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“I will.” I didn’t want to mention that I’d spoken to Zia from Scotland. She wouldn’t be angry with me.
Unlike Frankie. My father’s wife was going to be furious.
Fausto was leaning on the fence, watching Rafe’s pony walk around the paddock with the trainer. My half brother was in the saddle, looking like a professional rider, even at the age of three. Fausto’s back was to us, so he didn’t see me approach. But Marco would’ve already told him I was at the gate. Nothing happened on the estate without Fausto’s knowledge.
Rafe noticed me first. “Fratello!” he shouted, startling his pony, who began dancing sideways. Instantly, the trainer grabbed the reins.
Fausto turned, his gaze sweeping over Alessio before landing on me. He frowned.
Rafe was through the fence and sprinting toward us. I bent down to capture him and swung him up by his legs, holding him upside down. “Signorino! Come stai?”
He laughed as I let his arms dangle toward the ground. “Did you come to watch me ride, Giulio? Everyone says I’m very good.”
“Then I look forward to seeing it.” I held him up in front of Alessio’s face. “Say hello to Alessio, Rafe.”
“Hello,” Rafe said, laughing.
“Basta, Raffaele,” Fausto called. “Get back to your lesson and let me speak with your brother.”
“He’s in a bad mood,” Rafe stage-whispered as I put him down. When his feet hit the dirt, he ran back inside the fence to his pony.
My father strolled over, his brows pulled low. “You can’t call to let us know you are coming?”
“Mi dispiace, Papà,” I said.
Moving in, he kissed both my cheeks, then enveloped me in a strong hug. He smelled the same, like my childhood, and I sank into his embrace. My father was unbreakable, a force of nature. To the rest of the world he was a terrifying mafia don, il Diavolo, but to me he was the man who’d raised me since my mother’s death. The man who inducted me into the ’ndrina. The man who’d cried when I left.
“I thought you were dead,” he whispered. “Don’t ever do that to me again. Ti amo, figlio.”
“Ti amo, Papà. I’ll explain, I promise. I had my reasons. Here, I want you to meet someone.”
He sighed and released me. “You and I will have a long talk later.” He shifted to glare at Alessio. It wasn’t a welcoming expression on his face. “And who is this?”
“Papà, meet il mio ragazzo, Alessio Ricci.”
Fausto didn’t smile or twitch. Just stared. “The sniper.”
Alessio didn’t move, his body unnaturally still. “Sì.”
My father extended a hand to Alessio. “Alessandro. Your reputation precedes you.”
Alessio shook my father’s hand. “Alessio, please. It’s an honor, Don Ravazzani.”
Fausto glanced over his shoulder. “Raffaele, I’m going inside. I need to speak with your brother.”
“You already spoke to him!” Rafe shouted. “Stay and watch me ride, Papà.”
“I need to work. Be good for Bruno,” my father said, referring to the groom giving the lesson.
“I’ll bring him in once we finish, Don Ravazzani!” Bruno called.
My father raised his hand in acknowledgment, then turned and began leading us toward the castello. The three of us walked side by side on the path, with me in the middle. My father clasped his hands behind his back, his stride slow. I knew he was gathering his thoughts.
“After Santorini,” he started. “What happened?”
“I went to Scotland. A small island in the north.”
“And you couldn’t call?”
