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“That’s true.” Luca taps his fingers against the desk, clearly thinking of something that he wants to say and not saying it. “Are there any prospects you have in mind for her?”
“Not yet.” I pause, frowning. “What aren’t you saying?”
Luca sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Fontana filled me in on the will, Alessio. I know what Giacomo wanted you to do. Gianna would be safer if you simply married her. Surely you realize that?”
“I can keep her safe without marrying her.” I grit my teeth, frustrated that even Luca doesn’t seem to understand my position on this. “I called you to discuss Don Mancini’s death. The circumstances of it—”
“Are strange,” Luca agrees. “He’s always had excellent security at his home—he’s had to. For someone to slip into the mansion in the middle of the night like that—it’s not something that could have been achieved without someone having some inside knowledge. I know Vasilev and McNeil are already looking into it. But I’ll see what I can do on my end.”
I nod. “It’s all I can ask. And I’ll do my due diligence here as well—and get in touch with the other bosses. There’s been no small amount of upheaval here recently, and it might have been someone taking advantage of the unrest. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” Luca agrees. He’s quiet again for a moment, and then he rubs his hand over his mouth, focusing on me from the other side of the screen. “I know you have your own feelings about all of this, Alessio. But you ought to consider the offer to marry the girl. She’s safer with you than she would be with any of the families trying to get to her—notforher, but for her name and money. You know that. You know what absorbing the Mancini empire would mean to any of the other families who want to rise higher in Sicily’s estimations. You’d be better for her.”
I stifle a groan—and the way I feel a quick, jolting stir of excitement in my belly at the thought of doing just that, of throwing away all my arguments against it and making Gianna my wife, the way the thought makes my blood beat a little faster in my veins. “That doesn’t make it the right thing to do,” I insist. “I’ve told you my reasons. She’s legally my stepsister, and her age—”
“—won’t matter to anyone else,” Luca finishes, his tone flat. “No one else will have these principles, Alessio, and they won’t treat her better for not having them. As for the matter of being her stepbrother, you know as well as I do how little that means. It’s a piece of paper, that’s all. You barely knew her. That holds very little water, other than to excuse you from doing something that you want a reason to avoid, for god knows why.”
“I’ll find her a husband who will treat her well,” I insist. “I’ll make sure she’s taken care of. That’s the best I can do. As for the rest—any help you can give me, or anything you hear will be greatly appreciated.”
“Of course.” Luca nods. “I’ll be in touch with you as soon as I find out anything at all. And if you need anything—”
“I’ll call.”
When the screen goes dark, I sit back in my chair, feeling tired all over again. I’d hoped at least Luca would understand my reasons for pushing back against the idea of marrying Gianna. But he seems to think the same as everyone else—that I’m a fool for even trying to refuse.
This isn’t going to get easier, I think as I sit there, looking out of the window to the estate beyond. The longer I’m here, the closer I get to Gianna, the harder it will be not to care for her in a way that I suspect will quickly begin to feel far from step-brotherly.
It will be on me to control myself. To force myself to do the right thing.
And that means giving her to another man, instead.
Alessio
The next week is spent falling into a new sort of rhythm, one that I can tell is very different from how things were before for Gianna. Her father’s absence, of course, is the most glaring part of that for her, I’m certain—but it’s also a matter of learning how to live with someone who is, for all intents and purposes, a stranger. I avoided her as much as I could when I was here three years ago, aware of her crush and not wanting to feed into it for either of us, knowing what her father wanted of me. Gianna is all too quick to tell me what she was used to before—about breakfasts and dinners with her father, sitting while he read his morning paper or told her about the events of his day, or listened to her as she told him about what she’d read or learned or asked him endless questions. Now, all she has is me, and I’m well aware that’s not enough, especially since I can’t be for her what her father wanted me to be.
I can’t imagine that would be whatshewanted—that her teenage crush has lingered so thoroughly that she would want to marry a man twice her age, that she would want to marryme. I think she’s aware that I don’t really want to settle in here, that I still have one foot in New York, that I intend for whoever marries her to hopefully be someone that I can feel comfortable handing off the mantle of power to, instead of staying on myself as the new don.
A week, to me, feels too soon to have her sitting in my office while I discuss her marriage prospects with her. But I know that Fontana won’t see it that way, and while he hasn’t pressed the issue yet, I know it’s better to have the discussion with Gianna sooner rather than later, before he insists that I move things along at a faster pace. I want to buy her more time to adjust and make a choice, not less.
“Did your father not talk to you about marriage at all?” I ask her as she sits down in the leather chair across from my desk, her expression nervous. She’s wearing leggings and a long green tank top that sets off her dark hair and pale skin, clinging to her curves, but I don’t think it’s her choice of outfit so much as justher. Every day here so far has been a trial when it comes to keeping my thoughts away from anything that could be construed as anything other thanfamilial, and I’ve been failing more than I would like. Gianna is beautiful, sweet, and innocent, and all I should be thinking about is protecting her. During my waking hours, I can usually push away any inappropriate thoughts before they take root too deeply, the guilt flushing them out if I can’t—but while I’m sleeping, is a different matter. My dreams have featured her every night since I moved into the mansion, and no matter what I try, I can’t seem to shake her loose.
The sooner she’s married, the sooner I can get those thoughts out of my head—and the sooner, hopefully, I can go back to New York. But above all else, I don’t want to rush her. That would defeat the purpose that I came here for—to protect her and make sure that she’s safe.
“No,” she says softly. It makes sense, I suppose—Giacomo stayed firm in his decision that I should be the one to marry her, even after I said flat out that I wouldn’t consider it, but I would have thought that he would have at least discussed other marriage prospects with her—or theideaof marriage, at the very least.
“So he kept you entirely in the dark? Even about what he wanted from me?” I’d seen her surprise when she read the will, but it’s still hard for me to fathom that Giacomo never said anything to her at all.
Gianna shakes her head. “He changed the topic whenever I’d ask him about it—which wasn’t often, because I didn’t have any desire to get married soon. He—” She takes a slow breath, clearly feeling overwhelmed, and I give her a moment. “Did he not know that you wouldn’t do it?” she asks softly. “That you wouldn’t marry me?”
“We had an argument about it,” I admit. “The last time I was here. He told me plainly that he wanted me to be his heir and that he wanted me to marry you. I refused, and we went back and forth, but without any resolution. I told him that I wouldn’t change my mind, and I left and went to New York. I don’t know why he didn’t tell you.”
“Maybe he didn’t want to get my hopes up, if he thought you might still say no.” Gianna looks at me across the desk, her gaze, soft and steady, and my heart thuds in my chest.
Get her hopes up?“You don’t want me as your husband,” I tell her firmly. “Your father couldn’t understand why I refused, no matter how much I explained, but my answer hasn’t changed. I’ll find you someone who you’ll be happier with, and who will be a better match.”
Gianna’s teeth worry at her lower lip, and I see her hands knotting together nervously in her lap. “I don’t know what’s expected of me,” she says softly. “We didn’t talk about—any of it. My mother died when I was so young, you know that. I didn’t make friends growing up, not really. It was always just me and my father, for the most part. I don’t know what a mafia wife is supposed todo.”
“It’s not that complicated,” I tell her reassuringly. “The wives I know are mostly focused on their families, and doing things like helping with charities or sitting on boards for various organizations that give them insight into parts of the community that will help their husbands. There are events and dinner parties, things like that. You’re there to be supportive, to be—”
