Page 36 of Crimson Fate
“Always do,” Marco replies, his silhouette framed against the car’s interior light. I nod, knowing without a doubt he’ll guard our empire with the ferocity of a lion.
As the engine roars to life and Nico slides behind the wheel, I lean back, the darkness of the vehicle swallowing me whole. The scent of leather and the faint hint of cologne fill the space, a sensory anchor amid the chaos of my thoughts. I do my best to keep them trained on Gia, despite Eva persistently trying to invade them.
Chapter Fourteen
We pick up Gia along the way, but as we drive, I find myself mainly sitting in silence, staring out the window. I’m excited about my weekend with Gia. Marco is right. I’m a lucky man to have a woman like her even consider me. But my mind is flooded with so many thoughts that the weekend ahead is hard to focus on. Marco knows this life, and if he felt strongly that he needed to stay behind, there has to be something to his intuition.
Gia’s hand tightens around mine when we pull up to the waterfront estate. The sight of the grand old house, with its ivy-clad facade and the riot of colors from the lush gardens, has her nearly bouncing in her seat with excitement. Her energy snaps me out of the quiet trance.
“Wow,” she breathes out, her eyes as wide as saucers.
“Welcome to what my father affectionately referred to as Paradiso,” I say.
We step out of the car, gravel crunching underfoot. Nico has already popped the trunk and is gathering our bags. He gives me a nod. “I’ll bring these in and do a quick sweep of the property, sir.”
“Thanks, Nico,” I reply, and he disappears into the shadowed porch with our luggage.
Gia twirls, taking in the oversized porch in front of her. “Vincent, it’s beautiful!” Her enthusiasm is infectious, but I can’t fully share in it—not with the weight of my family history surrounding this place. I have some amazing memories here, but when I think of my father and Isabella, it’s hard not to focus on the lies and betrayals.
“Come on, let’s head inside.” My hand finds the small of her back, guiding her toward the heavy oak door I haven’t opened in what feels like a lifetime.
“You must come out here every chance you get,” she states as we cross the threshold into the dimly lit foyer.
“Actually, no.” I pause, releasing my breath. “I haven’t been back since...” Since the life I knew went up in flames.
Gia’s face changes instantly, her brows knitting together in concern. “Oh, Vincent, I didn’t realize...”
“Let’s not dwell on it.” I force a smile, though I can tell by the look in her eyes she sees right through it. “I want you to enjoy yourself. I want you to love this place.”
Her hand slips into mine, squeezing gently. “I already do. It has a certain... charm.”
“Charm,” I echo with a hollow laugh, gazing around at the grand staircase. “It definitely has a lot of history, that’s for sure.”
“Vincent,” Gia begins tentatively, sensing my unease, “if this is hard for you—”
“It’s not.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. “It’s just a house. Brick, mortar, memories. That’s all.”
She nods, her eyes searching mine. “Okay. If you’re sure...” She leaves an unspoken promise to tread lightly on my past.
“Let’s explore,” I suggest quickly before the silence can set between us. “There’s a lot for me to show you.”
“Lead the way,” she replies with a soft smile. She doesn’t push or pry, something I am relieved by.
“Over here—” I direct her toward the living room with its massive stone fireplace and expansive view of the gardens. “My father loved this room. He said it reminded him of old-world elegance. He would always tell Amelia and me that an immigrant like him owning this place was proof that the American Dream was real.”
When I was younger, my father would go on and on about how you could have everything you ever dreamed of in America with a little hard work, and I believed him. It wasn’t until I was truly indoctrinated into what it meant to be part of our family, part of the Mafia, that I realized it took hard work, sure. But it also took the resolve to do the things most people don’t have the stomach for. Amelia always preferred to pretend that part of our lives wasn’t happening. The ugly side of how our family came to be who they were. On the other hand, I was never allowed to lose sight of what it takes to hold on to our legacy.
“Did he have a favorite spot?” Gia asks, glancing around at the plush seating.
“Right there.” I point at a high-backed armchair facing the hearth. “He would sit there with a glass of scotch in hand, looking every part the king of his castle.”
“Sounds like a man who knew what he wanted.”
“He did. And he made damn sure he got it.”
She smiles at me. “He was always very kind to me.” She offers the words as if to bring me comfort.
“I wish I could say the same,” I state, surprising even myself with the blunt honesty.