"Thanks," she said, slightly out of breath from the effort. "You'd be surprised at the number of Bertoli men who come in and only want a rub down. They follow the rules, though, or else I sick Daniel on them."
I laughed. "That'll make anyone behave," I said.
"So tell me about this girl. Is she cute?"
I sighed happily and relaxed, nodding. "She's the most amazing woman in the world. Smart, spunky, great . . . yeah, she's great."
"And what's keeping you two apart? I mean, besides your being a Bertoli."
"Actually, that I'm American," I said as Carmen started on my shoulders and neck. They were pretty loose from my workouts, but it still felt good anyway. "Her father hates Americans. We’re good enough to be business partners, but that’s about it.”
Carmen gave me a look, then shrugged and finished up her massage. "There you go."
Getting home, I parked in the rear of the line of cars we owned to give myself extra motivation to move. Maybe it was only another fifty feet or so, but that made a difference with my rehabilitation. I went in the side entrance of the house and closed the door behind me.
Jessie was the first person to see me, and she shook her head. "Sir, your father was looking for you, and he didn't seem to be in the best of moods."
"What's wrong?" I asked. "I mean, you look like you're scared witless."
"Your father . . . it's not good when he's in moods like this," Jessie whispered. "He's quiet."
Ah hell. When my father goes quiet, bad stuff starts happening to other people. I patted Jessie on the shoulder, smiling. "Okay. Let me handle this—thanks for the heads up. Where is he?"
"His study," Jessie said. "Be careful."
I nodded and went to my father's study, knocking on the door frame. "Dad? Everything okay?"
He was facing away from me, staring out the window when I knocked. At the sound of my voice, he turned, his face cloudy as his mouth was turned down in its most extreme frown. "Tomasso. Come in—sit down."
I swallowed the ball of spit that was stuck in my throat and made my way across to the desk, sitting down in the chair across from him, realizing that it put me lower than him, probably something he’d designed into the desk. Taking a few seconds, I arranged my cane as carefully as I could, trying to gather my thoughts. What the hell was going on? "What's up, Dad? You've got everyone around here frightened."
He turned around, setting his hands on the blotter. "I just had an interesting conversation with Guillermo Mendosa. Well, I will call it interesting because it's the only word I can think of to describe a fifty-year-old Brazilian man screaming at me uninterrupted for ten minutes non-stop in broken English and Portuguese, at the end of which I didn't know much more about what the hell was going on than when I started. "
I blinked, shocked. "What? What the hell is he upset about?"
"That's what I’d like to know," Dad said, leaning forward. "From the little bit that I was able to understand, he's pledging war on our family, and something about dishonoring him and his daughter. Care to tell me why?”
I blinked, shocked. "Uhm, not really. I mean, Luisa and I were intimate, but I figured everyone knew that by the time she left. And we've stayed in touch."
“What do you mean you’ve stayed in touch?” Dad asked.
I explained to him the emails and video chats we had, along with the bit about her father's feelings toward Americans and both of our past heartbreaks. He listened, his eyes tightening when he heard not only about Luisa's heartbreak, but mine as well. “I’ve heard enough. Let’s go.”
"To do what?" I asked, confused.
"To see if there’s a chance at peace,” Dad said, a half-smile on his face. “As pissed off as he sounded, I don’t think he wants war with us. No one would want that. Do you still have your passport?"
"Real or fake?" I asked. "Last I knew, both were still up to date."
Dad chuckled. "Fake, of course. I may be attempting to be a peacemaker, but I'm not going to fly into Brazil telling everyone that I'm coming. Lord only knows what the TSA and the FBI would have waiting for us when we got back."
I was shocked that Dad would personally go to Brazil, especially if Guillermo Mendosa wanted war. Harming my father would definitely make that happen.
By the time the sun went down, we were at King County Airport, getting out of my car while Pietro unloaded our bags out of the back and took them over to the Gulfstream G280 that my father had chartered. The flight crew took them and stowed them on board before Pietro turned and came back.
"Don Bertoli, it’s my duty to advise against this," he said when he returned. "Going to Brazil, just the two of you, on a chartered flight like this? You're going in unprepared and without backup."
I'd had the same thoughts, but I was so caught up in the whirlwind of the past few hours that I hadn't had time to voice them yet. Dad wouldn’t be deterred, however. "Pietro, you’re a good man and a good lieutenant. But this isn’t just Bertoli Family, but my family business. We’ll handle it alone—Guillermo Mendosa may be a boss, but he doesn’t have the balls to harm a Bertoli man on a peacekeeping mission. Now, while I'm gone, Margaret is in charge, okay?"
Aunt Margaret, who'd made the trip out to the airport along with Adriana and Daniel, looked on with concern. "Carlo, are you sure?"
He nodded. "Margaret, this is going to be like a vacation for me. It's been far too long, and I'm already feeling younger."
She sighed, then nodded. She glanced over at Adriana and Daniel, who nodded as well. "We'll be back in time for the wedding. Don't worry about that,” Dad said, clapping Daniel on the shoulder.
Dad got on the plane, and I exchanged hugs with Margaret and Adriana and shook hands with Daniel. "I expect you back for the bachelor party."
"I'll be there," I said, grinning. I turned and headed for the plane, stopping when Pietro stepped in front of me. "Pietro?"
He held out a small case to me. "In case you forgot—always be prepared. Take care of the Godfather."
I looked in the case, smirking as I saw the muted gleam of the twin Berettas inside. "Hope I have enough to bribe the customs officials on these."
"Don't worry," Pietro replied. "I made sure there's an extra attaché case inside the plane with a good gift to any customs officers who stick their noses in. We'll have the skids greased when you get there."
I climbed aboard and took my seat, clicking in as the two pilots along with the backup climbed aboard. The crew would rotate between pilot, co-pilot, and resting in one of the spare seats during the nearly twenty-two hours it would take for us to fly to Porto Alegre, including two refueling stops, one in Texas and another in Colombia, where the crew would rotate spots. The Bertolis routinely used this company for Dad's flights—they knew when to keep their mouths shut. I didn't even want to think about how much it was costing him.
We were in the sky in minutes, my stomach sinking into my feet as the pilots quickly reached our cruising altitude of forty thousand feet. I looked over at Dad, who seemed excited by the whole thing. "Are you all right?"
"What do you mean, Son?"
I chuckled and shook my head. "It's just that I haven't seen you this lively since, well, I really can't think of a time right offhand."
He chuckled and leaned his seat back. "Tomasso, when you left for college, like I said before, I wasn't sure you were coming back. I thought you'd become a normal, boring type of person, one of those who let others fleece them while they just sat by idly like the billions of other sheep in the world. When you came back, I was happy, but still waiting to see what else might happen. Now this? Love, honor, and adventure? This is the life I want, not sitting behind a desk worrying about the dust content of the shredded cheese or if I’d need to bust heads if some strip club didn’t pay the full amount. Maybe I grew up a bit too much wanting the adventure and watched a few too many movies that your grandfather never really approved of, but this is what gets my blood pumping."
I couldn't say anything as he grinned, an
d finally, I laughed. "Okay then. Let's go to Brazil—see what the hell is going on. You might want to get as much sleep as you can. I think we're going to need it."
"Oh, that I’m sure of. I may be excited like I’m twenty years old again, but I’m definitely not. If I get too loud with my snoring, don’t be tempted to shoot me with those Berettas Pietro passed you."
I did a double-take, then just shook my head. It was impossible to put one past my father.
Chapter 20
Luisa
I sat in the chair, hugging myself as my father stormed back and forth. He'd been doing so for going on two hours now, stopping only to turn and look at me silently for a moment before continuing his rant. It was simultaneously scary and monotonous, as he’d started to repeat himself with the line of his comments.
"How could you . . .? Of all the people to sleep with! A goddamned Norte? What the fuck were you thinking?"
It was the same the entire time, ever since he'd gotten to the house and talked with the staff. Once the thought that I'd been raped by Tomasso had been cleared up, he'd taken me back to the house in Porto Alegre, where I'd practically been a prisoner inside the walls.
I'd been sold out, plain and simple, although it was my own damn fault. After seeing the positive pregnancy test, I'd gone into a sort of daze, leaving it behind in my bathroom along with the box on my dresser while I went back out to oversee the cleanup and repairs from the storm. Of course, someone found it and put two and two together. As soon as they could, they'd reported back to my dad what had been found in his daughter's bathroom, and two hours later, I'd been surprised when he pulled up in a four-wheel drive TAC, red-faced and already starting to rant.
I could’ve denied it, but knowing my father, he would’ve simply ordered me to take another test. Besides, I’d never been able to flat out lie to him in my entire life. The most I'd been able to do was hide information from him. It was that deception I used to hide my feelings for Tomasso, and even that wouldn't work any longer.
So now, nearing midnight, I was exhausted and worn out emotionally and physically.
"How could you do it, Luisa?" my father finally yelled, turning and addressing me for the first time. "Why?"
"I love him, father," I whispered, hugging my knees. "With all my heart, I love him."
"No,” he said, shaking his head. "You're confused. It's what happened last time, remember? I know it, it must be. But that's all right, I will have vengeance."
He stormed off, leaving me with a chill in my heart. I'd listened in as he had ranted and screamed at Carlo Bertoli over the video call link before hanging up on him, only to start in on me. He'd called in all of the Mendosa men he could, including both Vincente and Eduardo, telling them to make plans for trips to America. He was preparing to take the fight to the Bertolis and start a blood bath in Seattle.
I stayed in the chair, not knowing what else to do. When I had to go to the bathroom, I found one of my father's men standing outside the door, escorting me to the toilet and then to my room, which had been stripped down to just the bed, a mostly empty set of drawers, and some books that I'd last read in high school. I fell into bed, exhausted and afraid but unable to fall asleep. Instead, I closed my eyes and decided if there was any time for this sinner to pray, it was now.
I said a little prayer that no blood would be spilled and that a peaceful resolution could be found. I didn't know if my words had any supernatural effect, but I found enough inner peace to fall into a deep sleep, where Tomasso found me. We were back in Seattle, but much older, maybe in our mid-thirties or early forties, sitting by the ocean. We weren't doing anything special, just watching two children play by the water, but I had a sneaking suspicion that those children were ours, a girl and a boy. We sat there, sipping coffee, and I was wearing an Angora sweater while Tomasso had his arm around my shoulders. It was restful, it was relaxing, and I awoke in the morning to feel a hint of hope.
It was that hope that sustained me throughout the day as I felt like a pariah around the house. Vincente, in particular, was the worst, looking on me with disdain any time he and I were in the same room. Finally, after about the third time he'd given me a look, I snapped the book I was reading closed and stared at him. "Do you have something you want to say?"
"I'm just trying to wrap my head around the fact that you whored yourself out," Vincente said. "Fucking a Bertoli and getting pregnant by him? What, were you looking for a green card or something?"
I was too settled into my chair to be able to jump up at him in time to get him, but my throwing arm is pretty good for a woman who never played sports, and I was able to whip the hardback book well enough to hit him in the chest. He stumbled back, probably more in shock than in pain, and I was able to get up and grab him by the hair, spinning him around and jamming him against the door frame. He struggled, but his extra strength and mass meant nothing with my positioning. Besides, I'd been working hard, both in Seattle and here, and I was in good shape. When he started to push off, I stepped on the back of his right knee, collapsing him down. "If you ever, and I mean ever, talk to me like that again, our father will find that he only has two sons."
Vincente struggled for a bit, until I heard a quiet, commanding voice in the hallway. "I'd apologize if I were you."
“S . . . sorry," Vincente gritted out through clenched teeth, and I let him up, stepping away but not lowering my guard one bit. He rubbed at his cheek, which was turning red from where I'd jammed his face against the door frame, and walked out without saying another word.
Eduardo came into the doorway, watching as Vincente made his escape before turning to me. "I'm sorry he was rude to you. I'll talk to him later."
I chuckled darkly, knowing how Eduardo had discussions with people. The eldest of us, he was composed and serious, much more so than the hot-headed Vincente, at least, even if he was still arrogant. "Make sure you don't break his arm," I said, going back around to my chair and sitting down. "I just left a place where I was helping a man rehabilitate. There is no way I'm going to be stuck helping Vincente take a piss for the next two months."
Eduardo snorted in humor, about the most humor you could get out of him, and sat down in one of the other chairs. "So how are you feeling?"
"Like the gum on the bottom of this family's collective shoe," I replied, picking up my book. Eduardo had always been my favorite brother, for a couple of reasons. We were so close in age that even though we had different mothers, we were practically twins who grew up together. Going through school, we'd been in the same year group the entire time and had stuck up for each other. We'd drifted apart over the years since I went to Brown and he stayed in Porto Alegre, but we still got along well enough. He was insufferably arrogant, but I could still talk to him. "Vincente's not the only one who has been giving me looks today."
Eduardo shrugged, then leaned back. I was struck at how similar he was in mannerisms and behavior to Carlo Bertoli and wished that the two men could meet. "So you are with child. Congratulations?”
I was shocked for a moment at his words, and turned to look at him. "You're not going to call me a whore or say I screwed up? Or are you just being sarcastic?”
"The Lord does nothing without purpose," he said. He’d always been the most religious member of my generation in the family, weirdly enough. “Don’t take this the wrong way—it’s just a question. I take it you’re going to keep the baby? I only ask because despite what the Church teaches, so many young women our age do it."
I shook my head fiercely. "Even if I never see Tomasso again, this child is my child. I’ll love and protect it."
“And I’ll love and protect my sister," Eduardo said simply. "I just got a message from Father. It seems that after his little rant last night, the Bertolis have decided to respond."
"Oh? And how is that? Eduardo, I don't want to cast doubt on our men's skill, but if Father thinks he can take the fight to Seattle and wipe out the Bertolis, he's sadly mistaken. They're well-trained, professional, we
ll-armed, and bigger than our family. It'd be a bloodbath." I was being slightly hyperbolic, but I wanted to do whatever I could to prevent fighting. If that meant scaring my father, I'd try it.
"That won't be a problem," he said, a chilly smile on his face. "Carlo and Tomasso are flying to Porto Alegre. According to Margaret Bertoli, their intention is peace.”
I blinked, stunned. "They're what?”
Eduardo nodded. "Either they are serious about peace, or they are insane, because we've already checked with our friends at the airport, and a private charter jet is scheduled to land at three this afternoon. We've already instructed the customs officials at the airport to let them in without any real inspection. From there, we will determine what course of action to take."
"And you’re the one to tell me about this . . . why?" I asked, trying to control my excitement. To see Tomasso again, even with the stress and the situation in our laps, was more than I could have wished for, and my heart was leaping in my chest.
"Well, at first, Father wanted to greet the them with a hail of shotgun shells," Eduardo said, but he waved it off when he saw the shock and pain on my face. "Don’t worry, I talked him out of it, but he did ask me to do something, and you should probably know.”
"What?" I asked, suspicious. Eduardo already had multiple deaths to his name, and was as cold-blooded as any reptile when he wanted to be.
“Let’s just say that Tomasso won’t be returning home in the same condition, if you get my drift."
I swallowed and controlled my emotions. "I understand your feelings, and I’m flattered that you feel like you need to defend my honor. But what if I don't want you to?"
He shook his head. "That doesn’t change the fact that I have to do it. My question to you is, how would you prefer I do it?"
I could tell from the tone of his voice that it was no use arguing with him. Whether he was convinced to do it or father ordered him to, it didn’t matter. Once his mind was made up on something, there was no changing it. “Fine. If you have to do this—Vale tudo," I said. "Can you do that, at least?"
Rushed: A Second Chance Sports Romance Page 35
