Chapter Forty-One
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Georgia/ Three Years Ago
S huffling through the new box of inventory that Turning Pages got early this morning, I hum to the pop song playing softly in the background and organize the titles that I’m supposed to put on display by the lunch rush.
As I fold up the empty cardboard box and tuck it by the garbage I have to take out at closing, the front door opens and chimes the bell.
“Good morning,” I greet, expecting to see one of our usual customers walk in. We get a lot of college students or bookworms like me who drag their boyfriends inside to browse for an hour even if they don’t buy anything.
But the man standing at the door does not fit any of those roles. I know what expensive suits look like, and the person who’s probably my father’s age is wearing one tailored to fit him perfectly.
I’m not sure why, but a strange feeling fills my stomach as the gray-haired stranger steps in.
“This is a quaint little space, isn’t it?” he says, turning to study the white shelves lining each wall that are full of books and themed trinkets.
My default smile stretches my lips up at the corners, but they waver as he takes another step toward me.
“I’ve been looking into investing in other businesses and have had my eye on this one for some time,” he tells me, studying the space with distant interest. “It would be interesting to get into something so…niche.”
Niche is a nice way to put it. “I don’t know if Claire is planning to sell. She hasn’t said anything to me about it.”
A low chuckle comes from him. “For the right price, everybody is willing to give up what they love.”
Something nudges my gut in warning. Clearing my throat, I casually walk behind the counter to put space between us. “What kind of business investments do you have already, if you don’t mind me asking? Maybe I can pass along your interest to the owner.”
I won’t, but anything to play nice with the person who triggers alarm bells in my head.
“I dabble in everything. Strip clubs, restaurants, construction,” he lists, his eyes finding mine again. “Speaking of which, I could use your help.”
I blink. “ My help?”
“It seems that your father has been struggling to deliver on certain terms of our agreement. And I’m having trouble getting ahold of him. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s dodging me.”
“You know my father?”
The stranger walks over to the counter. “I know your whole family, Georgia. We’ve met a time or two, but you were young. I believe the last time was at your mother’s funeral.”
Eyes raking over him, I try putting a name to the face but come up blank. There’s a familiarity about him that makes me uneasy, but I chalk it up to the similarities I see in my father.
Which makes sense.
“You knew my mother too?” I find myself asking, unsure of what to say.
The stranger smiles. It’s not as calculated as I’m used to seeing, but easy. Non-forced. “I knew Isabella well. Her death was truly a tragedy that could have been avoided.”
My ears perk up as something nudges my conscience. “Avoided?”
He doesn’t enlighten me. “Perhaps you could help me by sending a message to your father. I’m sure all it will take for him to remember our deal is a little…encouragement.”
The way he says “encouragement” makes me nervous. “I don’t think you told me your name. Hard to pass along a message without one.”
The smile on his face grows. “So much like your mother,” he says with a soft sigh. “You know, it was unfortunate that she chose your father. Her life could have been so different if she’d decided otherwise like her family wanted.”
If there was any other choice, I wasn’t made aware of it. My parents were in love, and the loss of that is what destroyed my father. “I suppose that’s what happens when you’re in love,” I answer, more to myself than to him.
He extends his hand out to me. “That’s where I hope you differ from Isabella,” he says, taking my hesitant hand and gripping it in a firm shake that sends chills down my spine. “Tell your father that Stefan Mangino was serious about his promise. And make sure to ask him if he was serious too.”
He releases my limp palm with a smile that doesn’t seem as threatening as his words.
Grabbing a candy bar from the stack by the register, he sets it down in front of me. “I’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth,” he tells me, pulling out a one-hundred-dollar bill from his pocket and sliding it over to me. “Keep the change.”
Swallowing, I stare down at the money that feels dirty somehow. I force out a, “Thank you” with a smile that wavers unconvincingly.
Stefan Mangino gives me a once-over, but unlike when most men do it, it doesn’t feel slimy. He’s looking at me with nostalgia in his eyes.
“So much like your mother,” he says, the words uncharacteristically soft compared to his otherwise hardened features. Grabbing the candy bar, he tucks it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pats it once. “It was lovely seeing you again, Georgia. I do hope we avoid repeating history again.”
As he turns and pushes the door open, he pauses after the bell chimes again. “And while you’re delivering messages, perhaps tell your husband that it’s best he stop burying his nose where it doesn’t belong, or it will end badly. I rather like working with law enforcement, so I’d hate to impact that relationship by doing something drastic.”
My eyes widen. I’ve never heard of this man in my life, but he knows plenty about me. Too much.
He doesn’t need me to say anything before dipping his chin once and leaving Turning Pages. The black car he gets into the back of has tinted windows that are too dark to see who’s driving. It drives away within seconds, disappearing when I walk over to the storefront window to try catching a license plate.
When I look down at the money left on the counter, I swallow at the crisp paper resting there like a silent taunt.
Then I glance at my car keys and make a rash decision that will probably get me into trouble.
But I hope Claire will understand.
Flipping over the OPEN sign and locking up behind me, I climb into my car parked in the alley between Turning Pages and the Indian restaurant and make the familiar trek to the place I grew up with white knuckles gripping the steering wheel the entire time.
*
The woman who answers the door can’t be much older than I am. Her flushed face and wide eyes are the exact opposite of Mrs. Ricci’s calm demeanor, no matter what happens within these walls. Her replacement has clearly regretted accepting the position.
“Now is not the best time, miss,” she says, her voice shaky as a loud voice booms from inside.
I flatten my hand against the door and push it open despite the warning. “They’re expecting me,” I lie, knowing she won’t fight me on it.
She must not have been here long because it’s obvious she has no idea who I am. Does she eavesdrop at my father’s study door like the woman before her did? Or does she play by the rules?
If she were smart, it’d be the latter.
“Miss—”
“It’s Georgia,” I tell her, shutting the door behind me and watching her eyes widen more.
So, she has heard of me.
The yelling coming from my father’s study gets louder, making the new help flinch. “I think it’s best if you go make yourself busy somewhere else. Perhaps my old room. I’m sure it’s collecting dust these days.”
She’s quick to nod, scurrying off as something crashes in the near distance.
Taking a deep breath, I start walking toward the office that swings open before I can stop in front of it.
It’s Leani who stares wide-eyed at me with a red mark across her face that looks too familiar to the one Mrs. Ricci had endured for me.
“He hit you,” I whisper.
Her hand snatches mine, her frail fingers tightening around my wrist with a grip I was unaware she had. “You should not be here.”
She flinches when my father appears behind her, looking wild-eyed and red-faced. “It was only a matter of time before you came crawling back.”
Is that what he thinks this is? “What did you do to Leani?”
His hand comes down on her shoulder. “That is no business of yours.”
“It is when you make it mine.” I take his hand and move it, pulling Leani toward me. “Did you raise your hand to Mom too?”
Leani sucks in a breath from behind me.
“No. She knew how to listen.”
“Funny,” I muse dryly. “That’s not what Stefan Mangino told me today.”
Color drains from his face.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I say, “So, maybe you and I should have a little chat since he came into my job for a message to you .”
Leani says something in Italian that sounds like a murmured prayer as she backs away from me and my father.
“If he came to see you,” my father says, his throat bobbing with a swallow, “then it’s the beginning of the end for us.”
“There is no ‘us,’” I correct him. “There is ‘you’ and whatever deal you apparently haven’t fulfilled with him. I want nothing to do with this. I never did.”
The laugh that bubbles out of him is cold. “I hate to break this to you, daughter, but you have everything to do with this.”
“How?” I doubt. “He said he knew Mom, which means he was in the picture long before I was born.”
His shoulders drop as he turns and walks into the room, giving me the first look at the destruction from his rampage. There are papers thrown everywhere. Some of them are torn, others are crumpled and covering almost every inch of the floor.
I follow him in, keeping the door open as he sits down behind his desk. The drawers are all open and disorganized, as if he was trying to find something important and left the remnants scattered when he gave up.
“Stefan Mangino has been punishing me from the moment your mother chose me over him,” he tells me in a somber tone as he leans back in his chair and stares absently at the mess surrounding us.
I blink slowly. “They were…together?”
He shakes his head. “It was arranged by their fathers. The Mangino family is very powerful in the city. Their influence was supposed to put the Gardino’s back on the map. But Isabella met me long before she ever met Stefan, and she made up her mind then and there. She chose me rather than securing her father’s spot on the Mangio business, and nobody has forgotten that.”
Why hadn’t I known that my mother was supposed to be in an arranged marriage?
Stefan’s words echo in my head. Do not let history repeat itself. But wasn’t that already too late? I’d chosen Lincoln. Not Luca.
“Why would you put me in the same position that she was in then?”
“There was no choice,” he answers plainly, his palm running down his face. “I did what had to be done because Mangino inserted himself into every facet of my life to show me he could. Isabella rejected his family, and he was going to do everything he could to make sure I remembered who the real boss was. Your mother…” His voice thickens. “Your mother died because she refused to marry you off to his son. He showed up at your funeral to remind me what turning away the Mangino family means.”
“So Luca is his son?”
“His son was killed years ago.” He grabs a bottle of scotch and pours it into a tumbler before drinking half of it. “There are five families that run the city. Mangino’s is the one in charge. His son was caught taking money from another family’s business and was gunned down on the street for the millions of dollars he stole. Mangino needed a new male heir to take over the business.”
“And that’s Luca,” I realize.
He finishes the glass and pours himself another one, holding on to it like a lifeline. “Antonio Carbone is one of his made men. His secondhand. If you and Luca Carbone marry, the alliance that your mother broke would be reinforced, and he would stay out of my business unless necessary. He said he would stay out of my business.”
“But if I didn’t?”
“If you didn’t,” he concludes, his empty eyes meeting mine, “then he would make sure I lost everything that is important to me.”
He gestures around us, making me do another scope of the room. My eyes land on his desk, where white powder is smeared across the expensive wood. Is that what I think it is?
“He is running The Del Rossi Group into the ground one deal at a time,” he says, scowling at the paperwork on the floor. “He’s making a mockery of it. No local realtors want to take our bids for jobs because he’s making the sites into his own personal—” He stops himself, his jaw grinding as he holds back whatever he was going to say.
When his eyes find mine, they’re hollow.
Ghostly.
“He took away the only family I had left.”
My lips part. “I’m right here. It was you who pushed me away. You are the one who’s made my life hell since you told me to leave. When I obey, I get punished. When I don’t, I get punished. There is no winning in this world that you’ve created for us. It’s not the world I want to live in.”
The smallest smile curls his lips. “Your mother said the same thing.” The smile drops. “I had to remind her that we do not control the world. They do.”
I sit in the leather chair across from him. “So, how do we take it back?”
He leans forward, resting his arms on the edge of his desk. “I have done everything I can to ‘take it back,’ Georgia. I’ve learned that there are only three ways to do that. One of you must die, get arrested, or find a better item to trade.”
Everything in me says to walk away from this and let my father lie in the bed he made for himself. But my gut tells me it wouldn’t matter.
“Then we find a better item.”
“You are a Del Rossi,” he murmurs. “To him, there will never be a better item that would hurt me.”
Swallowing, I reach up and feel the necklace that hangs from my neck twenty-four hours a day. “I’m not a Del Rossi anymore.”
His head picks up, watching me fiddle with the custom piece of jewelry, then to the ring on my finger. “Much to your dismay, you will always be my daughter.”
There’s a nervous knock at the door, then a squeaky, “S-sir? Your lunch is ready.”
My father’s gaze drifts to the new help before waving her off rudely. When she disappears, he stands and flattens his wrinkled polo. “I should have never fired Ricci. The new help is useless in comparison. If I knew where she was, I would give her more money to clean up what little I have left.”
Find her? “What do you mean? I’m sure you have a number on file for her.”
He walks around his desk, stepping on discarded paper as he goes. “Your stepmother has reached out with no luck. Nobody has seen or heard from her.”
My stomach drops. “Did…something happen to her?”
He spares me a look. “If you’re wondering if I did something, the answer is no. But I would not put it past others. It is not my job to make people disappear, Georgia. Remember that.”
Swallowing, I watch as he disappears from the room before gathering myself to get up too.
When I pull my phone out of my pocket, I stare down at the audio recording on the screen.
Wetting my lips, I turn to see Leani standing there. Her eyes go to my phone. “It’s best you leave before he realizes what you’ve done.”
I meet her eyes. “Did you ever reach out to Shawn Hart?”
“Shawn Hart cannot help me.”
“You can leave.”
Her face is void of emotion. “I can never leave. Not like you. Not anymore.”
I may have never been close with the woman standing in front of me, but my heart squeezes when I see the defeat on her face.
Quietly, I say, “I will do everything in my power to help you.”
Doubt shadows her eyes.
“He may have connections,” I whisper, my eyes darting to the hallway. “But so do I. You reminded me of that the day you dropped off that wedding dress.”
Her throat bobs as she straightens her shoulders. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Georgia.”
I take her hand. “So is he.”