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It’s his personal space, where he does business, and unless invited, it’s strictly off-limits.
Fifteen minutes ago, he called and told me to bring my ass downstairs before abruptly hanging up.
As I descend the winding stairs barefoot, I trail my fingers along the intricate staircase railing, and silence greets me when I land in the foyer. My father’s office door is open—another rarity. I roll my shoulders back to calm myself, and the silence is haunting when I enter.
He’s regarded as one of the most notorious crime bosses in history. He runs the family with an iron fist and doesn’t offer second chances. He’s called evil, a killer, a menace to society.
To me, he’s a loving dad, my protector, and a man with a massive weight on his shoulders. He took over the family at a young age after the murder of my grandfather. And even though he attempts to keep me in the dark of his evil deeds, the older I get, the clearer they get.
He sits behind his desk, and Benny stands near the bar cart across the room. Both of them wear black suits and similar looks of disappointment.
The office hasn’t changed since the mansion was built, except foronething. He replaced the portrait of my grandparents, Aunt Helena, and him with one of Benny, him, and me. Everythingelse—from the refined oak finishes to the fireplace and wood floor, selected by my deceased mother—remains.
My gaze drifts to the portrait.
To my sixteen-year-old self.
I hate what I see.
A lost girl. Lonely. So unsure of herself and if she’d ever have a life of her own.
It’s sad that I still feel the same even a decade later.
My father clears his throat, and I straighten my skirt before taking the seat across from him. Benny stands taller but offers me a slight smile, easing some of my tension. With each passing day, he evolves into a carbon copy of our father with the same black hair, heavy jawline, permanent scowl, and all-business demeanor. My father hardened Benny, trained him for cruelty, and educated him on business. He wants him prepared for the day he takes over our family.
“Care to explain why you were whispering with Antonio Lombardi today?” My father props his elbows on his desk.
Nausea rolls through my body, and the pasta from earlier threatens its way up. I should’ve known he’d find out about our little run-in.
When I don’t answer, he clears his throat again, more impatiently this time.
“We randomly ran into each other.” I shrug.
He continues to stare, unsatisfied with my bullshit answer.
“What?” I throw my arm out, my Cartier bracelet nearly falling from my wrist. “I’m not allowed to share friendly conversation with people?”
“No,” he clips.
“Seriously?”
“I don’t care if the motherfucker’s head is on fire. You don’t speak to any men outside our family. Do you understand me?”
“All I said wasexcuse meand asked if it was still raining outside because I didn’t want to get my hair wet.”
I hate lying to my father for two reasons:
I want him to trust me.
He can always tell when people are deceitful.
“Don’t bullshit us, Gigi,” Benny says.
“I’m not bullshitting anyone,” I argue. “Do you think I’m dumb enough to just hang out with a Lombardi in public?”
They exchange glances, and I scrunch my face, offended.
“Do it again, and it won’t beyouwho suffers the consequences,” my father warns. “It’ll be him.”
