t tell anybody about this. I shake my head to rid the thoughts of what I think I saw. That’s what I get for missing my morning coffee.

  A bewildered Lance meets me by the chain-link fence. It creates a division at the property’s entry where charcoal rubble spans for a good ten feet before the first duplex. He didn’t tell me anything on the phone and with none of the contracted builders on site, I know it’s bad.

  “Lance, you’re worrying me. What’s going on?”

  He smiles flatly, gestures to the duplexes and we begin power walking. My Oxfords violently crunch against the tiny rocks. Thank god this is going to be cobblestone in a matter of weeks.

  “You know I wouldn’t call you unless it was urgent. There’s been some vandalism between last night and today.”

  “When you say vandalism…”

  “I mean extensive damage to the interior and exterior. Shattered windows. Tiles that were installed to twenty-five percent of the duplexes are smashed in. Security cameras that we have are all sprayed over, but we can still check if they caught anything. And there’s more…”

  I slow in my step. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Lance grimaces. “I wish I was. I really do.”

  “We need to call the police.”

  “I agree, but seeing as it’s a personal attack, I thought you should see it first.”

  Personal?

  And then I see it.

  The sight has me grind my teeth and exhale sharply. The same name is written out. Over and over again. It surrounds every exterior dark brick wall in glowing crimson spray paint.

  I have no words. None. No expression but utter disgust for this destruction.

  Lance is right about the interior. The entire premises is ruined. Red spray paint turns to black. Shattered glass crunches under our feet. There’s this unsettling feeling inside my chest, duplex after duplex.

  We walk through all fifty and even though more than an hour passes Lance sticks by me writing down each instance of damage and its extent. The whole scene repulses me. Taunts me. Damage like this will set us back weeks. It slaughters the promises I’ve made to a deserving client. The fact that this is a personal attack hurts further. Was this done by the same people who abducted and killed my baby-girl? There’s too much carnage here for it not to be done by a handful of fools. This is no lone wolf attack.

  Addilyn’s name is everywhere, along with profanities and comments about my family.

  This is a nightmare.

  “What are you thinking?’

  “That whoever did this is way over their heads if they thought this would break me.”

  “I’m sorry you had to see this, man.”

  I flash Lance a half smile and bring him into a side hug. “I’m sorry you did too, Hilton.”

  The police ensure me they will get to the bottom of this with as little publicity as possible. While they are present, I notify them about the silver Mercedes Valencia and I spotted a couple of weeks ago on Addilyn’s six month anniversary. The one I noticed was following me from the florist, the same one Valencia suspects was parked in front of Helena’s that same night. There’s no real evidence to prove this man is after us, we don’t even have a clear description of him other than his slim build and lack of license plates, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

  The officers make note to visit Valencia with further details. I text her that the police will be there soon. She replies quickly with a curt ‘OK’ and we leave it at that. The officers also mentioned they would break the news to her about the vandalism. It’ll be better if she hears it straight from them.

  I reschedule my afternoon meetings for the late evening. I want to be on site to see through the clean-up as the bill isn’t pretty. My last minute work trip to Vancouver, Canada for the weekend ends up being a blessing in disguise. A distraction. I don’t like that it means less time with the kids this week. I hate this part of my job. But what it does mean is I have one final chance to apologize to Valencia and plead my case to convince her to resume her position at my company.

  It’s hell without her.

  If I don’t summon the courage to tell Valencia this tonight, it’ll be pushed into next week, meaning I only have a few weeks to find a solution to our dilemma before we go back to seeing each other once a week for forty-five seconds.

  I make a note to contact the tilers and delay their work until everything is in order. Those blueprints I’m meant to work on at the office have to be squeezed into my time in Vancouver, somewhere between sightseeing, networking, and virtually chasing Bryce McCarson down. As if my scheduling isn’t already overflowing, the vandalism situation tests my limits further.

  When the twins run out of the school and into my arms, I finally feel secure. They ask if we can go to the park before taking them to their mom’s. And despite my instincts, the September chill, and the ominously heavy clouds promising rain, I give in.

  I give in because I don’t want to waste a single second of my life without them.

  Valencia

  I set down the paintbrush for the third time tonight. I don’t have it in me to complete the first brushstroke. Nothing soothes me to sleep as the clock strikes a quarter to twelve. I’ve tried it all—watched television, pace up and down the living room, music, yoga, paint. Anything to coax myself to sleep—but, I get nothing in return.

  Insomnia tends to take over some nights, but it’s been far less daunting since I began taking the anti-depressants in the morning. My one true savior is the mental health book Giulio gave me. It’s one of the most beautiful things anybody could ever give because it is truly made for me. I finished it a couple of days ago and I’m already beginning to see everything clearer.

  “Mommy, are you awake?” My daughter peers through my open bedroom door. Her small face searches until her innocent eyes meet mine.

  I rush to lift her in my arms. “Is everything okay? Why are you out of the bed, angel?”

  Slonne rests her head in the crook of my neck and I breathe in her calming jasmine and vanilla bodywash. Dread takes over me at her tears which hit my skin. “I’ve got you. Mommy is here, butterfly.” I kiss the side of her head and sway her side to side, just like I used to when she was little. At six she’s no longer that little newborn, but she will always be my babygirl.

  I think back to the book and remember a saying: In life, you’re not always in control of what happens, however you are always in control of the way you react.

  “I ha-had another bad dr-dream.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Slonne nods against my neck. “I had a dream that dragons got Daddy and put him in this big tower…Like in Rapunzel! There was no window and so me and Oscar and you were at the bottom trying to get to Daddy but we couldn’t see him. Then more and more dragons came. Then…then they took away our candy and blew out fire.
It was so scary because they made us leave and live without Daddy forever!”

  My heart aches. Over and over for her. Slonne has been having these types of dreams for a long while. Although they are much less frequent now, they are still concerning. Especially because they all in a way relate to the subject of kidnappings.

  The twins’ therapist, Melanie, has expertly shown them that dreams are only fantasy and an extension of their fears. The only way to cure them is through positive thoughts and a happy mind. Giulio and I continue to separately do our best to console them and cure their pain, but some nights are harder than others.

  “I can imagine it would have been scary, but it isn’t real. Daddy’s safe! We’re all safe.”

  Slonne breaths out a sigh. She’s cried so hard she’s now hiccupping. “We’re all safe.”

  “Yes, angel. We are.” When I wipe away her tears and sit us both down on the bed, I hold her hands in mine and bring them to my heart. “We’re all going to be okay. Sadly, in life nothing is promised. I can’t promise bad things won’t happen, but what I can say is that we will find a way through it, like we always do. When you’re with Mommy and Daddy, you never have to worry or be scared. Okay? We will always protect you from every single nightmare.”

  “I love you, Mommy.”

  I hold her tightly, never wanting to let go. “I love you all the way to the stars, my angel.”

  Slonne eases down until her breaths normalize. “Can we still use the bad dream spray?”

  “The bad dream spray?”

  “Yeah, the one Daddy said. He told me that it’s our secret but I really need it right now.”

  Bad dream spray?

  I scan my bedroom with furrowed brows, unsure of what she means. Giulio has never mentioned it before and I don’t want to disappoint Slonne by not helping her. I also don’t want to make it seem like I have no clue what she’s talking about, and so I rub her back and reach for my phone on the nightstand.