Chapter Seventeen Guinevere #2
Something flickered in my grandfather’s expression, and I knew there was some truth to my accusation.
“We did not know who you were until the Venetian told us you had been kidnapped,” he admitted softly. “It was easy enough to confirm. Even one look at you.” He shook his head. “You have the Pietra pout.”
I tried to flatten my lips, which only made him smile.
“Did you try to have me killed at the Romano palazzo in August on the night of the San Lorenzo festival?” I asked. “Someone sent chrysanthemums and then sneaked into the house at night to try to shoot me in the head.”
Beside me, Ginevra bared her teeth and made a noise at the back of her throat like she wanted to rip that man to pieces.
“No,” Gaetano emphasized with a weary shake of his silver mane.
“You have to understand. The Venetian told us you had been kidnapped in order to keep us in line. We had laid our feud with the Romanos mostly to rest. I lost three sons to this war, two to death and one to abandonment. The Romano clan lost their father. It was enough. Then, the Venetian came to us—”
“You know who he is?” I interjected.
Gaetano glowered as I hit an obvious pain point. “I know he is a tall man, but that is it. I have met with him twice, and both times he wore a cloak with a hood and a Venetian mask. Very theatrical. He came to me to influence me to join his campaign to wrest power from Raffa Romano.”
“So you could take over as capo dei capi?”
“Guinevere, look at me.” He opened his hands to encompass what his advanced years had done to his body.
“I am an old man with no male heirs. Ginevra does not want to take over from me, and she has two young sons who would not be appropriate choices for some time. What would happen to my family if I became capo dei capi and I died?”
“Whoever came next would kill them,” I murmured, because Raffa had told me the very same thing.
It was powerful coercion for the next generation to toe the Mafia line.
“Esattamente. This wasn’t what the man offered. He wants to be head of the Northern Camorra and promised retribution for our family as payment for our help.”
“You didn’t want to give it?”
“As I said, I am an old man. I want to enjoy what time I have left with my family. I do not need to begin a war when I am eighty-five, hmm?”
“Fair. So then why did you get involved?”
“When we refused, the Venetian went to the Grecos,” he scoffed. “The scum that they are, of course they joined such a farcical rebellion. They thought the reluctant mafioso would be easy to take off his throne.”
He clucked his tongue and shook his head.
“Just because he did not want to be capo does not mean he is not a good one. It was not until some months had passed that the Venetian returned to us, this time to inform us Raffa had taken the daughter of my estranged son, Mariano Giovanni, hostage. He would not give us more information than some photos and the results of a DNA test he had performed.”
A DNA test?
If the Venetian had access to my DNA, then he had access to me. The palazzo in Florence, certainly, to gather hair from my brush or something of the sort.
This turncoat was inside Raffa’s family or his inner circle.
My stomach turned over at the thought of Renzo, Carmine, or Martina being the mole, and my gut immediately discarded it.
They would not cause Raffa harm under any circumstances.
I could not believe Annella, his housekeeper, or his cook would either.
Which left his sisters, their husbands, Leo, Tonio, and whichever soldati had access to Villa Romano and the palazzo.
It irritated me that I had not thought to ask more questions about the structure of the Camorra’s security.
That I hadn’t been more involved with helping Raffa end this Judas scheme at once.
“So you tried to kidnap me in Impruneta?” I asked, trying to fit the pieces together.
Gaetano frowned. “No. This was our first attempt. Though we did know the Grecos had sent an assassin to Romano’s palazzo, we were assured you would not be hurt.”
“And what about Philippe? Has he worked for you this entire time?” I demanded, infuriated on behalf of Raffa.
“He does not work for us,” Ginevra spat. “He is a soldier of the Venetian. It was Philippe who came to us with the plan.”
A growl rose in my throat, shocking me. I swallowed it back and spoke through bared teeth.
“Well, he was not doing it to help you. He was doing it to hinder Raffa. I can assure you I was not kidnapped”—though, technically, Raffa had coerced me to come back to Italy, it was truly for my own safety—“and I would like to return to Raffa immediately. He will be out of his mind with worry.”
“Cara,” Ginerva said, sliding forward in the chair beside me to grab for my hand as she had on the train.
This time I did not let her take it. “You are so young. You don’t realize what made men are like.
They will do anything to skew things in their favor.
Even manipulate innocent girls like yourself. ”
“Please,” I said acidly. “I am a twenty-three-year-old woman with a master’s degree.
I may have been sheltered most of my life, but in the last few months I have seen men murdered, killed one myself, helped incriminate the Greco family, and fallen in love with a mafioso.
I know myself and my relationship much better than you do. ”
“I am your family,” she snapped.
“My father didn’t think so,” I countered coolly. “Or else he would not have left you for America. You are strangers, and while I can appreciate your motives may have been kind, I am asking you now to return me to Villa Romano and my chosen family.”
When I looked to Gaetano, his brows were raised, and I had a vague impression that he was impressed with me. Too quickly, that expression dissolved into sadness.
“I am afraid we cannot. You are too valuable a tool to be used against us. So you shall remain here until we can decide what must be done with you, and with the Venetian, if what you say is true and he has manipulated the situation for his own gain.”
“So you are my kidnappers now?” I hissed. “So much better than the Venetians and the Grecos and the Romanos, aren’t you?”
This time when Gaetano grinned, it spread like a knife wound across his face, filled with bloody intent. “As you said, you are still a stranger to us, child. And you have not proven any kind of loyalty to those who share your blood, so we shall not either. Eduardo, take her downstairs.”
I turned, but hands were already coming down on my shoulders, wrenching me to my feet. Eduardo wasn’t large, but his grip was like iron manacles around my wrists as he started to drag me from the room.
“At least let me call Raffaele,” I asked. “He’ll come for me, and you said you don’t want to start another war.”
“He won’t come for you,” Ginevra said, a pity in those eyes that were so like my own. “You’ll see.”
Raffa’s voice echoed in my thoughts.
Il mio posto felice. My happy place.
La mia cerbiatta. La mia stella cadente. La mia cacciatrice.
My little fawn. My shooting star. My huntress.
There is nothing I would not do for you.
Even start a war.