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Gianna's tone is reassuring, her voice certain and centering. "He'll come around. His pride has been wounded. And he finds out his family knew the entire time? He's bound to react since he can't act. Give him time." She purses and inhales. "And stay out of his bed. It's another layer of complication you don't need."
It's the first time ever that Gianna isn't raving and raging against the man. She hates him. To her, letting me leave had been Xander choosing the Famiglia over us. She didn't understand that he hadn't had a choice. Not one since his birth.
He had been groomed to take over what was already a large empire at his birth. He had the weight of it all pressing on him. I didn't ask him to choose. It would've hurt too much if he hadn't picked me.
I'd told him I was done, and then I had left.
"And if he takes Lucian from me? Or hurts him in his anger?" I let my eyes rake over the men stationed all over the property. They're just as bad as the phone in my bag, tracking my movements.
They'll never let me leave this gilded cage without a call to him. Asking if I was allowed.
I smile bitterly and repress the urge to hurl the phone or the contents of my stomach.
Gianna sniffs. "He won't. And if he did, to where? You'll always have your son. Marriage in the mafia is forever. He's going nowhere. And unfortunately, neither are you. Buckle in."
14
XANDER
The drive over to the house was long. By the time I arrive, Enzo is standing by the door, starched and straight as always.
He opens the door and places his folded hands behind his back again.
"Good evening, Xander." He greets.
I nod and pass him by. He follows behind me. "Where's Father?'
"In his study. Although your mother has asked that you stop by the garden to speak to her."
I stop and glare at him, my head buzzing with something more than anger. I know it's pain, but I refuse to give it voice. "What did you say?"
"Your father's worried. He knows you're angry, and you know his condition. Therefore, your mother has asked that you speak to her first."
Enzo has his hand behind his back, as I've always seen him, but today is the first time that there's been a challenge in his voice when speaking to me.
"Tell her I'll speak to her after speaking to Father. Do you understand?" I bark at him, then turn and walk away, taking the steps up to my father's bedroom, where I find him sitting at his table, a glacial look of anger on his face.
What did he have to be angry about? I bang the door on my way in, and I settle into the chair in front of him.
"You had no right, Father. None at all."
He twists his lips, the dark look on his face softening for a second before it snaps on again. "I know, but let's talk. I had to."
"He was my child. He is my child. When were you going to let me know?"
"It was always a deal, Xander. You were always going to know. You just had to settle into your duties first." Father croaks out.
He coughs gently, and I tip forward, worried yet wishing I didn't care. He didn't deserve it, neither did she, and yet I'd wanted to wrap my arm around her and hold her close too.
"And if the Russians had never started fighting us? If they'd never gotten so strong, would I have ever found out?"
"I'm sure you would have. You know Mel. She wouldn't have been able to take it for too long." He takes a drink from the glass on his table, and I look away, trying to understand.
He’s getting old, sick with a cancer that’s been eating away at him. He'd been unable to declare himself sick; the competition would've swept his empire away from him soon after. I did sort of understand.
But it didn't help the thud of anger inside me. It didn't help that today was the first day in six years since I'd had a look at my son. It didn't help the shame that I had no reason to feel.
I squeeze my forehead with my thumb to release the gathering cloud there. "I'll never be able to forgive you this father. I promise you."
