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Dad snarls in response. “I don’t give a fuck what you think.”
“She cares about you and your family more than she should. You don’t deserve a daughter like her. No father should ever treat their own blood like this.”
“And no daughter should ever go against her father the way she did. Not once, but twice. Don Rossi, please remove these two from my sight. They make me sick.” Dad sits back in his chair, arms crossed, the color in his face returning to normal.
“Come on, Gian.” Renzo turns to go.
Gian gets to his feet. I stand with him. But before we can leave, I turn to my father in one last fit of desperation. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I wanted to do the right thing for you, and I hoped you’d understand. Gian’s still a Rossi, and I’m still going to do what’s right for the Famiglia, and?—”
“You don’t have to worry about that anymore. You no longer carry the Rinaldo name. Leave now.”
His words are gunshots. I turn away, feeling hollow and dizzy. Gian’s still holding my hand, and he helps me walk to the office door. I want to turn around and argue with Dad, but I know there’s nothing I can say. He’s a stubborn bastard, just like me, and he’s not going to change his mind. Not right now. Maybe not ever.
Dad’s men lead Renzo toward the front door, but I spot Sophia standing outside of the music room. She looks stricken, her hands over her mouth, and I pull away from Gian and hurry over to her. I go for a hug, but she steps away, flinching as if I’m a disease.
“I can’t,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.”
“Soph.” Tears fall freely now. “Please.”
“If I’m seen with you—” She steps away, shaking her head. “We can talk later, okay?”
I’m devastated. I don’t know what to say. I knew Dad would be angry—I even had a feeling he might say some pretty awful stuff, which is totally what he did—but I never thought Sophia would look at me like I’m toxic.
“I understand.” I take a step back, my hands shaking. “I was just trying to do what’s right.”
Her face falls. “Right for who? No, don’t answer, we both know already. Just go with your husband, okay? We can talk later.”
Right for who. The words burn into my brain as I turn away and hurry over to Gian. He’s giving me a hard look, but when he tries to take my hand, I pull away.
I don’t want to touch him right now.
Chapter 18
Allegra
Ibarely notice when the car pulls up out front of an old Tudor-style house set back from the street and surrounded by a tall black fence. Gian gets out and I follow him, moving woodenly, frowning at the neighborhood. “We’re only a few blocks away from my house,” I say to his back as he pushes through a gate and heads toward the front door.
The car pulls away. I stand there, confused, and Gian glances over his shoulder. “We are? I hadn’t noticed. Come on. You did say you wanted to be close to your family.”
“I mean, like, somewhere in the region. I didn’t mean around the freaking corner.” I hurry after him as he unlocks the front door with an old-looking key and we step into the entryway.
It’s completely empty. The hardwood floors need to be refinished and the walls are covered in some of the worst puke-green floral wallpaper I’ve ever seen, but the bones are gorgeous. The original wood details are stunning: exposed beams cross the space and brass light fixtures in the shape of lions hang in the corners. A stained-glass window casts colors across the main staircase.
“I bought this a few weeks ago,” Gian says, walking toward the back of the house. I follow him, staring with my mouth hanging open.
“It’s incredible. But why?”
“I needed somewhere to live.”
“And you chose to live around the corner from me?”
He pauses when we reach the kitchen. It needs to be updated, but there are a few things I’ll keep, like that gorgeous cast-iron stove. Then again, I shouldn’t be thinking about renovating this place at all—we’re only here for a single year. This isn’t my forever home, and he’s not my forever husband.
Gian stares as he leans against the counter, fingers stroking down the stubble on his cheeks. I’m aware of his scrutiny and I move away from him, putting the room between us.
“I had a feeling I’d need this place,” he says as if that explains anything.
I stare at him. My heart’s racing. He looks back, lips parted, a cocky little smirk that drives me crazy. “Gian, why did you marry me?”
