Page 36 of Blood Money

“Then I could go see your mom in Ireland for a bit. Maybe even go to France to see the Eiffel Tower. I’ve always wanted to do that,” she mused as if I hadn’t spoken.

Though I wanted her to be happy, the thought of anyone else owning the bakery was devastating—the thought of it being closed altogether, worse. Nonna and the bakery were the only reason I returned to Chicago. The thought of not having any reason to come here again should’ve made me happy. Yet it hurt nearly as bad as watching Vittorio walk away the other day—another thing that shouldn’t have bothered me.

“I wish you still loved Chicago,” she wistfully admitted, then sighed and returned her attention to the knitting in her lap. As I watched her, the clicking of the needles was the only sound in the room. No, that wasn’t true. My heart was beating so hard, I could hear it.

“I want the bakery,” I blurted.

She paused midstitch and gave me a shocked stare. “You… want… the bakery?”

“Yes,” I replied with finality. Processing my impulsive outburst, I started to sweat. Then a chill washed over me, leaving goose bumps in its wake. Finally, a sense of peace filled me, and I smiled. It was as if I saw everything with crystal clarity. This was what I was made to do—I’d known it ten years ago, but I’d cut off my nose to spite my face.

Because I’d been hurt, and I was angry.

At first she looked concerned, but then I would’ve sworn I saw the briefest flicker of guilt. It was gone before I was sure, and firm resolve steeled her features. I was afraid she was going to tell me no.

“I’ll have the papers drawn up,” she finally shot back, and the tension that had been coiling within me settled.

“I’ve been saving up, so I should have a decent down payment. I just need to go to my bank and talk to them about financing the rest,” I explained. It didn’t matter that I was saving up for a house. Suddenly, I prayed my credit was good enough and that the business plan I’d been working on for the past year would be solid. With a little tweaking, I thought it would.

“I’ll tell you what.” She leaned forward as if what she had to tell me was a secret of national security. “Let’s talk to the bank in the morning and find out what your payments would be and what the terms would work out to be. Then you just pay me that every month. It’ll be like my ‘retirement check.’ It’ll save you from all the fees and crap you’d have to pay with getting a loan, and I’ll have a steady income still. Win-win, right?”

“Nonna, are you sure?” I asked, worried she was getting the shaft in this deal. “Don’t you want to talk to Mom about it first?”

By right, Mom should have the first option to buy the bakery.

“Absolutely, I’m sure. And I already know your mother doesn’t want it. When I was still in the hospital, she’s the one who told me I needed to think about selling. So, it’s settled. You can move in here whenever you’re ready. I don’t need that big ol’ room if I’m gonna be a world traveler. The small room you’re using will be good enough for me when I come to visit.” She gave a decisive nod.

“Oh. All right. Well, I can go back this weekend and get some of my stuff, if that’s okay,” I thought out loud. My lease on my house was up in three more months. If I was frugal, I could cover Nonna’s payment, my rent in Grand Rapids, and my expenses. It might be a bit tight for the next few months, but I’d be okay.

“Of course. In fact, I might talk to your mom and dad to see if they want company on their trip home. That would give you time to see if you really want the headache of owning and running the bakery.” She gave me a knowing smirk, and I chuckled. I’d been running the bakery since I got here.

When my parents arrived after their date, we shared the news with them. At first, they both looked a bit concerned, but that quickly faded, and they congratulated me.

A little bubble of excitement grew within me and left me nearly giddy.

“PrideBeforeTheFall”—Seether

Eighteen Years Old….

“I’m proud of you,” our grandfather boomed as I stood in front of his desk.

I didn’t give a shit. The things I did weren’t done to make him proud—they were done to make me independent. To amass enough cash to escape. Gabriel could continue to be brought up into The Family under Dad’s tutelage. I didn’t fucking want it.

Still, I was standing before the fucker in my own home as if I were being brought before the warden—and maybe I was. He had an office in the old Victorian mansion we all lived in together. I never understood why Dad hadn’t left and gotten his own place when he married Mom. He knew what his dad was like, yet he kept all of us here. Thankfully, Grandfather loved our mom. She came from a good and powerful Italian family.

“Okay,” I drew out, unsure where he was going with this.

For several moments, he sat there with his tented fingers tapping on his chin.

“You start college in the fall. I think it’s time we started looking for a suitable match for you,” he finally informed me.

My spine stiffened.

No way. Not happening.I was never fucking saying “I do.”

“Dad—” my father cautioned, but Grandfather silenced him with a look.

“The boy is eighteen. He’s doing the work of a soldier and excelling. We need to start looking at a future for him,” Grandfather firmly countered.