15. 15 – Giovanni
15 – Giovanni
I adjust the strap on my watch as I jog down the steps into the entrance hall. Ahead of me, Cat turns, her brows flicking upward as she takes in my shirt, the smart trousers. After a murmur into the phone she’s holding, she ends the call. “Where are you going?”
I hesitate. “To see my parents. The estate isn’t far.”
The hint of a smile slides away from her face. “Of course. How are they?”
I shrug. Truthfully, I have no idea how to answer that question. And shame fills me at the thought of it. I have been distant, these last few months. Unable to focus on something that no matter what I do, I cannot fix .
I will never be able to bring Nicci back. That’s the only thing they want from me, and it’s something I cannot give them.
A brush against my arm. “Gio?”
I jerk. “I… sorry. It’s not going to be a pleasant trip.”
Her frown deepens. “I can come with you. Although… do they know?”
About her.
“No,” I breathe. “They’re past the point of caring, Cat.”
Although if they could, I can only imagine their views. Slowly, I shake my head. “Just in case – I don’t want you to see that.”
“Then I’ll wait in the car.” Her voice is gentle, but firm as she weaves our fingers together. “I won’t let you go alone.”
“He’s not going alone.”
Cat’s eyes flicker, and she turns to Dante. Jaw tight, he nods to me from the doorway. “Ready when you are.”
I glance between them, my eyes lingering on Caterina. “Come.”
The word slips out impulsively, but I feel better for it. I want her with me for this. Dante stiffens, before he turns and disappears. “He—,”
“I know,” she snaps. But she squeezes my hand. “He loves me. And I love him, but he’s being an ass . Doesn’t matter – I’m still coming.”
Tossing the keys that Luc gave me, I follow her out into the bright sunshine and over to the sleek gray Maserati. Even Dante looks reluctantly impressed as he scans it. “The GranTurismo. Nice.”
I bite my tongue before getting behind the wheel, and I wait.
And wait.
The argument, hushed and furious, rages on for long minutes, and I pull out my phone, sending a message to Luc’s new phone.
The response has me grinning as the passenger door opens. Dante swears under his breath before yanking the seat down and climbing into the back.
The extremely small back.
The grin continues to tug at my lips as I turn to look, and he scowls at me. His legs are pulled up, twisted awkwardly. “Why are you so happy?”
I snap a photo, ignoring his irritated curse as I reply to Luc. “Because Luc bet on you to get the front seat, and I bet on Cat. To see who was the most stubborn. He owes me a hundred.”
Cat slides gracefully into the car, pointedly not looking into the back. “At least you had faith in me.”
“Luc thought you’d let him have it, so he didn’t whine the whole way.”
“ I do not whine .”
Cat scoffs as I pull away from the house. I listen to their bickering as we drive, grateful for the distraction.
This visit… it will not be pleasant.
We arrive too soon, and I lean out of the window to scan my watch at the gate for entry. Ahead of us, the villa, a double storey white stone building covered in flowers, looks deserted at first glance.
“Are you sure they’re home?” Cat leans forward, worrying her bottom lip.
“They’re home.” I park outside the main doors. No staff come out to greet us. Aside from a cleaner once a week, and a private chef that comes every few days at Rosa’s insistence, my parents dismissed all of the staff when they first arrived.
I sit there for a moment, staring at the sandy-colored steps. They’re worn away now, the sharp edges blunted by years of running up and down them. Chasing my sisters in and out of the house when we were younger, often sunburnt and hungry and laughing. Then, as we grew older, they started chasing me, wanting me to join in games that I had no longer had any interest in. I was the Fusco heir. I had responsibilities .
I would play every single damn game with them now.
Forever feels inevitable, the world endless, when you’re a child. And then it shrinks as you grow, until that infinity shrinks into days that are counted too quickly, hours of happiness that fly past without noticing. By the time you start to care, by the time it matters , the moments have already passed.
You never know how much time you will have.
I glance in the mirror. Dante meets my eyes, understanding lingering in his green gaze.
Cat’s hand slips into mine. “What do you need?”
Lifting her hand, I press my lips to her wrist. “You. Always.”
She stays close, Dante at my back as we walk inside. The door is unlocked, the hall a familiar mix of eclectic furniture and paintings collected by my mother over the years. I frown at the thin layer of dust coating the sideboard.
“Ma?” I call out, glancing up at the stairs. “Padre? Rosie?”
Footsteps sound above our heads. “Gio?”
We all look up. Rosa hangs over the railing, her mouth falling open. “You’re here?”
I offer her a small smile. “Surprise, Rosie.”
We did not leave on the best of terms back at home. Staying where I am, I wait to see how she’ll react. Her eyes travel over Cat, widening, and then to Dante. Behind us.
I wonder if I notice her shoulders sag. But she’s flying down the stairs, and I stagger back as she hits my middle. Inhaling, I wrap my arms around my youngest sister. “I missed you.”
She aims a punch at my arm, her face pulling into a familiar pout. “You sent me here. I want to come home, Gio.”
“You know you can’t.” I step away, my eyes running over her face. “How are they?”
Her shoulders sag, eyes darting to Cat. “The same. Maybe… maybe a little worse. This house is full of ghosts, Gi. Please .”
“Not yet.” My tone is hard, and Rosie blinks. “This isn’t a game. What’s happening there… it is no safe place for you. Soon, but not now.”
She studies my expression, but it’s Cat that she swings to. “Is… is everyone well?”
My brows scrunch together as Cat takes her time putting her words together. “Yes. Vincent… says hello.”
She makes no mention of the shot he took at the Asante estate. Studying my sister’s flushed cheeks, I decide that is absolutely for the best.
I like Vincent. It would be a shame to kill him.
“Rosie,” I nudge the discussion into more neutral territory. “Why don’t you take Cat and Dante into the kitchen? Make a coffee. I’ll join you shortly.”
“Sure.” She pauses. “They’re not good, Gi. Just… prepare yourself.”
Cat’s hand silently brushes mine as she follows, glancing over her shoulder before they disappear out of sight.
Beside me, Dante sighs before he follows. “Call if you need us.”
“ Grazie .”
My feet feel heavy as I make my way upstairs. I pass my childhood bedroom, Rosa’s room… and pause, my eyes landing on a door.
It looks the same. Battered romance novels fill the space from floor to ceiling, uneven stacks precariously placed against the wall and bursting out of the bookcase. Her dressing table is clean, her bed freshly made.
She hadn’t been here for months before she died, but her scent still lingers, the patchouli oil she was obsessed with.
I stop beside the bed, bending to pick up the photograph.
None of us are looking at the camera, besides Nicci. Her face is squished into the corner, grinning. At our kitchen table, Rosa and I are arguing over the rules of a game, playing cards scattered around us as her finger jabs into my face. My parents watch on with slightly exasperated smiles, their hands linked.
A different life.
My heart feels heavy as I set it down, adjusting it minutely. There’s no dust in this room, I realize suddenly. This room is kept spotless. Preserved.
As if waiting for someone that will never come home.
I knock on their bedroom door, waiting for a response that doesn’t come before pushing the door open. “Mamma? It’s me. Gio.”
The room is dark and warm. My mother is alone, a dark bundle on the bed that faces the wall and doesn’t turn. I sweep my gaze across her table, the plastic bottles scattered there. Some of them are full. Most are not. “Mamma.”
I cross to the bed, dropping down to one knee. My mother blinks at me. Her hair hangs around her face, older than I remember it. “Gio.”
I nod around the lump in my throat. And my mother… she starts to cry. Silent, wracking sobs that make her body shake as she reaches a trembling hand to her bedside table, searching blindly for the small bottle and opening it.
“You don’t need those.” But she pulls her hands away from mine, shaking out two white tablets and swallowing them dry.
“I need Nicci.”
At the slurred words, a heavy weight settles in my chest. “I know.”
“You took her from me.”
A knife to the chest would hurt less than those words. “Joseph Corvo—,”
“ No ,” she snaps it, sagging back against her pillow. “You. You, Carlos, the Cosa Nostra . All of you, with your politics and your games and your wars. I told Carlos, but he wouldn’t listen. The Cosa Nostra took my children from me and sent them back in pieces.”
“Rosa is still here,” I say hoarsely. “She needs you, mamma.”
I try to take her hand, but it clenches into a tight fist.
“Get away,” she hisses. “Get away from me.”
Her voice rises to a shriek, and I back away as she presses her palms against her eyes, blocking me out. “Leave us alone. Leave us alone .”
My heart shreds beneath the weight of her grief, her anger. My strong, vibrant mother huddles back into the bed, shaking and crying as I feel for the door and yank it open, closing it behind me.
My face burns, my body tingling as I sit on the floor and listen to my mother cry.
You took her from me.
The accusation weighs heavily, sinking down around my shoulders.
Soft footsteps. And when she settles next to me, her hand slipping into mine, I grip it tightly. “She thinks it’s my fault.”
“This does not sit with you.” Cat stares at the wall opposite, her thumb running over the back of my hand. “The responsibility is ours, Gio. The Corvo line.”
“Not yours,” I say roughly. “We are not accountable for the sins of our families, Cat. It took me too long to work that out.”
She sighs, resting her head back against the door. “We’re going to get him.”
“Yes.” She sits with me, quiet, as I work through my own grief. Behind us, my mother eventually goes silent. Cat’s head rests against my shoulder.
“Your father?” she asks eventually.
I stare down the hall. “He’ll be in his office. Wait for me?”
“Always.” She draws up her knees as I stand, brushing myself down.
My father was always a stickler for appearance. I doubt it will make a difference today.
Not bothering to knock, I walk straight in.
My father is slumped over his desk. Thick gray scruff covers his lower face and neck, his eyes bleary as he looks up. He doesn’t say anything as I incline my head.
“Padre.”
He picks up his glass, takes a deep swig of amber liquid. The smell of it hangs in the air around him, clings to his crumpled clothes, the stained shirt. “You’re here.”
A disinterested statement, as he stares at the bottle that now occupies most of his days. Stepping closer, I inspect the bottle too. Reach out to lift it.
A hand slams down over my wrist. “Leave it.”
We lock gazes. I don’t let go.
My father releases my hand only to yank open a drawer and pull out another bottle. He doesn’t bother with the glass this time. “Why are you here?”
I study him. “You’re going to drink yourself to death.”
He takes another swig rather than answering.
“You have another daughter. You are failing her.”
Silence. He doesn’t meet my gaze, and anger prickles the back of my neck. “You have a family to take care of.”
“They don’t want me,” he says finally. “Nor do you, capo .”
I grit my teeth at the bitter twist there. “Do not judge me for stepping up to take on a role that you were incapable of filling. I see nothing that tells me I was wrong.”
I’m wasting my time. My father is not ready to listen. Too lost in the alcohol, in the haze that consumes him daily.
“I’m cutting you off,” I say quietly. “An allowance will be made for food and brought to the house. There will be no alcohol. I will arrange a nurse for mamma, to work on getting her off the meds.”
His hands clench on the glass in his hand. “You can’t do that.”
“I can, and I will.” My jaw hardens. “As you pointed out, I am the Fusco capo now. You will no longer have access to the accounts. And nor will Rosa. If I hear of you pressuring her, I will come back here and it will not end well.”
“ Stronzo ,” he hisses. “It should have been you , not her.”
My back straightens. My father opens his mouth, closes it again before looking away.
“Rosa does not deserve to lose her parents too.” My voice raises, hardens into ice. “I know you are grieving. We are all grieving. I refuse to allow you the luxury of losing yourself in the bottom of a bottle as the rest of your family suffers for it. Hate me for that by all means, if it makes you feel better. If it makes you feel anything .”
“Get out,” he says tightly.
Gladly. I can’t stay here for a moment longer, watching him spiral into self-destruction as my mother overdoses down the hall and my sister walks on eggshells in a house filled with death.
“Nicci would be disappointed in you, Giovanni, to see you treat me like this.”
My hand grips the doorknob.
I think of my sister. Of her quiet nature, and her big heart.
“Perhaps.” I don’t look back. “But you and I both know that she would be more disappointed in you.”
I meet Cat’s eyes as I step out. She’s leaning against the wall, waiting.
A woman who would walk through fire for me. As I would for her.
And that ball of guilt and shame in my chest – it lifts a little, as I take her hand. Because I know that my little sister, with her dreams and her romantic heart, would not be disappointed in me for this choice, at least.
“She would have loved you,” I say quietly. Sadly.
Her gaze is soft. “I think she would have been very protective of her big brother. But I hope so.”
Rosa stands as we enter the kitchen. There’s an apology on my face as our eyes meet. For sending her here, condemning her to days alone in this house.
“Soon.” I mean it. “As soon as I can, Rosie, you’re coming home. I swear it.”
She deflates, but her arms wrap around me anyway, her face buried in my chest. “If it’s not soon enough, I’ll buy the ticket myself.”
I run a hand over her back before pulling out my wallet. Sliding out a card, I hand it to her. “Here.”
She turns it over in her fingers, a questioning look on her face.
“I’m cutting him off from the accounts,” I tell her firmly. “Groceries will be delivered daily, but no alcohol, Rosie. Keep it hidden for anything you might need.”
She nods, slipping it into her pocket. And then she winks, even if it looks a little wobbly. “I’m feeling a shopping spree in my near future.”
“Have at it.” I cup her cheek. “Soon. Okay?”
“Okay.”