Chapter Twelve
Giovanni
I take the curve up the hill slowly, letting the tires crunch over the pavers, allowing the house to come into view as it was intended when built, gradually, deliberately.
It’s not a home so much as a statement. Stone, glass, clean lines, light tucked into the eaves so it looks like the place glows. I check the time on the dash. Early, as intended. Good.
I park where I can see the front and the service lane at the same time. Habit. The guard at the inner gate lifts two fingers. I lift mine back.
She’s here already. Bianca. Has been for hours. I know this not just because I had Vivian keep me updated, but because Bianca isn’t the type of person to half-ass a job, especially not this one.
I may not have known her for long, but I know this.
Still, I want to see her with my own eyes.
Inside, the air is cooler than outside, smelling clean and floral from the massive cut of flowers on the table in the foyer. I shut the door behind me quietly.
Footsteps on the staircase. Light and fast. Elena comes down with her hair pulled up and a dress that looks simple until you look at the tag.
No jewelry except the ring Luca put on her finger and the small chain with Alessandra’s birthstone dangling, surrounded by diamonds that catch the light.
Her eyes are sharp despite a month of sleeping in bits and pieces.
“Hey,” she says, smiling but trying not to show her nerves. “You beat your brothers.”
“I prefer to be early,” I say with a small shrug.
She plays with the chain nervously with her fingers. “How was your day?” she asks, stalling whatever it is she really wants to say.
“Productive.”
“Mine too,” she deadpans, then tips her head toward the back of the house. “Bianca’s doing great.”
“Good.” The word is too plain for the relief. Because if she doesn’t do well, the deal has to be off. “I’m going to go check in on her.”
Elena steps off the last stair and puts a hand out, not stopping me so much as asking me to wait. “Can I steal you for two minutes first?”
I look past her shoulder the way I always do—doorways, line of sight, staff movement.
The kitchen is behind two corners and a pantry wall by design. I won’t see Bianca unless I go looking for her, and even then, I’ll only see the swing of a door and the flash of a coat. I put that want down and nod. “Two minutes.”
She leads me four steps into the foyer like we need the extra space. The rug underfoot muffles her steps. She hooks a thumb in the crook of her elbow and inhales like she’s about to cross a street into traffic.
“Everyone’s coming early,” she says. “Shockingly punctual for this family.”
“It’s a first,” I say.
She smiles, and it dies fast. “I need a favor. Not a small one.”
“I’m listening.”
“Can you help me keep an eye on things tonight?” she says, voice low. “I mean really keep an eye. People are…” She searches for the right word. “On edge.”
“They are,” I say. “You too.”
“Me too,” she admits. “Luca most of all, but he’ll never say it. He’s more nervous than I’ve ever seen him.”
“That says something,” I say.
“It says a lot,” she says. “He’s hiding it well. Mostly for my benefit. But you know how he gets when he’s white-knuckling. He goes very quiet and very…” She rolls a wrist. “He tries to engineer the room.”
“Control everything,” I say.
“Exactly.” She cracks a quick grin. “You Conti men and the spreadsheets in your heads.”
“I don’t have a spreadsheet,” I say.
“You have a ledger,” she counters, then sobers. “Caterina is nervous. When she’s nervous, she fills the air. Sometimes with jokes, sometimes with a match and gasoline. Vito can be… unpredictable and harsh. I expect Nico will be fine. Outwardly anyway.”
“You want a hall monitor,” I say.
“I want a mediator,” she says, then softens her voice. “I want you.”
I look at her for a beat. She doesn’t ask for favors like this often. Not from me. Not from anyone. A woman not used to relying on others until recently.
“Of course,” I say. No hesitation.
She lets out a breath of relief. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And listen,” she adds. “Lucia… I don’t know what tonight will be like for her. Or for them with her. I want it to be friendly and… familial. That’s all I care about. We can fight tomorrow.”
“It will be, Elena,” I promise. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Her eyes shine for a second, and then she shuts it down in a way that reminds me of what an effective prosecutor she was. “Okay.”
She folds her arms, then forces her shoulders back. “Okay.”
I glance toward the hall to the kitchen again.
The muscle in my jaw wants to move, wants to say I’ll be back in five.
I want to see Bianca in her element—head down, hands sure, the stillness I clocked at the restaurant turned into momentum.
I want to stand in a doorway and watch her work.
I’ve tasted her food, but haven’t seen her actually work.
Elena reads me too well. She shakes her head, amused. “You’ll just be disrupting her, you know.”
“I’m not going for a chat,” I say. “I’m going to check on my new employee.”
She snorts at the word. “I’ve made excuses to get back there a few times and pulled Vivian aside a few more times. Vivian says she’s ahead on prep. Everything was here on time and ready to go.”
That pulls a small grin out of her. “She also made a list on a dry-erase board that impressed even Vivian, and that is not easy.”
“Good,” I say, and there it is again, the feeling in my chest that shouldn’t be because of a woman working for me. I look past Elena to ground myself in the house again.
The walls hold family pictures that were never there before Elena came into Luca’s life. Alessandra’s footprint in clay, the three of them on the back steps, Luca with a baby against his chest, eyes closed like a man who didn’t know he needed that second chance until he had it.
“She’s not what I expected,” Elena says, pulling me back.
“Who.”
“Bianca,” she says. “I thought she’d be… I don’t know. Loud. Defensive. Maybe prickly.”
“She’s none of those,” I say.
“No,” Elena says, smiling. “She’s… contained, efficient. It’s a power move I respect.”
She studies me for a beat. “You like her.”
“I like talent,” I say.
“That’s not what I meant,” she says, but she lets me dodge it. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to your prowling. The boys will trickle in any minute.”
“They can trickle without me for five,” I say, half to myself.
She opens her mouth to say something else, and then the door opens behind me without a knock. It’s unlocked because this is family and because the guards at the gate aren’t letting in anyone who shouldn’t be here.
Caterina sweeps in, too quiet and too loud at the same time. Hair down and too glossy, dress just the perfect level of casual that tells me it wasn’t an accident. She carries a small clutch, and her lips are pressed together tightly.
Her eyes bounce around the room, up the stairs, down the hall, on us, then the mirror over a side table, where she checks herself out. Probably not for the first time that night.
“Don’t make that face,” she says before I say anything. “I’m on time.”
“For the first time since 2011,” I say.
“Still counts,” she counters.
She leans in, kisses Elena’s cheek, pulls her back by the elbows to look at her. “You look like you slept never, and it’s very chic.”
“Thank you,” Elena says dryly. “You smell like the perfume counter at Barneys exploded in your direction.”
“I couldn’t decide on one scent, so I blended. That’s also very chic,” Caterina says, and finally turns her whole body to me, eyes flicking up and down nervously. “Uncle Gio.”
“Cat.”
Her chin tips. “Don’t call me that tonight.”
“All right,” I say. “Caterina.”
She breathes out through her nose. She’s dressed to kill and vibrating like a tuning fork.
If I were to hand her a glass of water, it would spill over. She’s the kind of nervous that you wouldn’t recognize unless you love her. I love her, so I know it’s fear dressed up.
“You good?” I ask, plainly.
“I’m great,” she says, too fast.
“Liar,” I say, gently.
She rolls her eyes. “I brought a bottle,” she says instead, lifting the clutch like she might produce a magnum out of it by magic.
“The bar is stocked,” Elena says. “Pace yourself.”
“Or what?” Caterina says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’ll send me to my room?”
“Make us all eat in silence,” I say. “Forks scraping on plates. No words.”
“Honestly, that would be great,” she mutters, then tips her head toward the back. “What’s the menu?”
“Food you’ll eat and not complain about,” I say.
“Ugh,” she groans theatrically. “So… delicious.” Then the act slips, and she’s my scared niece again, mouth wobbly for half a second. “She’s really coming?”
“She is,” Elena says. “With her husband. And their girls.”
Caterina swallows. “Okay.”
“Elena,” I say, “go sit down for a minute.” It’s not a request.
She hears it and takes it for the gift it is. She squeezes my arm once in thanks and goes toward the back of the house with that quick, light step that doesn’t wake a sleeping baby, even when none is around.
It’s just me and Caterina in the foyer now. The chandelier throws dimmed light; the evening is thickening outside the glass.
I can smell the first thread of something from the kitchen. My brain supplies a picture I can’t see: Bianca at an island, knife in her hand, the line of her shoulders set. I put it away. The person in front of me needs me more.
Caterina shifts her weight from foot to foot and stares hard at the door like she can hold it shut with her will. “What am I supposed to say?” she asks, the bravado gone. “When she walks in.”
“Hello,” I say. “Start there. Then you let her tell you who she is now.”
“She’s Lucia,” she says, as if that solves it.
“She’s Lucia plus twelve years, a husband, and two kids,” I say. “We’re just reintroducing each other tonight. Not rehashing, okay? Give her space.”
She looks like she’s going to be sick. “I’m going to say something stupid,” she says.
“Maybe she’ll say something stupid,” I counter.