29. Alexander
Chapter 29
Alexander
“ J esus Christ,” I murmur under my breath when I squat down to get a closer look at the soles of her feet. They are cut to shreds. What the fuck was she thinking running through the bush barefoot?
I grab the washcloth and dip it into the bowl of warm, soapy water. “This may hurt,” I murmur, gently wrapping my free hand around her ankle, holding her in place.
“Nothing you can do will hurt me more than you already have,” she snaps.
“Please don’t hurt her, Daddy,” Giovanni pleads.
My eyes flicker up to him. “Didn’t I tell you it was time for bed?”
“But I want to stay here with Chlo.”
“Bed,” I grumble.
He blows out a puff of air and mumbles, “Mother trucker,” as he climbs off her lap.
“What did you just say?” I bark.
“Mother trucker.”
“And let me guess …” I grumble, my eyes narrowing as they meet Chloe’s whisky-coloured orbs, a silent understanding passing between us. “You heard Miss Pottymouth sa y that and thought it would be a brilliant idea to copy her?”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“Go to bed,” I repeat. “I’ll come tuck you in when I’m finished here.”
“Can I sleep with you and Chlo again?”
“No.”
He puffs out another breath of air as his little shoulders deflate. “That’s not fair.” He takes a few steps before turning back towards us. “You’ll be here in the morning when I wake, won’t you, Chlo?”
“Yes, she will,” I bite, the words sharp and final, leaving no room for argument.
My eyes are locked with hers as I speak, and I can see the steely determination reflecting back at me. She’s going to try and flee again the moment I turn my back, but she’s not getting away that easily. I’ll fucking chain her to me if it comes to that. I’m not letting her go without an explanation. She needs to understand we’re not giving her a choice in this. She’s going to hear us out whether she wants to or not. I’m not the villain she thinks I am.
I return to tending to her damaged feet, each swipe of the cloth grating against my raw nerves, my anger simmering just beneath the surface. Every silent flinch I get in return seems to stoke the fire burning inside me.
My gaze moves to Angelina, who’s sitting quietly off to the side, wringing her hands in her lap. “Start talking,” I tell her.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Every-fucking-thing,” I retort. “Start from the very beginning.”
I know the gist of the story, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there are parts that I’m not even privy to. My father was a man who kept his cards close to his chest. He was a firm believer that things were kept on a need-to-know basis.
I do, however, remember the day he found out that Theodore Carmichael was skimming the books. He was livid and swiftly left on his private jet to sort it out, so to speak. He returned later that night with a frightened, sobbing Angelina in tow. I wasn’t even aware that Chloe existed at that stage.
“I am not interested in anything either of you have to say,” Chloe chimes in. The disgust in her voice cuts me to the very core.
“Tough shit,” I reply. “You’re going to hear us out whether you want to or not.”
Angelina sniffles as she begins speaking. “I never wanted to leave you, donzella . Please know that.”
“But you did,” she spits.
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“Hmm,” she hums, turning her face to the side in an attempt to ignore us both.
“Your father used to work for Giovanni Mancini,” she continues.
“Ha! Dad was in the Mafia? I highly doubt that.”
“He was Giovanni’s accountant.” That admission gets her attention as her head snaps back to her mother. She doesn’t say anything in reply, but she’s listening now, at least. “Well, he was until he found out your father was stealing from him.”
“Bullshit,” she shrieks. “Dad is a lot of things, but he’s no thief.”
“It’s true,” I add.
“Do you honestly expect me to believe either of you?”
Angelina disregards her daughter’s sharp remark and presses on. “He showed up at the house late one night with a couple of his men. I knew your father was working for him, but I’d never met him face-to-face until that moment.”
“So you took one look at the mob boss and thought he’d be a better choice for you? Dad loved you … he worshipped the ground you walked on.”
“As I did him.”
“Obviously,” Chloe says with sarcasm dripping from her voice.
“It’s true,” her mother replies, sniffling again. “Giovanni didn’t want your father to pay back the money; he wanted something more valuable to us … you.”
“What?” I growl; that’s something I wasn’t aware of.
“He said if we didn’t give her up willingly, he was going to kill us both and take Chloe anyway.”
That sounds like something my father would say, but unlike me, his threats carried merit.
“She was only a kid … what did he plan to do with her?” I ask.
“He said if she looked anything like me”—Angelina’s eyes briefly move in my direction—“you and your brother would enjoy her.”
“Dante and I were grown-arse men; we wouldn’t have touched her with a ten-foot pole.”
“I know that now, Alessandro,” Angelina replies. “But at the time, I didn’t.”
“How did you end up being the collateral?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“I begged and pleaded for him to take me instead. There was nothing I wouldn’t do to keep my little girl safe.”
“So dad was in on this?” Chloe asks. “He knew where you were all along?”
Angelina nods as tears fill her eyes.
Chloe shoves me hard with the heel of her foot, catching my shoulder from my crouched position. The force throws me off-balance, and I stumble backwards, landing flat on my backside. She rises from the sofa with purpose, wincing in pain as she limps across the room.
“Where are you going?” I demand, springing to my feet.
“To call my father,” she replies, her voice steady, but I can hear the defiance in it.
I stand in our bedroom doorway, lurking like a voyeur as Chloe ends her call with her father and curls herself into a ball. She’s a sobbing mess.
He confirmed everything her mother had told her, and I’m guessing it hit her like a ton of bricks. I’m desperate to approach her and wrap her in my arms—I can almost feel her isolation … the sting of betrayal—but I know I’m probably the last person she’d want comfort from right now.
I put Angelina in one of the spare rooms and told her to get some rest. The poor woman has been to hell and back over the past few days.
She got her story out—well, the CliffsNotes version, anyway. Now, she needs to give her daughter some time to digest it.
I don’t move, despite every fibre of my being screaming at me to climb onto that bed, pull her into my arms, and shield her from whatever pain she’s carrying. I’m partly to blame for this, and it eats at me, knowing I’ve irrevocably contributed to her suffering, to the heavy sadness she’s shouldering now.
I stupidly thought that bringing her mother home would fix something … that it might offer some relief. But instead, she’s left feeling like everyone who ever mattered to her has betrayed her—including me.
When a racking sob tears from the back of her throat, I can no longer hold back. I cross the room in long, purposeful strides, my heart pounding as I approach the bed.
“ Amore mio ,” I murmur softly, my voice barely a whisper, as I tentatively climb onto the mattress beside her.
“You lay one finger on me, and I’ll gut you like a fish,” she growls.
Despite this horrific situation, I roll my lips to mask my smile. Her fire is something I’ve always loved. “I highly doubt that, bella. I saw how squeamish you were when I was teaching Giovanni how to clean the fish we caught. You didn’t even have the stomach to bait the live worm.”
“That’s your first mistake, Mancini. Don’t underestimate a woman scorned.”
I deserve her anger for keeping all of this from her, but her defiance—her sass—tells me we haven’t completely broken her. And for that, I’m thankful.
“I’m sorry I kept this from you.”
She rolls over onto her side, facing me. Her tear-stained cheeks tear me up inside. “I’m not one to speak ill of the dead, but you are no better than your father. You are a despicable human being … just like he was.”
Was.
I’m still struggling to comprehend he’s no longer with us. With everything else going on, it hasn’t really hit me yet, but I don’t doubt that moment will come.
“I’m nothing like him.”
“Really? You came to my house to collect on a debt your father had already settled. Wasn’t one Carmichael woman enough for your family?”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I didn’t come to your house that day to take you. I wasn’t there for that. I was getting a feel for the situation. Did I go there because I wanted you? Yes, I did. But I had no concrete plan of how I would make that happen. I never expected to run into your father while I was there.”
“So, when you saw him, you thought, bingo , I’ll just steal her away like my father did her mother? Do you not understand how barbaric that is? This is the twenty-first century, not the Palaeolithic era, where a caveman would drag a woman back to his lair by her hair.”
“I’m pretty sure caveman dragging women around by their hair is more myth than fact,” I reply, with a hint of amusement in my voice. We may be partaking in a ridiculous conversation, but she’s at least talking to me, so that’s a start. “And in my case, there was no hair pulling.”
“You pulled me by the arm, you brute, same thing,” she snaps, glaring at me.
“Not even in the same universe is that remotely comparable,” I retort, raising an eyebrow. “And let’s be clear … I drove you back to my lair in comfort; no dragging was involved.”
“Metaphorically, I was dragged kicking and screaming.”
“We travelled in complete silence, bella .”
“I can promise you, my mind was anything but silent,” she grumbles, sitting up and snatching her pillow. For a brief moment, I think she’s about to start a pillow fight—which I’m definitely down for—but instead, she begins to rise from the bed, so I quickly reach out and grab her arm.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I ask.
“To sleep in Giovanni’s room.”
“I don’t think so, cuore mio ,” I say, tugging her back onto the mattress. “After that stunt you pulled tonight, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
I wake with a boner and a smile on my face. Chloe is wrapped in my arms despite her constant effort to build a wall between us last night. It rivalled the one on the United States and Mexico border. A fortress of pillows and blankets, which I sat back and watched her painstakingly construct, only to knock it down time and time again.
I’m pretty sure by the end, she was ready to knock me the fuck out, but eventually, she gave up, shimmying to the very edge of the mattress and falling asleep. That’s when I dragged her back to the centre and held her tightly against me for the rest of the night.
I can deal with her anger; it’s the tears that cut me to the bone.
I’m not sure if we are still in danger from the Mortelli gang, but we are heading back to Sydney after breakfast nevertheless. Dante is being moved to the Royal North Shore Hospital later today, so I want to be there for him when he arrives.
Angelina will be coming with us; she has nowhere else to go. She’s just as much a victim in this mess as her daughter, and I can only hope Chloe will realise that in time. Regardless, I refuse to turn my back on her in the interim.
She may not have been romantically involved with my father—he had a harem of beautiful women on the side to fulfil his needs—but he did come to care for Lina, as he affectionately called her, in the years she spent at his house. In a way, I think she cared for him too. I don’t doubt she missed her family every day. She simply accepted her fate and made the best of a bad situation.
I slide out of bed, careful not to wake Chloe, and head to the bathroom. I wash my hands, clean my teeth, and run a brush through my thick hair.
As I go to exit, I glance at the bathtub. Chloe will have trouble standing on her injured feet, so if I can coax her into the bath, I’ll at least be able to dress her wounds properly once she’s out. Leaning over, I turn on the taps and head back into the bedroom.
“What are you doing?” Chloe asks in a sleepy whisper as I lift her into my arms, bridal style, and carry her into the bathroom.
“I ran you a bath since I doubt you’ll be able to stand on those feet for too long.”
I sit her on the edge of the tub. “Lift up,” I say, reaching for the hem of the sundress she slept in last night.
Still caught in her sleepy haze and forgetting she hates me, she does as she’s told.
It’s only after I’ve removed it that she snaps out of her daze, covering her bra-clad chest with her arms and narrowing her eyes at me. “Get out,” she growls.
“I don’t think so, cuore mio ; it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“Or will again,” she retorts.
I glance down at her and smile, the tip of my knuckle grazing the side of her face.
I will not only have her again, but I’m going to marry this woman one day. I’d bet my life on it.
I decided to give her the space she was asking for, within reason, of course. I agreed to stand outside the door on two conditions: first, the bathroom door remained open; second, she tossed me the rest of her clothes.
There was no guarantee she wouldn’t try to escape naked, but it was a risk I was willing to take. She jumped from a two-storey fucking window to get away from me in the past, so I wouldn’t put anything past her.
Once she’s bathed and dressed, I tend to her feet and wrap them in bandages. Despite her protests, when I’m done, I carry her out to the kitchen, where we find Giovanni sitting at the breakfast bar and Angelina standing in front of the stovetop.
“Morning, Daddy … Chlo.”
I gently place Chloe down on one of the stools and ruffle my son’s hair. “Morning, buddy.”
“Nonna Lina is making me Mickey Mouse pancakes.” Nonna Lina? That escalated quickly. He’s known this woman all of five minutes. “She said they used to be your favourite when you were little like me, Chlo. Is that true?”
Chloe lifts one shoulder. “I don’t remember much about that time in my life,” she replies, bowing her head.
Her mother is watching her from across the room, and my heart goes out to her. I can see the love she still carries for her child.
I’m unsure if Chloe says that to hurt Angelina’s feelings or if she genuinely means it. I can relate to blocking out the past. Forgetting comes easily the majority of the time.
The hard part isn’t letting go of your trauma, it’s learning how to start over.
“Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes,” she says, giving us her back again.
I’ve had the pleasure of eating her food on many occasions over the years, and since I’ve barely eaten over the past few days, I’m looking forward to a home-cooked meal.
“We’ll be heading back to Sydney later this morning,” I say to nobody in particular. “You can stay with us, Lina.”
That statement has Chloe’s head snapping in my direction, but I ignore the glare she’s now giving me.
“Dante’s being transferred sometime this afternoon, so I’d like to be at the hospital when he arrives.”
“Have you gotten any more updates on his condition?” Angelina asks .
“I spoke with his doctor this morning. He’s still stable, which I’m thankful for. He’s not out of the woods yet, but he seems to be improving a little each day.”
“That’s good,” she replies, nodding her head. “Have you given any thought to the funeral arrangements for your father?”
“Not yet. I’ve been too preoccupied with Dante and …” My eyes flicker back to Chloe, but she’s staring at her lap again. “I’ll look into that later today. I can guarantee my brother would want to be there, so I’ll need to check if that’s possible.”
“Okay. Let me know if I can be of some help.”
“I appreciate that. I’ve already sent money to the families of the other men involved to cover any expenses they may have.”
“That’s good,” she says, doing the sign of the cross when she turns back to her cooking.
I reach up to rub my temples, feeling a headache settling in. There’s so much to do, and I feel like I’m being pulled in a thousand different directions.