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Callisto
Makenna wants to see where I came from. She wants our child to know. And I know the perfect way to do that. I just hope I can show her without getting lost.
My father bought my mother a villa in Sicily. I’ve been to that estate four times since my mother died, and each time was to get away, to wash the blood from my hands and cleanse my soul. Now, I’m about to take Makenna to the very place I send my demons to die.
The plan had been set in motion before she ever asked, before I knew she was carrying our child.
“I want to ask Makenna to marry me.”
“But you’re worried about the future,” Dad replies.
“There is no gate between heaven and hell. There’s no going back and forth. I can’t welcome her into this world with open arms. I won’t condemn her to a fate she doesn’t deserve.”
“Letting her intoyourworld isn’t synonymous with forcing her into this one.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Take her to Salvezza.”
“Salvezza.” Surely to fuck I didn’t hear him right. “You want me to take her to my mother’s estate?”
“In this world, there are people who can walk through the flames of hell and come out carrying buckets of water for those still consumed by the fire. Your mother was that person for me. Makenna is that person for you. Take her. Find the traces of goodness your mother left behind and show her. You are just as much Gianna Suppato’s son as you are mine. You want to show Makenna who you are? Show her that.”
That was the last real conversation I had with my father. It was when we’d just gotten to Palermo, before the ceremony. The mere mention of my mother’s name nearly brought me to my knees, but he was right. I’ve been so consumed with being Carlos Suppato’s son that I’d forgotten there’s another part of me. It’s buried deep beneath the secrets and the sins, but it’s there. It has to be.
50
Makenna
Between Carlos’s death, the attack, and Jaxon, Callisto said there’s no better time to get away than now. I’m off work for another two weeks, and we need to travel before I’m too far along.
So, here I am, looking out the window as he drives us down winding roads and under bridges, past colorful structures of stucco and stone. We park in front of what could only be called a palace. No other word serves it justice. A palette of green grass, huge fountains, and blankets of red, purple, and gold flowers lead up to a massive solid white, stone building with archways and balconies that seem to go on for miles.
It’s so completely majestic that I have to remind myself to breathe. I feel his eyes on me, and a familiar heat creeps up my neck. He places his hand at the small of my back on that dip just above my ass that says,touch me like I belong to you.
“Welcome toSalvezza,” Callisto says, and his deep voice combined with the Italian accent sends me spiraling further into the flames of desire.
I wet my lips and look up at him. “Salvezza?”
“It meanssalvation. My father bought this place as a wedding gift to my mother. Because to him, that’s what she was, his salvation.” His voice drifts off somewhere with his thoughts, and I realize how hard this must be for him to do, what it means for him to bring me here.
This belonged to his mother.
He leads me to the massive double doors beneath one of the arches. My fingertips trace the intricate carvings on the heavy wood while he types something into his phone. A second later the lock clicks and the doors open.
I feel as though I’ve been transported to another world, another time, where men rode stallions and women wore ball gowns. I’m surrounded by marble columns with delicate carvings and beamed ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows framed with elegant tapestries, crisp white furnishings and crystal chandeliers. It’s nothing less than regal, which makes sense, I suppose, since the mafia is pretty much Italian royalty.
“It’s—” I stop myself because there isn’t a word for this sort of opulence.
Callisto smiles down at me and locks his fingers with mine. His large hand swallows my small one. “Yes. It is.”
I trail my other hand over the polished wood of an ornate writing table. The tabletop is clear except for an open book and a thick Bible. I glance at the exposed pages, but it’s written in a language I don’t comprehend.
“La Divina Commedia.” The words roll off his tongue like silk on smooth skin.
“Dante.”
The Divine Comedyis a book about one man’s quest to overcome sin and find love, to know God’s love, and to find happiness. His journey brings him through Hell, Purgatory, and finally he’s led by the woman he loves to Paradise. The book is open, as if someone had been reading it. I think of Callisto’s own internal battle and the similarities aren’t lost on me.
