“He tried to call to warn you when you were meeting with Johnathon, so I talked to him.”
“What the hell is Stefano doing?” Silvio asks, but Marco and I are clueless. “Does Riccardo have any idea?”
“No,” Marco says tightly.
“When is the wedding?” I ask my brother.
“In six weeks.”
That would move the wedding to Rosa up by a month. It will have to be enough.
I stalk toward my door, my brother and best friend don’t ask where I’m going, because they know damn well where I’m going. Gina is only partially protected by being my wife; for the full protection and weight of the ‘Ndrangheta to be behind me, she also needs to be carrying my heir. Whether it’s a male or female child, it doesn’t matter; it just needs to be my child that I’m claiming as my heir.
But if Gina isn’t pregnant by the time the wedding to Rosa arrives, then the Alteras will come gunning hard for her as punishment for insulting their family and breaking the marriagecontract, and because she’s a huge threat to what they have to gain. Since my father forged my signature on the marriage contract, I can’t rely on his backing to help protect my wife.
No, Gina’s protection depends on me. And I will not fail my wife, nor will I lose her.
Chapter 28
Gina
Thesunisbrightand warm today, and I adjust my dark sunglasses to protect my still light-sensitive eyes. I’m out in the gardens, now that Johnathon has left after dropping in to check up on me.
As my family doctor, he continues to come more regularly than Reese as my neurologist since the recovery from my hematoma is ‘textbook’. Minus the memory loss and fatigue, of course. However, the fatigue is diminishing bit by bit, and I’ve been having flashes of memory all day today.
Some ofMammaandBabbowhile I was a little girl. We lived in a modest home that was filled with laughter and warmth. A happy family.
Others were of a gaudy, overly lavish mansion. It felt cold and foreign. My mother was there, dressed in a beautiful, expensive gown, looking at me with disapproval.
Then other memories of Tommaso. Most were just flashes of something he said to me. A touch. A look. However, there wasone that was exceptionally vivid, where we stood in an empty parking lot beside his car at night.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“I’d rather show you than tell you.”
“Are you taking me somewhere to keep me captive?”
“Would you like that,il mio sole? Would you like me to keep you locked away? To keep the sun all for myself and my dark soul?”
“No?”I’m finally able to formulate a thought. But it’s a question, not a confident answer.
His large, scarred hands lift and gently frame my face. “You feel it, too, don’t you?” He steps closer. “You feel what cannot be explained, understood, or even rationalized, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Don’t fight it, love. You don’t have to understand it; you just have to trust it.”
“Will you break me?”
“Never. I’ll ruin you, that I promise. But I will never break you or harm you. You have my word or my life.”
“Gina?” Tommaso’s voice and touch snap me out of the memory replaying again. He’s standing close, holding my shoulders, and I realize he has taken my sunglasses off.
“You have my word or my life,” I say, gazing up at him.
Surprise registers, then he smiles. “You’re remembering more of me.” The wind catches my loose hair and brushes it over my cheek, and he wraps it around his hand. “And do you remember why I promised you that?”
“I asked you if you’d break me. I don’t remember all of it, but I remember the feeling of doubt; wondering why or how you could be with a woman like me.” The hateful words of my father—not theBabboversion of him that I remember as a young girl, but the man whose memories make nausea rise and my old injuries throb—hisses in my head. “A nobody.”
