Chapter 30
GIOVANNI
In the hallway outside my father’s room, a weird sensation I don’t recognize buzzes through me.
I think it’s nerves, but what the fuck would I know?
I’ve never handled them before. It’s a similar feeling to what I experienced when Valentina glanced up at me for the first time, but more in my gut instead of my nuts.
Valentina stands at my left. Her chin is tilted high enough to hide the tension I know she’s experiencing, and her perfume blends well with the faint cedar scent on the walls of my family’s home.
It validates my long-held belief that she belongs here, next to me.
My cock twitches when Valentina’s hand taps my arm. Yes, that’s all it takes for me to want her. She merely needs to breathe in my direction and I’m as hard as a steel rod.
“You should go in alone.” Her words are barely audible. “I don’t want to intrude.”
When I meet her gaze, an imaginary knife twists in my chest. Even when her aura screams beauty and sophistication, she looks scared.
I hate that she still feels like an outsider.
My casa is her casa, and I’m done tiptoeing around that.
“There’s no chance of you ever intruding.” I curl my fingers around her hand and tether her to my side. The contact steadies me more than I care to admit. “You’re carrying my child. It’s time to get the formalities out of the way.”
I see the desire to correct me forming in her eyes, the wish to remind me that the biology of our child isn’t guaranteed, but just as fast as the urge rises, it’s shoved aside for understanding. I said she is carrying my child, which isn’t a lie, so she has no reason to correct me.
Still, I can’t help but reiterate what I’ve told her time and time again over the past week.
“Even if science played its hand before we did, the child you’re carrying is ours.
Nothing will change that.” By nothing, I mean no one.
“I will walk away from everything I have before I’ll ever allow anyone to make you believe you’re only an incubator to grow a Caruso heir. ”
Though that settles the debate, it still takes Valentina a few seconds to nod. “Okay.”
I squeeze her hand in silent support, then push open my father’s bedroom door. It still smells of antibacterial wipes and old books, but something new is in the air. Something fresh but with the substance of decades of respect and knowledge.
My father sits behind a desk that was covered with dust only weeks ago. A tailored suit covers his lean frame, and he combed his hair back like a sleek crown.
He looks up as we enter, and the determination in his eyes reveals how he became a man who built an empire. He appears as fit as an ox, and the unexpected euphoria it pumps through me sees me quickening my pace.
“Giovanni,” he greets, his voice smooth like a Disaronno Originale sliding down the throat after a hard day. “And Valentina.” His focus shifts to Valentina, where he eyes her with a probing but not unkind glance. “Finally.”
I bark out a laugh. “Finally? It’s barely been a week, Papa.”
He smiles sardonically before gesturing to the chairs opposite his desk. “Sit.” His smile is more welcoming when he directs it to Valentina than the one he gave me. “Both of you.”
When we do, the leather sighs under our weight. I brace myself for the inevitable questions about loyalty and legacy that our family meetings forever inspire, but instead, he leans back in his chair, steeples his fingers, then says something that knocks the breath from my lungs.
“Have you picked a date yet?”
Valentina chokes on the spit of her ragged gasp, and I feel the ripple of her strain.
My response isn’t far from hers. I’m obsessed with Valentina. Wholly and without constraint. But marriage? That’s a huge commitment.
You wouldn’t believe a word I spoke if you could see my smirk.
I won’t oppose my father’s ruling if it further cements Valentina’s placement in my life. If I weren’t obsessed with ensuring every inch of her—both inside and out—smells like me, that would have been the outcome of her confession last week.
I see fear in Valentina’s eyes, and her panic about the speed of our relationship, so I reach for her hand under the table and give it a gentle squeeze.
“Relax.” My suggestion is unusually soothing. “He’s not talking about marriage.” The thudding of the veins in her neck fades… until I add, “Yet.”
Cockiness thickens my cock when she doesn’t object to my plan. She merely blinks before a ghostlike grin twitches across her mouth.
Good. Because I won’t accept anything other than yes when I ask her to be my wife.
I gesture with my head toward my father, who’s watching us like a hawk. “He wants your mother to come to dinner. He asked me to invite her last week, but with everything that happened, I’ve not had the chance.”
Relief floods Valentina’s gorgeous face as her lips part.
“Dinner? That’s what all this is about?” She highlights my father’s makeshift office with her hand.
When he nods, she sighs so loudly her chest sinks.
Clearly, she thought it was something much worse.
That’s understandable. They don’t call my father the king of the Cosa Nostra for no reason.
I’m glad our competitors can’t see him now. They’d kill for a chink in the Caruso dynasty, and his frail frame would give them that.
“We should do it soon,” my father says, drawing my focus back to him. “It’s Concetta’s birthday next week, so it’s perfect timing.”
Still stunned, Valentina misses his confession that he knows her mother intimately enough to remember her birthday. “Yes, it is. Perfect timing.”
“Invite your aunt too,” Papa demands, his tone casual but firm in a way he can’t help. He is who I inherited my bossiness from. “I assume she’s still in the area?”
Valentina nods as a shocked mask slips over her face. “She is. She’s never left Sicily.”
“Good.” My father’s smile is warm in a way I haven’t seen in years. “Let’s have a celebration. You can pick the day while visiting your mother this morning. I’ll handle everything else.”
“Do you think you’re up for that?” I ask, jumping back into the conversation.
When he nods without pause for thought, I stare at him, floored. This isn’t the man I expected when he summoned me to his side. He doesn’t seem as sick as he once was, not in spirit, anyway, but he was on his deathbed only days ago.
What prompted such a drastic backflip in his prognosis? It could be the surge the doctor warned me about last week, but it seems like more than that.
He looks alive.
I scan the documents he was perusing when we arrived, and that’s when I see it.
A pregnancy test sits on the edge of his desk.
Although a stack of papers partially hides it, I know what it is.
It’s the same brand as the test Valentina showed me last week.
The exact brand I’ve been seeking for the past seven days.
I rearranged my entire fucking room searching for the proof I wasn’t dreaming when Valentina told me she was pregnant, and I never found it.
Now I know why.
My jaw tics as frustration sparks an inferno low in my gut. Valeria must have taken it when my back was turned and showed it to my father. I bet she didn’t tell him the possibility of the child being hers is nothing to be excited about.
Valentina is carrying our child, not Valeria’s. Ours. Deep down in a place where science can’t touch, I know this. An IVF mishap didn’t give me a child with Valeria. It gave me Valentina.
That is the only reason I let Valeria go. I didn’t do it because I doubt the bloodline of my child and didn’t want to risk them growing up hating me. I did it because I couldn’t stand the thought of Valentina looking at me as if I were a monster instead of the father of her offspring.
I’ve seen that look before, and I’ll burn the world to ash before I’ll ever force it onto Valentina’s face.
The inferno in my stomach rages, but I douse the flames with some spit. Valeria will get what’s coming to her, but not yet. Valentina is at my side, holding her hand out in offering like her suggestion for us to go easy on the PDA until my family gets used to her is now void.
After farewelling my father with a brief chin dip, I guide Valentina toward the exit. As we step into the hall, Valentina exhales like she’s been holding her breath for hours.
“That was…” She trails off, unable to find the right word.
“Unexpected?” I smile, hopeful it will hide the anger brandishing my cheeks with a red hue.
Her laugh is shaky but genuine. “Yeah.”
I slip my arm around her waist and pull her close as we walk. “You were perfect,” I murmur against her hair. “He likes you.”
She inclines her head, her eyes shining. “You think?”
“I know.” Her elbow gets friendly with my ribs during my following sentence. “He can’t have you, though. You’re mine.” The shudders of her soundless laughter shift to the shakes of fear when I add, “And one day soon, you’ll be my wife.”