Chapter 2 Gia
TWO
GIA
Gia was still sitting on the bathroom floor an hour later when Marc came into her room.
“G?” he called.
“In here.”
Marc’s head poked through the doorway, his hair and beard trimmed short, every line as sharp as the cut of his suit. “What are you doing on the floor?”
Having an existential crisis. “I can’t be fucked today.”
Marc snorted. “Get up. I’ve got your food.” He held out a hand, his family crest ring glittering in the bright bathroom lights.
Gia grabbed his hand and pulled herself up.
“You’re freezing. How long were you sitting here?” Marc stared at her, his usually concerned expression more assessing than usual. Or was it Gia’s imagination?
She pulled away and ducked around him to grab a hoodie off the clothes pile on her armchair. The smell of tomatoes and garlic filled the room, and sure enough, a brown paper bag sat on her dressing table. Gia grabbed it and took the food to her bed.
Marc’s focus didn’t leave her. “If you need help getting up, you can always call Salvator.”
Gia’s spine stiffened. “I can get off the floor by myself. I just didn’t feel like it.”
She bit back the part about not wanting to call Salvator. Marc and her father both liked to pretend Salvator wasn’t her minder. A fucking babysitter, like she was still a damn child. He was her driver. An assistant. An errands man.
Whatever you wanted to call Salvator, he was always there.
And sure, Gia needed help more often than the rest of the family when her migraines came out of nowhere and took her out of commission alarmingly fast, but Salvator’s presence often felt more like that of a guard than an aid.
And not a bodyguard, which was another job everyone claimed Salvator filled.
No. He was her prison guard. Keeping track of where she went and with whom.
Not that Gia went anywhere these days.
Would her father have let up on the constant surveillance if Gia’s condition hadn’t worsened the older she’d gotten? It had been terrible when the headaches had first hit around her tenth birthday, but her teen years hadn’t been as bad.
Her twenties had been a shitshow so far.
Gia unearthed a warm container from the bag and opened it. Penne alla vodka. Her favorite. Out of everyone in the family, Marc was by far the kindest.
“Thanks for this.” Gia grabbed the accompanying fork and dove in. “What are you up to tonight?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ve got to do the rounds. Then I’m meeting the boys. Father’s got shit to do too.”
So the house would be—well, not empty, it never was—free of her immediate family at least.
“I was thinking about Ma earlier,” Gia said smoothly, loading her fork with pasta.
Marc’s shoulders stiffened. “Gia…” he said, as if she’d brought up something they’d agreed not to discuss.
“What? We never talk about her.”
“What’s there to say? She’s been dead for twenty years. Come on. Don’t do this now. Things are tense. Shit’s going down, and Father has enough on his plate as we get ready for the expansion.”
“I’m not mentioning her to Father, Marco.”
His posture relaxed slightly. “Good. And don’t say my name like that.” He was Marc to all his close friends, as if it was some big honor to drop the O.
“Why can’t you and I talk about Ma?” Gia put her fork down. “She died to save me. Why isn’t she ever honored? Father goes on about Jake’s sacrifice for the family all the damn time, and then he acts like his wife did something wrong.”
How had she never seen it so plainly before? Had she really let pain and guilt overshadow everything else? Letti should have been a legend for dying to save one of Franco’s children.
Marc’s posture sagged, and his expression turned almost pitying. “Drop it, Gia.”
“No.”
A flash of something like hurt contorted her brother’s face. He ran a hand through his hair. “What happened is in the past. Look, I’ve got to go.” He turned toward the door.
Gia’s heart jumped into her throat. “What really happened?”
Marc froze. He shot a look over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed. “If that’s the question you’re asking, then it should be obvious why I don’t want to talk about it.”
He stormed out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
Gia pushed her food away, feeling sick again. He should have said: You already know what happened.
Fuck.
Dying to save her from kidnapping wasn’t Letti’s whole story, or not the real story. And Marc knew it was a lie. Maybe the memory of them in the blanket fort wasn’t total bullshit.
Could the lawyer on the phone have been telling the truth?
Gia’s throat constricted. If Franco wasn’t her biological father and he’d found out… Had the whole kidnapping thing been a lie to explain away the confusing things she half remembered? To cover up the truth? To shut her up? To save face?
And Marc knew.
Gia had to talk to the lawyer, but not on her cellphone.
If this turned out to be true, she couldn’t risk anyone seeing the calls on the phone records—beyond what was already there—or risk anyone listening in.
Her phone probably wasn’t tapped because she never did anything interesting as far as her family was concerned, but she couldn’t risk it.
Not with something like this.
Most people might struggle to believe their father had their mother killed for having another man’s baby, but Gia wasn’t most people. Franco absolutely would have. Out of the whole scenario, this was one aspect she didn’t doubt. Gia held no illusions about what her father was capable of.
To Franco, women were expendable, there to fill a role. Except for Gia, who was an obligation and only of any use to Franco if she reflected well on him, which was why her illness remained secret. Why Salvator’s other job was to make sure nothing exposing happened while Gia was out of the house.
It was easy to believe Franco’s attitude toward Letti had been similar, and if she’d had an affair, borne someone else’s child, and that man had come to take Gia away and expose it all, Franco wouldn’t have hesitated to eliminate the threat to his image.
Several hours later, Gia brought her food to the kitchen to throw away. “Hi, Mary.” She smiled at one of the housekeepers. “Seems quiet around here.”
The older woman nodded seriously. “Everyone cleared out. The girls and I won’t know what to do without the usual interruptions. Shall I heat dinner for you?”
“No, that’s okay, thanks. Marc brought me food.”
Mary pretended she hadn’t seen Gia throw the food away. “Very good. Let me know if you change your mind.” She slipped out of the room.
Gia headed to the library. It seemed lying around all day had been enough to rid her of the worst of last night’s effects. She wasn’t even tired as she selected a few books and returned to the hall, looking up and down to make sure the coast was clear.
She passed the gym and opened the door to the garage. The one with the SUVs, not the sports cars. But a ride wasn’t the reason Gia was here.
Glancing over her shoulder one more time and seeing no one, she hurried to a storage bench at the side of the room. After opening a few drawers, she found what she needed and grabbed it.
Her heart raced, and she quickly selected a set of keys from the line of hooks to unlock the SUV Salvator always drove her around in. She opened the back door, found the bag she’d left behind yesterday, and stowed her items inside.
“Gia?” a deep voice called.
Her heart skipped, but she didn’t flinch. She could thank her father for her poker face. Masking emotion was a necessary survival skill growing up around here.
“Hi, Salvator.” Gia closed the car door and feigned a tired smile in his direction.
He loomed in the doorway, arms crossed over his singlet, gold chains gleaming. Combined with dyed jet-black hair, gelled to within an inch of its life, he was a walking stereotype.
Salvator scanned the garage. “What are you doing?”
“Forgot my bag.” Gia raised it in the air for his inspection.
He grunted, and his assessing gaze relaxed. “You should be resting.”
Gia grabbed the books she’d placed on the roof of the car. “I know, but I needed something to read. Then I remembered my bag. I’m heading upstairs now.”
“Good.”
Gia kept her face blank as she crossed the room, her movements slow but not so exaggerated that they’d make Salvator suspicious.
When she reached the doorway, Salvator took the key from her and stepped out of the way, allowing her to pass. He didn’t follow, and once she escaped his scrutiny, some of her tension eased, but she didn’t dare to pick up her pace.
In her bedroom, Gia turned on some music and locked herself in the bathroom. She pulled the burner phone and new prepaid SIM card out of her bag and tore open the plastic casings.
How many times had she seen her father’s men grab phones from that drawer? She never thought she’d need one.
Maybe she should have known better.
Once the phone was set up and plugged in to charge, Gia ran the bath. She didn’t really think Salvator or anyone was outside her bedroom door listening, but everything about today made her paranoid.
With the water running, she called the number the lawyer had left in his voicemail.
“Hello, Edward Ramirez speaking,” said a familiar voice.
“It’s Gianna.” She glared at herself in the mirror. Fuck, she looked like she’d pulled an all-nighter partying, not passed out with a debilitating headache.
“Gianna, thank you for returning my call. Is this a better number to reach you on?”
She chewed her lip. “Sure. What documentation do you have?”
“Regarding your father, Jeffrey?” He paused, but she didn’t respond. “I have photos of him and your mother. A photo of all three of you. Letters from your mother, sent to Jeffrey. Things of that nature.”
Of course, her birth certificate would list Franco as her father. “Photos can be faked.”
“True. I have the negatives as well.”
Right. The photos would be on film black then. Could negatives be faked? Surely not as easily as something digital. “Is that all?” Gia asked.
“No. Your aunt kept everything she had relating to her brother and you, but it’s all unofficial. A…um…DNA test would provide the most conclusive proof.”
Goddammit. This was actually happening. Gia sank to the floor. “I can’t do a DNA test. And you can’t send me any of those photos. Nothing about this can arrive at my house,” she said, in case the lawyer had found her address along with her number.
“I can text a picture through if you’re doubtful. Otherwise, I don’t know how to show you, except in person.”
And lead Salvator straight to this guy? Not a chance. “Meeting would be a terrible idea for you. I can’t get anywhere without…” Wait. Why was she telling him anything?
Ramirez proved unfazed by her implications, continuing on as normal. “Your aunt made me aware of the problem your family poses. She tried to contact you over the years.”
“Well, she failed.” Gia would obsess about Susan later.
“She may have failed to get ahold of you in her life, but she made it her dying wish to bring you home. All you need to do is finalize everything with me, and there’s a condo waiting. A business.”
What? This guy had a whole new life waiting for her?
She imagined leaving her family behind and staring over. God, she wanted nothing more than to escape. To clean her conscience of the crimes they committed, all the bad they brought to the world that she did nothing about.
Maybe she could even do something to stop them if she were free.
Gia’s stomach twisted, and she banged a fist against the counter. Stop the Balzano family? How? Rival gangs couldn’t even get the drop on her father. Who was she? No one but the weak daughter. She couldn’t even run away.
What would she do when she got sick on her own? What if she were in public when a migraine stole her consciousness? How could she take over her aunt’s business when she routinely couldn’t get out of bed?
Helplessness threatened to swallow Gia whole.
She pushed it away. “Do you know what happened to my mother?” she asked the lawyer.
He let out a sad little sound. “I don’t know exactly how she died, but she and Jeffrey were planning to take you away from Ashton Lakes to move in with Susan.
This is all according to Susan herself. I never knew Jeffrey.
Susan said Letti and Jeffrey never made it to Shearwater Landing, and when Susan looked into it, she found Letti’s obituary.
Officially, Jeffrey is still missing, but well, it’s been twenty years. ”
A wave of darkness washed over Gia, and she thought it might obliterate her.
“Text me the picture of them together. I’ll call you back.” Gia hung up and clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a choking sob, her chest hollowing out.
She didn’t doubt the lawyer anymore. Why would he make this up? Her father was the one with a motive to lie, and the means—not to mention mentality—to pull off a double murder and cover it up.
Franco had killed her mother, hadn’t he? And then he’d looked Gia in the face every day since and lied about everything.
Fuck this. Fuck staying here and tiptoeing around the man who’d killed someone he was supposed to love. It wasn’t as if Gia had never thought of running away before. She had, but she’d always been too scared.
Well, screw that.
Screw everyone who said she couldn’t survive on her own. She knew she wasn’t weak, even if her father never missed a chance to tell her otherwise. Even if she’d let his judgments seep under her skin, keeping her trapped and dependent.
This was her life, and she was going to start living it on her terms.