Giovanni
Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to that. How can I trust the Messinas?
I tighten my grip on the handles of my motorcycle, staring at the red traffic light and considering turning around. I can go back to my apartment, pick up Alina-who I left with Isabella to make sure she’s safe-and drive the hell out of Chicago. Leave it all behind and start my life anew with a wonderful wife and a baby in my arms.
But when the light switches to green, I follow the original route. It was a moment of weakness, something that I would never give up to-well, except for that first night when I couldn’t resist Alina no matter how much I tried to. She is my weakness, the soft spot in the middle of my chest, and I can’t ruin her life along with mine.
I promised her to give Riccardo a chance, so I will-and we’ll see where it takes me.
I pass the Escarra territory, glancing around to check for any patrols. Of course, I haven’t mentioned to Gerardo that I’m going to meet his enemy I doubt he’d appreciate my decision to be diplomatic. So the last thing I need right now is one of our men spotting me on the way to Bridgeview, the neutral territory that the Messinas and the Pushkov chose for our meeting.
You see, thanks to Alina, the Russian Bratva is aware of the whole ordeal. After talking to my fiancee, Olga agreed to send a few of her men to guarantee my safety during the meeting. The Messinas are, obviously, going to show up with their own guards.
Yeah, I doubt that the whole thing will escape Gerardo’s attention, but I’m gonna deal with his reaction afterward. For now, I have to make
sure that I get out of here alive.
As I ride through Bridgeview, looking for a place to park, I get a message from Irina and pull to the curbside to read it. We’re ready.
Riccardo and Paolo are here. Oh, so I get the privilege of talking to both brothers. What a shame I didn’t bring my best suit. I huff out loud and look around. Actually, I think I can walk from here, so I leave my motorcycle
and cross the street in the pouring rain.
The Messinas have chosen a small restaurant in the northern part of Bridgeview where, at this time of day, you don’t see a lot of sports fans that fill it closer to evening. The stadium nearby keeps the place busy at night- but for now, it’s perfect for a calm exchange of truths and whatnot.
It’s not hard to find the restaurant-even without the sign above the entrance, a few black cars parked around it guide me to the right place. The place is small enough to hold our party only; I catch sight of Riccardo and Paolo on the other side of the restaurant while Italian and Russian men take tables by the door. There are no other customers inside, and the owner behind the counter looks both scared and pleased to have such important guests.
“Hello.” The old man is the only one to greet me, glancing around as if to check if the guards are okay with me entering. The Italians eye me with suspicion while two Russian men get up to check if I have any weapons with me.
“Keep it safe,” I grumble, willingly giving them my gun, but they say nothing, put it away on the table, and nod at the Messinas.
“Go ahead.”
As I approach the Messina brothers, they look up at me, and it’s almost funny how little has changed since we were kids. Riccardo gives me a cool smile, his shoulders relaxed, his dark eyes full of confidence. His brother, on the other side, is as grim and suspicious as the last time I saw him. Paolo is not the diplomatic one, so he doesn’t hold back his true feelings.
“If I didn’t know you, I’d think you were one of ours.” Riccardo chuckles, watching me take a seat opposite them, and I huff under my breath. Yeah, I’ve heard it many times. Whoever my father was, it looks like he had Italian roots that took over Mom’s.
“I used it many times to get into your territories until Liss blew up my cover,” I say, looking between Riccardo and Paolo with a smirk. What’s left to hide? They know all about me at this point.
Riccardo’s only reaction is to chuckle, finding amusement in the Messinas’ own dumbness, while Paolo clenches his jaw and gives me a glare. He’s always been the hot-tempered one in the family, and it’s as funny to taunt him now as it was when we were children. Ah, good times, huh?
“Have you ever thought about that? Why-”
“That is not what we came here for,” Paolo cuts us off-Riccardo gives him a glance but says nothing-leans on the table, and looks straight at me. “We’ve gathered information about Beatrice.”
A wave of annoyance runs through me as I hear him say her name.
None of the Messinas has any right to talk about her! But I swallow my rising anger and let him talk. There’s one thing Paolo is right about. We didn’t come here for casual talk, and the sooner we get this over with, the better.
“She was shot in her apartment the day after the explosion in Amber Peak. Right?”
I nod while tension creeps into my muscles. I didn’t expect it to be easy to talk about Mom with the very people responsible for her death, but damn it. I wish I had my gun with me now.
“We don’t know who did it-and no, it wasn’t us,” Paolo adds as soon as I chuckle and open my mouth to point at their own failure.
“Believe it or not,” Riccardo picks up after him, looking at me with a thoughtful expression. “But at the time, we didn’t even know that Beatrice had escaped Father’s mansion.”
“She was Mexican. She knew you’d blame her first,” I say with growing resentment, staring at the table and not at the Messinas because… well, I can’t be sure why she did it. I didn’t know that Mom was in her apartment that day, and I didn’t get to talk to her after the explosion. I thought I had all the time in the world to see her again.
“She’d always been Mexican,” Riccardo reasons with a serious frown. “But Father never held it against her.”
“Well, after his death, Cassio wouldn’t be in charge anymore, huh?” I can’t help but say sarcastically, looking between them. It looks like the mention of their father is as unpleasant for them as it is for me to hear them talk about Mom.
But there’s something about Cassio’s name that makes all three of us sit for a moment in silence. I don’t know if they’re thinking about the same, but the memories of our years together in his mansion flash before my eyes.
It was the best time of my life-careless, happy, and full of fun. Isabella and I had to help Mom in the kitchen, of course, but we still had more freedom there than under Uncle Nicolas’ wing, partially because…
“He was a good man,” I say, lowering my voice under the weight of memories and staring blankly at the table. “Your father…he always treated us with kindness even though we were nobodies. Just children of his cook. But he made us feel like we were worth something.”
“And then, your family turned around and killed him,” Paolo adds with pure venom in his voice, and I look up with a shot of heated frustration in my veins.
“I wasn’t a part of it. I had no idea they wanted to kill him! And I would have stopped them if I could.”
While Paolo purses his lips, looking doubtful, Riccardo hums, narrowing his eyes with a thoughtful look. “Have you thought that Beatrice might’ve wanted to stop them? If she put their plan in danger, wouldn’t they get rid of her?”
What? I frown, looking away. Is this his way of trying to convince me that Gerardo himself killed Mom? No, no, they were family. It doesn’t make any sense.
“She wouldn’t do it,” I say a moment later, shaking my head.
“Mom…I mean, she’d spent years working for Cassio, but she wasn’t that
attached to him.”
Right?
“What about that ring, then?” Riccardo asks, and I look at him in confusion.
“What ring?”
“The one you gave to Alina. Where did you find it?”
The image of Mom’s cold fist clasped around the ring flashes through my mind, but I shake it off and narrow my eyes at Riccardo. I don’t like the idea of him seeing Mom’s ring and, especially, studying Alina’s hands to take a better look at it. I gave it to her as a token of my love and commitment. What the hell does it have to do with this conversation?
So I sit up straight and give Riccardo a cold look, feeling protective of our privacy. “Why does it matter?”
“Because I think that the only reason for you to keep it was if Beatrice gave it to you.” Riccardo leans forward, studying my face with an unreadable look as if waiting to see my reaction, and I have to admit that it’s quite annoying.
“Even if she did, it has nothing to do with you.”
“I think it does-because that ring was created as a part of Dad’s collection.”
What? No, that’s-that’s some kind of bullshit. I frown and shake my head in disbelief. “No, no, it doesn’t make sense. Why would Cassio give her his ring? You’ve probably mistaken it for something else.”
“Well, is it shaped like two vines with three round emeralds at the top? Is the one in the middle slightly bigger, the silver around it carved into the shape of the letter C?”
The more Riccardo says, the deeper my heart drops, until I feel it drowning in a pool of cold water. How does he know all that? Did Alina give him the ring? But I saw it on her hand this morning, I kissed it before leaving, and I know she would never give it to anyone else. I’d had it for almost five years before giving it to her, I know every detail on this ring- and Riccardo repeats them with frightening clarity.
“How do you know that?” I clench my hands into fists, the force of confusion making me angry at him. But Riccardo only chuckles and shakes his head.
“I’ve told you, it’s Dad’s ring. The question is, how did Beatrice get it?”
“Do you think she stole it?” Paolo frowns, turning to Riccardo, and I growl, clenching my jaw and leaning forward. I hear some commotion behind me, the Italians probably shifting in their places to stop me if I decide to lunge at their don.
“No, I don’t.” Riccardo himself looks completely unbothered. He holds my gaze until I breathe out and back away a little and only then does he glance at Paolo-who looks as confused as I am-and sighs. “But I’ve had time to think about it, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Cassio gave it to Beatrice, and instead of selling it for thousands of dollars, she held on to it till the end of her life.”
I swallow. What…what is he trying to say?
“You’re right, Gio,” Riccardo continues after a short pause, and I see gloom in the depth of his eyes when he meets my gaze again. “Dad
always treated you with affection that even Paolo and I couldn’t get from him. He liked you as if you were his own children, and if you look at yourself in the mirror…”
No. No.
“… you’ll see why.”
I shake my head and close my eyes, trying to get his words out of my head. He just made this up, it can’t be true! Cassio had a wife and a family, and Mom…well, I’ve never seen her with any man, but-but it was because, whoever my dad was, he broke her heart. And he wasn’t Cassio, no, it’s impossible!
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Paolo voices my doubts with his own confusion and aggravation. “Dad loved Mom, he’d never cheat on her. Not-not with the cook!”
I immediately open my eyes to glare at him. “What’s wrong with her being a cook? She was more beautiful than Katherine would ever be.”
“What did you say about my Mom?” Paolo jumps up on his feet
with a furious look, and I stand up against him, tightening my fists. If he’s ready to throw hands, I’m not gonna stand by just because they have their men by their side.
“Can’t you fucking behave?” Riccardo raises his voice all of a sudden, looking at us from his seat, and I don’t have to look around to know that both Italians and Russians have gotten out of their seats, ready to interfere. “We are here to talk like adults, not roosters before the-What now?”
The last question follows the sound of a notification coming from my pocket, and Riccardo gives me a cold look. Finally, I see him actually pissed.
“It’s just a message,” I grumble back at him, reaching for my phone. I don’t get any messages for nothing. I hope it’s just San asking me to join him on a mission.
Instead, I see Isabella’s name on the screen, and my annoyance immediately shifts into alertness. Did something happen to Alina? Or have they run out of coffee? I open the message with a sense of premonition- and my heart drops. Shit.
Gerardo is here.