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“How did he become your godfather?”
“A custom in my family. The firstborn son of my father’s best friend. The Vincheti family has been so good to my mother and father, Valentin and his father helping us secure this house, as least that’s what Papa told me. Valentin even returned to help with the renovation of the house and to work in the vineyards.”
Maybe there was some good in everyone, even if they appeared as monsters on the outside. Valentin was very much a complicated man, so multilayered that I was starting to wonder which one of them was a better representation of the real man.
“I will find you some clothes. Please… take your time.” While her smile remained genuine, I could tell she was trying to figure out just how important I was to a man she obviously cared about.
“Thank you, Bella, for your kindness. I’m a stranger.”
“No, Miss Cassidy. Valentin has never brought anyone here. The fact that he did means you are very special. You are family now.”
Why did her words sting so badly? Why did I feel like a traitor when I’d done nothing to him? When she closed the door after she left, I shifted against the counter, loathing every moment of what had happened between us.
Yet I craved the innocence and passion I’d felt the first night.
Was there anything left but anger, fear, and violence?
* * *
Valentin
“Valentin!”
The man’s deep voice was almost the same, but he’d aged, likely still working side by side with those in the vineyards after all these years. Giovanni Luciano had been like a second father to me, someone who had never raised his voice or acted out of anger. He’d once been considered as merciless and unforgiving as my father had been, both in the courtroom and out, providing my father guidance during his rise to power in Italy. The fact Giovanni been disbarred had troubled him greatly, but he’d adapted to an entirely different lifestyle, one that seemed to suit him given his rosy cheeks and twinkling eyes.
How much blood had been shed, carved into the earth and sprinkled amongst the vines over the years? How many men had lost their lives as my grandfather and father had made it their mission to destroy the Berlusconi Empire, still a powerful force? The days of bloodshed had been many, the screams of families who’d lost loved ones still echoing in my mind, but my father had been determined to make good on my grandfather’s promise.
And it had nearly broken him.
Was it really any different in the United States? The enemies were just as ruthless, leaders attempting to take what belonged to my family. The memories of my former life were bittersweet.
His office was much the same as I remembered, a dark yet comfortable and expansive room full of law books, placed in an orderly fashion in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves created from the finest exotic woods. The two huge leather chairs took up a good portion of the room, his massive mahogany desk the centerpiece. He had an impressive view of the vineyards, the lush greenery a reminder of his hard work and diligence to bring a once dilapidated business back to its glory. I was more than impressed with how much he’d accomplished over the years.
The legitimate business had brought us significant wealth over the years, but it was never enough for my father. Now the casinos and real estate development had become more important to him. I’d never realized how much I’d missed being here until now.
My last visit had been over five years before, the location the only place I’d felt comfortable coming to after losing Danielle. Those four weeks had been little more than a blur given I’d been a shell of a man, avoiding life as well as my responsibilities. Even my family hadn’t known where I’d gone to hide and heal. Only with Giovanni’s and his wife Carmella’s constant care had I finally returned to the land of the living.
“Giovanni.”
He pulled me into an embrace, slapping me on the back. “It’s been too long. How is life in America?” As he pulled away, he had a genuine look of concern on his face.
“Profitable. And yours?”
“Never been better. We are expanding again, which I’m excited about.”
Smiling, I suddenly felt as if I was home. I’d spent more time here than in my father’s house my teenage years, even working the vineyards in repayment of my sins. I wanted to laugh at the memories of how difficult I’d been as a kid. “I meant to return more frequently but business has kept me away.”
“I understand. After your call, I investigated some of your recent… troubles.” He gave me a hard look, shaking his head. “You have pissed off some people. Yes?”
“My troubles. Word travels fast. It would seem I may have pissed off more than one powerful organization. I will crush them if necessary.”
As he laughed, the booming sound just as I’d remembered, he lifted a single eyebrow. “You are very much like your father, Valentin. Virile. Protective. Unyielding. May I also caution you that your future will be as difficult as your father’s was. You must choose wisely. How you handle your enemies at this point in your life will either bring you additional respect or more men who will become determined to betray you.”
He’d always cut through the bullshit, often forcing me to hear things that I hated. His idea of tough love had been entirely different than my father’s but often the lessons that I’d remembered.
He moved toward a cabinet, taking out two glasses and his preferred bottle of scotch. He’d introduced me to Macallan when I was barely eighteen, ensuring that I had a lesson in the finer liquors. He’d also been the man who’d bailed me out of jail more than once as a youth, managing to convince the Italian courts I wasn’t a delinquent. I owed him many things.
“Wise words, my friend. I appreciate your accommodations.”
