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11
GINEVRA
My father sat at the head of the dining room table with his espresso and a stack of newspapers, the same as he had every day during my childhood. When I plopped down beside him in slacks and a blouse, he ignored me until I reached across the table to snag a paper to read. He slapped my hand. Old habits died hard, I guess.
“Good morning, Ginevra.”
“Good morning, Papà.”
He stared at me over his paper for a long moment, then pushed a disheveled pile of already read newspapers over to me, moving the neat stack I’d touched to his other side.
I skipped the big national papers in favor of our hometown rag. God, it felt good to be home. Hot tears threatened to spill out as I settled back into the habits of my childhood.
Mamma brought me an espresso and a pastry. She hadn’t cooked, but scheduled daily delivery from a local bakery before dawn, just as she had since I was a child.
“I’m glad to see you’ve decided to spend some time with your family,” she sniffed.
Was she fucking kidding me? I slammed my cup on the table. My father’s eyes were censorious, but he didn’t move to stop me. “Mamma, do you know why I spent the night with those gangsters?”
Her face fell before she brought her expression back to neutrality.Oh.Picking a fight with me was her way of letting me know she cared. Ten years gone, and we slipped right back into our terrible, dysfunctional habits. I reached across the table and took her hand in mine. “Mamma, it’s okay. You’re worth it.Sofiais worth it.”
Papà harrumphed and set his paper down. “We’re going to tour the city today, visit the warehouses and the port, maybe some of the other businesses.”
Together, Sofia and Luca joined us at the table. “Sofia will be joining us,” Luca said, his voice soft and even. Papà harrumphed again, but didn’t object. When Sofia reached for my hand under the table, I squeezed it, then leaned over to whisper, “Go put some closed-toe shoes on, okay?”
She looked at me, then darted out of the room. When I looked at Luca, a wide smile took over his face. “Welcome home, big sister.”
Our father said nothing, just sighed, and for a moment, I pretended we were a normal family, joking and teasing each other at breakfast. Then Alexi walked into the room, plopped down into the seat beside me, and snatched the newspaper out of my fingers.
“Good morning,piccolina,” he said, the sharp snap of the paper cracking through the room like a shot.
Luca caught my eye and shook his head.Right. Pick my damn battles.
When we made our way to the cars, Rian waited for us, handsome and well dressed, as always. He loomed over the rest of the men, over six feet of gorgeous and well-built male, with eyes only for me.
Relaxing into his embrace, I leaned on him for a second as he dragged me into him, then gently brushed his lips over each of my cheeks. “How are you doing this morning?”
He imbued the question with more meaning than a simple morning greeting. Leaning on his strength, I took stock of my sore muscles and my emotional fragility. “I’ll survive,” I muttered into his chest.
“Surely we can do better than that,” he said, his voice soft and intended for my ears only, as he kissed the top of my head.
I glanced up at him through my lashes, not ready to face the emotions flowing through me. I held on to him, soaking up his strength, as I sorted through my confusion.
When my father cleared his throat, I stepped away, freeing Rian to greet the men in our entourage. Before I realized what had happened, I found myself pushed to the back of the group with Sofia.
Too quickly, Alexi directed Rian, my father, and Luca to join him in the first car, leaving Sofia and I in the follow car with Alexi’s second, Lorenzo.Fuck.As I debated whether this battle was worth it, my phone pinged.
Rian: How much is it worth to you for me to get you in the car where decisions will be made?
Hot tears threatened to spill, a timely reminder to get my shit together, because mafia dons sure as fuck didn’t cry in public. When I inhaled sharply, it caught Sofia’s attention. She stood by the second car in her jeans and white tennis shoes looking like goddamned Miss USA, and I didn’t have the heart to take this away from her.
I slid into the front seat beside Lorenzo.
“Miss Russo, Miss Russo,” he greeted each of us.
“None of that, Lorenzo,” I answered with a smile. “You called me Ginevra when I was a child, and the only thing that’s changed is that we’re both a little bit taller.” I filed away the fact that Sofia didn’t give him the same license to use her first name.
He scrubbed a hand through his closely cropped hair. “Sure thing, Ginevra. It’s good to have you home.”
