And her? She didn't fall apart. She kept moving, kept running the company, kept making sure everything looked fine from the outside.
Like his absence was just an inconvenience to be managed. So yeah. I moved to Spain, to my dad's brothers, to something that felt... I don't know.
Different. At least I had people who listened. Who gave a shit. They built me up. She tore me down. And now she's here, standing in my doorway, playing the role of the concerned mother like we're not years past the point of fixing this. So yeah. She can skip the script.
I'm not fucking buying it.
I throw myself onto the couch, landing in the most careless position possible. One leg over the armrest, an elbow digging into the cushions, head tilted back.
My mother's eyes flick over me. I know that look. She hates this. The way I sit, the way I exist.
I can practically hear the judgment grinding in her head. I'm sure her brain is screaming right now.
I smirk. "Does it bother you? The way I'm lying down?"
Her lips purse.
"It would be nice if you had some manners, Giovanni. For your own sake."
That makes me laugh. "Right, because my biggest problem in life is my posture." I stretch even further, just to piss her off. She exhales sharply, then finally gets to the point.
"It's about the Weston family."
Oh, fuck me. I bite the inside of my cheek, knowing this can't be good.
"What about them?"
She exhales. "I want you to start spending time with Rava." Rava.
God, even the meetings sound more exciting than this.
I laugh. Loud. "Excuse me? What do you want us to do exactly? Go sit in a library together and read poetry? Or do you think Rava's the type to show up at a fucking street race?"
"I don't care, Giovanni. Figure it out. You find solutions for dumber shit all the time. Figure this one out too."
I sit back, arms crossed tight over my chest.
"You've got some fucking nerve."
"Gio—"
"No," I cut her off. "Give me one good reason, justone, why I should waste my time playing besties with that uptight little plant. That walking Charles 2.0. The son of the man who worked my dad into the ground like he was some corporate slave. Like he wasn't even human."
Her jaw tenses. She knew this was coming.
"You remember that, right?" I go on, raising my voice.
"You remember the late nights? The way he'd come home dead behind the eyes? Because of Charles."
"I do," she says quietly. "I remember everything."
"And now you want me to do what? Grab a drink with his golden boy and pretend that never happened?"
"Gio, listen to me," she says. "Charles made a lot of mistakes. He probably still does. I won't defend him. He was cruel to your father, to you. I'm not pretending that didn't happen."
"Then why the hell are you asking me to do this?"
"Because the deal we closed with their family is good. Genuinely good. For the business. For us."
