After he was alone once again, Kyle made his plate to-go, then put away the rest of dinner while he thought about what he wanted to do for the remainder of his weekend.
Should he call Reanna? Try his luck at being honest? Kyle had no clue what the hell to do, all he knew was that he wanted to hear her speak tonight—even if she just said hello, he wanted to hear her voice. That would do for tonight, he thought. The heavy stuff could come another day …
Chapter 7: Cesare & Anastacia
Kyle had gone home a while ago, the grandchildren were all tucked in and sleeping soundly in their rooms; Mikilo had retired to one of his many bedrooms in the west wing of the mansion, and Anastacia had taken Camiella to her bedroom to rock her to sleep.
The house was quiet, all doors were secured, and all guards were at their posts.
Cesare Valente strolled down the long hallway of his home, making his way to his daughter’s bedroom, his mind overwhelming him with thoughts regarding a few issues that he was far from ready to tackle.
It had been a good evening, one that Cesare genuinely enjoyed. He’d gotten to spend time with his sons and his grandchildren, but most importantly, he’d gotten to have a nice heart to heart with his first born, Kyle.
His silent son. The son that gave him the most worry …
As Cesare rounded the corner and neared his daughter’s bedroom, he couldn’t help but think over the past, and how far Kyle had come. Recent events had pretty much taken away his ability to think about anything else but his sons.
In the past, Mikilo had always been easier to handle than his brother. The boy kept nothing hidden, he was an open book, and never really strayed too far away from home. But Kyle was different, understandably so. He was quiet, secretive, even reclusive at times. He spoke only when urged, and never sought help in his personal affairs unless his back was against a wall.
Since the day Cesare had brought his boy home from Italy to resume his recovery from his mother’s attack, Kyle had been closed off, a loner. He’d suffered a vicious attack at the hands of his mother, Abrielle Avianci, that had left him in a coma for three months, and once he’d woken, he had not had memory of … well, anything. The child hadn’t even known his name. Cesare had had to teach him. Teach him how to walk again, to speak. It had taken time, and Cesare had spent months away from his youngest son, who had stayed behind in America, residing in Angelo’s home, but it had been time that he had given without a fuss, without a word, because it was his son. His precious little boy, and he’d failed him. The guilt of what he’d done, leaving his son with that vile woman, had been so overwhelming at times, it’d nearly killed him. Cesare remembered the only thought that had kept him going, kept him from being consumed by the, at times, overwhelming sadness in his heart had been the vow he’d made to God to nurse his son through his recovery, be the father both he and Mikilo deserved, and raise them to be strong, powerful, unstoppable men. He’d sworn off ever taking a wife, deeming women untrustworthy, venomous liars, and somehow … his ways had rubbed off on his boy, Kyle.
Kyle had forgiven Cesare for abandoning him at a very young age; had told him that he’d had no resentment toward him after Cesare had shared with him why his body was covered with scars. But even though Kyle had held no resentment toward him, had forgiven him, he had always seen a subtle anger in his boy’s eyes every time he’d examine the evidence of his mother’s attack. Cesare watched that anger build and build over the years, then he watched his boy become a replica of himself … bitter, cold, ruthless. And all of that anger, that mistrust and resentment was aimed toward those he’d trusted the least, those whom resembled the one who’d hurt him the most … women.
Much like he had, Kyle had sworn to never take a wife, never to fall in love, commit himself to a woman. His mistrust for women grew to irrational heights. Cesare had never seen his son’s coldness with his own eyes, but Mikilo had come to him concerned of his brother’s obvious pain on more than one occasion.
It had broken Cesare’s heart, knowing that his boy had carried so much hate in his heart, and for a while, he’d thought Kyle was destined for a life of emptiness. No love, no children, no chance at happiness …
That had all changed when Cesare’s beloved granddaughter, Sofia Nicole Valente, was born.
Nearing the door of his daughter’s room, Cesare approached slowly, then paused at the door, peeking in when he heard the sweet sound of his wife’s singing drifting into the hallway.
Cesare closed his eyes, as a smile pulled at his lips. A well-kept secret of Anastacia Stone’s; she had the singing voice of an angel. Ironic, seeing as the only thing angelic about the woman herself was her outer beauty, and even that was used as a weapon when needed.
Smiling at his own thought in amusement, Cesare pushed the door open, and entered Camiella’s darling bedroom, finding Anastacia in a rocking chair cradling their little angel in her arms as she sung a sweet lullaby in her native tongue.
Cesare stood, enjoying her smooth, flawless voice and the sight of his precious daughter drifting to sleep in her mother’s arms. Anastacia was an exceptional mother. And though she had feared raising a child, after having been denied the opportunity to raise her first two, she had adapted effortlessly to mothering their baby girl, just as he had when she had finally gotten the chance to be a mother to her two adult children.
“Mon amour,” Anastacia called softly.
Cesare glanced up from his musings, unaware that she had finished the lullaby. Entering the room fully, he slowly walked to where she sat. “What is it, my darling?”
She looked up at him with the most beautiful smile in her eyes, and nodded toward their child. “Will you lay Cami in her crib? You can give her a kiss goodnight.”
Cesare nodded in response, more than happy to take his perfect little Cami into his arms. He stared into the sleepy, barely opened, blue eyes of his precious angel as he carried her to her bed. She was a spitting image of her mother in every way, so stunning. Cesare never would have guessed he’d have a little girl this late in life, but as always, life threw surprises at him. And after a life full of horrific—sometimes tragic—surprises, it was nice to have a surprise like Camiella. She alone made up for every bit of lost time between Cesare and the love of his life, Anastacia.
“Goodnight, my sweet Camiella,” he whispered, leaning forward to kiss her forehead, then her soft little cheek. “Papà ti ama bella principessa.”
With those soft words, he placed his baby in her crib, tucked her in, and then stood, watching her fall to sleep. He felt Anastacia’s hand on his back before she came up beside him, wrapping her arm around his waist and resting her free hand on his chest.
“It has been a long day, mon amour,” she sighed, pressing her face to his chest. “I am retired from the business now; I should not be this tired.”
Cesare chuckled softly, moving to wrap his arms around her. He lightly kissed the top of her head. “Does one ever really retire from our business, my love?”
Lifting her head, she stood on her toes, meeting him halfway for a kiss. “Life would be so boring if we actually could, would it not?”
Cesare smiled against her lips, then kissed her once more, this time holding her to him and kissing her deeply. It was a feeling he’d never tire of, kissing his beloved Ana. She was, and had been since the day he’d met her, his love. The only women his heart would ever beat for. And she was his …
After parting his lips from hers, he brought his hand up to cup her face, and stared deeply into her hazel eyes. “Come, my Ana.” He released her, took her hand, then led them out of Camiella’s bedroom, closing the door behind them.
Their bedroom was not far from Cami’s—a mere few steps across the wide hallway, and they were there.
“I want a bath,” Anastacia said, releasing his hand and journeying across the room toward the bathroom. “It’s the only way I will be relaxed enough to even attempt sleeping tonight. Will you join me?” she asked, giving him a quick glance ov
er her shoulder.
Cesare nodded, heading to his dresser. “I will. I just need a minute to check my messages.”
She entered the bathroom without another word, leaving him to check the messages on his cell phone in peace.
Retirement had done very little to calm his lifestyle. His life had pretty much only gone from getting up every morning for work, to sleeping in and working from his home office. Still, he had more free time, and that was what he’d wanted anyway. With his son now doing all of the more active work he’d once done as consigliere, Cesare felt like he had more control of his days, and he was far from poor. It was what he’d spent over twenty years of his life working for; and being retired—though still tiring at times—was far better than not being retired.
Picking up his cell, Cesare chuckled at the amount of missed calls and voice messages he had from this evening alone. It was ridiculous that both he and Angelo still had to deal with shit like this. A nice handful of the associates fighting to get a hold of him were only seeking him out because they lacked the power to reach the young men and women that were actually active right now. As such a task had now become basically impossible. Nathan’s inner circle was tight, and Carterina’s was even tighter, yet everyone wanted to be a part of their exclusive little clubs, and thought the best way of being invited was to receive the blessing of the former leaders. Though they were right, neither Cesare nor Angelo exercised their power unless they came together, discussed it, and deemed the associates worth vouching for.
“Cesare, come now,” Anastacia yelled from the bathroom. “The water will get cold. Leave your messages for the morning.”
Cesare frowned. “All right, woman. Be patient.”
He heard her chuckle from the bathroom and he smiled. The idea of Anastacia being patient was quite amusing.
Re-focusing on his phone, he sought out the messages he’d come to his phone for in the first place, and found it with no problems. It was an email from an old contact in Italy that was currently doing a job for him.
“Shit,” Cesare muttered, while reading his recent update. “Fucking hell …”
“Is something wrong?”
Cesare didn’t even jump when his dear, naked wife suddenly appeared behind him. He was far too used to her surprise appearances now.
“What is it?” she asked, coming around to stand in front of him. “It must be something, since it is keeping you from our hot bath.”
After allowing his gaze to quickly take in the sight of her exceptionally beautiful and ageless body, Cesare nodded at her question. “Yes, it is …”
She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is it Salvado?”
“Yes,” he answered.
“And what has he said?” she asked, coming closer to him. “Is she here?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Well,” she looked at him in question, “did you tell him?”
Cesare glanced away from her when she asked the question. This was one of the current issues that Cesare wasn’t quite ready to tackle, mostly because he knew his son wasn’t ready either.
Seeming to have gotten the answer to her questions from his face, Anastacia hit his shoulder. “Cesare, why?” she yelled.
With a sigh, Cesare sat his phone back on his desk and walked away from her. “He is not ready, Anastacia,” he explained. “He still refuses to discuss his nightmares.”
His granddaughter had mentioned that her father had been experiencing nightmares and Cesare automatically knew what they were. Kyle had had the same issue when he was a boy. They were memories, and every time he had them, he’d forget them all over again due to the intense trauma he’d suffer at the memories alone. But this seemed different—this time the dreams were coming more often, and the period of dream lasted longer than they had in his childhood.
“I don’t know how to bring it up that his mother has been released from prison.”
“Umm, how about, Kyle your mother has been released from prison and may come looking for you!” Anastacia argued. She crossed the room, and stood in front of him once again. “You will keep such a secret from your son when you witnessed what happened to me? I kept secrets from Carterina, too, and her villainous father now has her love.”
“That will never happen in this situation, Ana.”
She snorted. “Oh really? Was Abrielle not abusive like Silas? Did she not nearly kill your son as Silas nearly killed mine?”
Cesare closed his mouth, unable to refute her argument.
“Silas nearly killed Gabriel when he beat him, he scarred his body for life, yet my son writes his father every week, and eagerly anticipates his replies.” A vicious anger filled her eyes. “For twenty-seven years I’ve longed to murder that man, feel his blood oozing through my fingers. But now I cannot realize such a pleasure. My children would never forgive me for taking him away from them, for taking away the chance for Carterina to understand where she came from …”
Closing the distance between them, Anastacia brought her hand up, and placed it on Cesare’s chest, her eyes boring into his. “Never underestimate the power of the connection between an individual and their offspring, Cesare. Do not doubt for a second that curiosity will not make that boy embrace his lying, sickening, bitch of a mother if she dared attempt to claw her way into his head … into his heart.”
“She will do no such thing, Anastacia,” he argued firmly. “Even if she tried, Kyle would never allow it. He’d contact me immediately and I’d have her dealt with.”
“The same way he is contacting you about the dreams?” she asked.
Cesare scowled.
“Exactly. You must admit that there is a possibility that she will reach out to him, and that he will not tell you about it. His curiosity will get the best of him, Cesare!”
With a loud grunt of frustration, Cesare turned away from her. “Ana, he would never do that. I know my son.”
“I know your son, too. He is you!” She stormed around to stand in front of him once again. “You will tell. Tell him that his mother may attempt to reach him. Tell him that his curiosity is normal, but Abrielle will not abate it, she has not the ability to. Then tell him that if she ever attempts to contact him to call me, and let me handle the whore.”
Cesare immediately shook his head at the idea of Kyle calling her. “Ana, no—”
“I am going to torture her until the heavens open up, and Christ returns.”
“Ana!”
“Do not try and fucking appeal to me, Cesare!” she snapped, giving a furious swipe of her hand. “I will never let that woman near my son again. She was my sister, yes, but regardless of what happened between the three of us, her insanity should not have been targeted at Kyle. He was four-years-fucking-old!” she screamed. Her jaw tightened as she took a step back from him. “She knows that I am looking for her … I can feel her in my blood, the blood that she and I share. She knows that I am with you, that I have reclaimed Kyle as my own. And I will find that woman, Cesare.” She said the words with a venomous passion as her eyes darkened, emptying of emotion, and making way for the sadistic, blood thirsty killer inside of her. “I will pull her from wherever she is hiding and I will make her suffer until I decide to let death relieve her of my torture. And there is nothing you or anyone else can do to stop this from coming to pass.” She brought her hand up to his face, cupping it gently. “Abrielle has hurt me for the last time … and she will never hurt Kyle again. It is time that I make her pay in ways that you cannot, mon amour. You would offer her a quick death, but this I will not allow. She must bleed, Cesare. My way …”
She turned and walked away from him.
“I will run us a fresh bath, mon amour,” she said, her tone suddenly becoming light again. “The water has surely gone cold by now.”
Sighing, Cesare followed behind her, removing his clothing as he did. He now needed the bath just as badly as his wife had if he had any hope of resting at all tonight. He could no longer save Abrielle’s life, he h
adn’t wanted to in the first place, but he could save his son’s. He needed to talk to him about his mother … and he needed to do it as soon as possible.
Chapter 8: The Date
Stop thinking, just focus on him. It should be easy, Reanna, come on! He’s so handsome. Handsome, rich, mature as hell, sweet, romantic, a good kisser, with exceptional table manners. Basically everything a woman could want. And did I mention that he is a good kisser?
Because he was a really, really good kisser.
So why the hell couldn’t she focus?
“Mmm …”
He moaned for the thousandth time since they began their ‘after romantic date make out session’, and Reanna couldn’t lie, she liked when he did it. It made her feel powerful, like … he was desperate for her or something, and who didn’t love feeling wanted? Even more, she loved how her new beau, Braden, showed her exactly how much he wanted her every time he took her out.
Braden Harrison, M.D.
He was a surgeon at Pleasant View Grace, and more perfect than any man she had ever met, or dated, in her entire life. Not perfect as in perfect for her, but perfect as in he was pretty much flawless. He loved to help people, and he was a law abiding citizen; he was educated, well spoken, chivalrous, down to earth, funny, and did she forget to mention that he was damn handsome? Because he really was. Even now, as he continued to kiss her with a fierce hunger, Reanna couldn’t help but grip on to his crisp, pink button down shirt and let her free hand roam to grasp the pocket of his casual pair of tan trousers that folded to his ankles. She really did love his style. How he always had one of those sexy man sweaters, and a brown pair of penny loafers for every casual outfit he owned. He was the picture of an all-American blue-blood, with perfectly tamed blond hair, blue-green eyes that stole her breath every time she looked deeply into them, and a smile that could light up the whole town. And he wanted her … apparently a lot.
Dangerous Beauty: Part Four: Beautifully Broken Page 12
