And my stomach drops as I realize how pale he’s gotten.
23
GIO
I’m stunned. Speechless. Staring down at Stephanie like a statue trapped in Medusa’s lair.
Because Stephanie just recounted in fine detail the night she was abducted—the way she playfully said goodbye to me after dinner, the men pulling her into that dark van before tearing away.
That was the last time I saw her.
And every day since, I’ve agonized over what happened to her next.
She’s not having nightmares.
She’s reliving that day.
I’m sure of it.
But what hits me like a ton of bricks is that the men in her nightmare told her someone named Don Augusta sent them to “teach his son a lesson”.
That can only mean one thing.
They took her to teachmea lesson.
Which would suggest the family I held responsible for Stephanie’s murder had only kidnapped her under my father’s direct orders.
Horror settles like a lead weight in my belly to think that might be true. I slaughtered an entire family over what happened to her.
My father would have known the truth—and never said a word.
It makes sense, in a way, when I consider it more closely.
I’ll never know if my old man intended to have Stephanie murdered or just taken to scare her—and me.
He’s dead now, killed by his enemies, so I can’t just straight-up ask him.
But my father did make some shady deals in his lifetime—like taking my brother Miko from his biological family to ensure they wouldn’t rebel against him.
So it’s not too far of a stretch to imagine he would hurt Stephanie to put me in my place.
But in all this time, I’d never considered that he could be behind what happened to her that day.
When I met Stephanie, I knew my father wasn’t happy about my choosing to be with her.
He was certainly vocal about his disapproval that I would pick a common woman rather than a bride from a prestigious family.
I could see him taking matters into his own hands to ensure things ended differently.
Then again, Raf did much the same thing—even going so far as to marry the girl he chose to get under our father’s skin—and the Don never lifted a finger to stop him.
So, why would it be different for me?
“Talk to me, Gio,” Stephanie breathes. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Glancing down, I realize with a start that she’s looking up at me, her eyes studying my face, anxious reticence in their green depths.
“I’m fine,” I assure her, running my knuckles across her tear-stained cheek. “I’m just grateful that you would trust me with your dream.” Then I swallow hard, the vise-like grip around my throat making it difficult. “You’re sure these men in your dream say someone named Don Augusta sent them?” I ask softly, not wanting to make it seem like I doubt her in any way, but aching for her to tell me that’s not what she heard.
