The Proposal

23. Dante

Chapter 23

Dante

A lthough the day started rough, it’s only gotten better from there. I’m happy we came; we’ve had a wonderful time filled with great food and plenty of laughs.

Arabella has slotted into my family better than I could’ve imagined. She and Chloe are already acting like long-lost friends. It’s beautiful to see.

My brother and I are sitting back, nursing a glass of his twenty-five-year-old scotch while our wives bust a move on the makeshift dancefloor—the back deck—with Giovanni.

Our wives.

How crazy is that?

I didn’t see this on either of our bingo cards a year ago, yet here we are—loved-up family men, and I wouldn’t change this even if I could.

“She seems nice,” Alexander says, pulling my focus away from my wife. “Chloe and Giovanni seem very taken with her.”

They’re not the only ones.

“She is nice,” I reply as my eyes gravitate back to her, and I find myself smiling again as I watch her dance. She doesn’t seem to care that she’s uncoordinated, or she’s oblivious to the fact.

“I’m sorry for what I said this morning. I misjudged her.”

I shrug slightly. “I wouldn’t have brought her here if she wasn’t trustworthy. She’s a good person and is nothing like her old man. She despises that lifestyle.”

“Yet she married you.”

I narrow my eyes as my head snaps in his direction. “Like me, she didn’t have a choice.”

“I can only gather since you’re associating with Stefano Rossi that you’ve taken over Papa’s position in the Famiglia .”

“Yes.”

He lets out a long sigh, remaining silent for what feels like forever. This isn’t the life he envisioned for either of us, but it’s all I’ve ever known. “Are the Mortellis still giving you trouble?”

I down the rest of my scotch and stand. “Want another?” I ask, gesturing to his empty glass.

“Are you avoiding answering that question for a reason?”

“I’m not avoiding anything, but a lot has come to light recently, and I’m pretty sure you’ll want another stiff drink once I fill you in.”

He eyes me sceptically as he hands over his glass. “Should I be concerned about what you are going to tell me?”

“Concerned, no, but you won’t like what I have to say.”

As soon as I place the glasses down and reach for the scotch, I hear the sliding door behind me open. I glance over my shoulder and see Alexander entering the cabin.

“I thought it would be better if I came in here, just in case what you need to tell me is bad.”

“Oh, it’s bad, but before I get into that, were you ever going to tell me that Papa cut me out of the will and left everything to you?”

“Fuck,” I hear him mumble under his breath, which tells me everything I need to know. He wasn’t. Always the protector. “Does it really matter? I made sure you got half … more than half.”

“That’s not the point. You went against his wishes.”

“Are you serious right now? He probably left it all to me because he wanted me to take over.”

“But you didn’t take over, I did.”

“Is that what this is about? You can have it all if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I don’t want it all. I have more than enough. The way it stands, my children … hell, my children’s children are set for life.”

“What are you getting at then?” he asks.

“I just wish you would’ve told me. Do you know how it felt to find out the way I did?”

“I told the lawyer not to tell you. The incompetent fucker.”

“He didn’t.”

“How did you find out then? Who else knew?”

“I found a copy of Papa’s will when I searched his room.”

“Searched his room? Why were you searching his room?”

I pick up the scotch I just poured and down it in one gulp before refilling it. I’m not looking forward to this conversation; it’s about to open up a whole can of worms I’m not ready to deal with.

After handing Alexander his drink, I settle into one of the wingback leather chairs.

“I was looking for a photograph of Arabella.”

“In Papa’s room?”

“I found out when I was in Italy that Arabella was set to marry Papa … you know, before …” I let the rest of my sentence die off because he can fill in the blanks.

“He was going to marry Arabella?” he asks with shock lining his voice.

“Apparently. ”

“How old is she?”

I wince. “Twenty.”

This has his eyebrows jumping again. “Twenty. Fucking hell, she’s even a bit young for you.”

“I know. She’s mature for her age, though.”

“Yeah, she doesn’t seem that young.”

“Her mother died when she was ten. She basically had to take over the running of the house, as well as look after her little sister.”

“Poor kid.”

“Please don’t refer to my wife as a fucking kid; that makes me feel predatory.”

“Sorry,” he says, taking a sip of his drink. “Did you find the photograph? Because I’m having a tough time digesting that Papa was set to marry a woman a third of his age.”

“No, I didn’t. It’s what started off the whole clusterfuck that followed.”

“What clusterfuck?”

“Me whacking Edoardo.”

“What?” Alex asks as he starts to cough and splutter on the liquid still in his mouth. I probably should’ve waited until he swallowed. “You whacked Edoardo?”

“I had no choice.”

“I’m not exactly upset about the fact that he’s out of your life. I never liked the guy and always felt like he was a bad influence on Papa.”

“If only Papa was able to see what you saw … maybe he’d still be with us. They both would.”

“They?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose as Alexander takes the seat opposite. Telling him this isn’t going to be easy.

“I’m going to give you the CliffsNotes version because it’s Christmas Day, and I’ve had a great time here with you guys … we should do this more often.”

“I agree, we should. ”

“Please know, what I’m about to tell you will ruin your Christmas. If you want to wait until tomorrow to discuss it, I’ll understand.”

“And last year didn’t. I lost Papa, and I almost lost you. Hit me with it; I can take it.”

I inhale a deep breath, filling my lungs with air. “The whole fiasco was a setup from the beginning. The disappearing shipments … the Mortellis’ involvement. Basically, Edoardo wanted to wipe us all out so he could take over. His end goal was to rob Papa of everything he’d worked so hard to accomplish because he was jealous. Jealous of his status … and of Mamma.”

“Mamma?”

“I’ll get to that,” I say, which has him frowning and sitting forward in his seat. “Edoardo highjacked the shipments and told Papa he had intel to say the Mortellis were behind it. It was all a lie. He’s the reason Papa is no longer with us.”

That has my brother springing to his feet. “What the fuck. Edoardo did this?”

“Yes.”

That has him raising his arm and hurling his crystal glass across the room with such force that it shatters against the far wall. The sound cuts through the air, and I’m thankful the music outside is loud enough to drown out the noise from the girls and Giovanni. They don’t need to witness this.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him when he clutches either side of his head.

“Why are you sorry? You were his victim as well.”

“I know, but I’ve had weeks to wrap my head around this, and I’m still struggling, so I know what you’re going through right now.”

“I can’t believe it,” he says as he starts to pace. “What happened was bad enough, but to think it came from the inside … ”

“There’s more.” That has him pausing and turning to face me. I falter momentarily, unsure if I should tell him the last part, but he deserves to know. “His betrayal towards Papa … to us, and our family, started many years ago.”

“What do you mean?”

“Edoardo introduced Mamma to Papa, not expecting they’d fall for each other. He wanted her for himself. I’m gathering that ate away at him for years since they were so happy. Papa got his heirs, and Edoardo ended up marrying a woman who was barren.”

“I thought I was getting the CliffsNotes. I’m not entirely sure where this is leading.”

I take another deep breath. “He was the one who ran Mamma off the road.”

The first thing I see is the colour drain from his face as his breath catches in his throat. His eyes widen, and for a moment, he doesn’t speak. He just stares at me like the ground has slipped from beneath him.

“Edoardo was responsible for her death?” His voice is barely a whisper, and I can practically see his mind ticking over as the ramifications of what I just told him settle in. “It … it can’t be true.”

“It is. He admitted it to my face.”

“And you believed him?”

“Knowing what I now know about him … yes.”

I watch the anger and confusion flare as his fists tighten into balls at his side. The weight of my revelation crushes him, just like it did me when I first learnt the truth. Poor Mamma didn’t deserve that. She was innocent in all of this.

I’m slow-dancing with my wife on the back deck, trying not to think about what my brother is going through .

After I told him about Mamma, he stormed away, only for me to hear his bedroom door slam a few seconds later. I wanted to go to him, but I knew he needed a moment alone to digest it all, just as I did.

When I went back outside alone, Chloe asked where he was. “He might need you,” was all I said, but the grim look on my face was enough to have her disappearing inside with Giovanni in tow.

It’s late, so hopefully, she had enough sense to put her son to bed first before going in search of her husband.

I’m lost in the quiet lull of my wife when my brother reemerges. He doesn’t say a word as our eyes lock. He has a glass in one hand, and a bottle of scotch gripped tightly in the other. What I see is a man shattered. His eyes are raw and haunted by the truth.

He’s drowning in the knowledge, just like I was when I first found out. I watch as he pours himself a drink, downing it in one go. When he pours another, I focus back on my wife, giving him the space he obviously needs. We are staying for a few days, so I’ll get my chance to hash this out with him when the time is right.

We Mancini men carry our pride like a silent bond, strong and unspoken. But sometimes, even that pride needs space to breathe, to digest the things that shake us to our core. Time alone to piece together the fragments of what’s been torn apart before we can talk about it. It’s just how we’re wired.

I pull my wife a little closer, burying my face in the crook of her neck as our bodies sway to some random Christmas carol playing through the speaker. I have this overwhelming compulsion to tell Arabella that I’m falling in love with her, but I can’t bring myself to formulate the words.

Does she feel the same?

She opened all the gifts I bought her earlier today after we ate breakfast. I’d never shopped for a woman before, so I mentally noted all the things she picked up, admired, or stared at longingly when we went Christmas shopping for the family a few weeks ago. She seemed to like everything I got her.

I still have one more gift burning a hole in my pocket, but now doesn’t seem like the right time to give it to her, not with all this heaviness lingering in the air.

I’m currently in bed, with my wife wrapped tightly in my arms. I’ve been lying here for a couple of hours, but sleep won’t come. It only took Arabella a few minutes before her breathing evened out, and she fell into a deep sleep. It’s been a big day for her … a big few weeks, actually.

When we came inside, Alexander was still out back. I offered to stay with him, but he politely declined, saying he wanted some time alone. I can respect that, but it doesn’t stop my concern.

I lie there until I can no longer stand it. As soon as I remove my arm from underneath Arabella, she stirs. “Go back to sleep, Bellezza, ” I whisper, placing a soft kiss on her bare shoulder.

“Where are you going?”

“To get a drink of water.” That’s partly true, but I’m going to check on my brother first. Hopefully, he’s already gone to bed.

Unfortunately, I find him exactly where I left him, outside on the deck. The half-empty bottle of scotch and the glass are now on the side table. His head is tilted back, and his eyes are closed.

At first glance, I think he’s asleep, but as soon as I close the glass sliding door behind me and step out into the night air, his eyelids flutter open, and his gaze instantly finds mine, sharp and alert.

“Hey. ”

“Hey,” he replies, scrubbing his hands over his face and sitting forward in his seat to rest his elbows on his knees.

“I just wanted to check in on you.”

“In your underwear?”

“I was in bed. I got up to get a drink of water and thought I’d see if you were okay.”

“You better put some clothes on before my wife sees you,” he grumbles, his voice rough and sharp.

That has me smiling despite everything. I don’t know why I enjoy bringing out his grumpy side, but there’s something oddly comforting about it.

“You okay?”

“No,” he says, “but I will be. I’m just trying to make sense of it all.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s a lot to take in.”

“I’m mad at Papa for bringing that motherfucker into the family, but I’m also sad for him. So incredibly sad. He put so much trust into the wrong person.”

“I know. He was so blinded by that man … in a way we all were.”

“Not me … I always hated him. I don’t think I’ve ever told you this story, but the night I became a made man, at the tender age of fourteen, he was there. I didn’t want to kill that guy. I was struggling internally. That look in his eyes … the way he kept begging for his life. I knew he’d done bad things, but not to me. Everything about it felt wrong.”

“I struggled my first time as well, but you know me, I was always trying so hard to please Papa,” I admit.

“I hate that you felt the need to do that.”

“It wasn’t your fault that Papa idolised you.”

“I don’t think idolised is the right word. He always made me feel like I was a disappointment.”

That confession surprises me. “It’s funny you would say that because I saw things completely different. ”

“I think Papa constantly pushed for me to take over simply because I told him I didn’t want to.”

“Maybe,” I say, lifting one shoulder.

“I knew that first night the Cosa Nostra wasn’t for me. I struggled to pull that trigger, and do you know what that piece of shit Edoardo said to Papa?”

“What?”

“Are you going to just stand there and let this little punk disrespect you like that?”

“Wow, what a cunt. I bet Papa didn’t appreciate that.”

“Papa pulled out his gun and raised it to my head, giving me an ultimatum. End his life, or he’d end mine.”

“What the fuck!”

“At that very moment, I lost all respect for the man I loved and looked up to.”

“Fucking hell, Alex. No wonder you pushed back so much over the years.”

“I knew it wasn’t a life I wanted. I didn’t have the stomach for it. If Edoardo was still alive, though, I wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in his fucking head. Poor Mamma didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s what I struggle with the most.”

“Did Edoardo act alone in this whole Mortelli mess?”

“I’m not sure. I was in the middle of interrogating him when the truth about Mamma came out. I kind of lost it at that point and shoved my gun down the back of his throat and pulled the trigger.”

My confession has my brother grimacing. “Does that mean there’s still a chance there’s a traitor in the ranks?”

“I know Stefano was in contact with Edoardo.”

Alexander’s eyes widen in surprise. “Your father-in-law?”

“Yes.”

“Fucking hell, Dante. Have you spoken to him about it?”

“No, but I seized two phones and a computer from Edoardo’s warehouse. I’ve sent them to Spencer Prescott. ”

“Good. If anyone can find anything on them, it will be him.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What is going to happen with you and Arabella if you find out her father is in on it?”

“Nothing, like I already told you, she hates him.”

“Can I ask why?”

I pause for a moment, contemplating whether to tell him the truth, but I know my brother will worry about me if I don’t give him something substantial.

“This stays between us. I don’t want it to get back to Arabella because it’s not my story to tell.”

“You have my word. I can see how much you care for her, and I’d never willingly come between that.”

“I love her,” I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

It’s the first time I’ve voiced those words out loud, and there’s something freeing about it. It’s like letting those feelings drift into the air, solid and real. Just like those stupid dandelion flowers Alexander and I used to wish on when we were kids.

“You even have her name tattooed across your chest. If that doesn’t scream, ‘I love this woman’, I don’t know what does. It might as well be in fucking neon. You’ve never been one to do things by half.”

“What can I say? I’m an overachiever.”

We both chuckle at that.

“Don’t let Chloe see that tattoo; she’ll make me get one.”

“Arabella got one as well.”

He arches an eyebrow. “She got your name tattooed across her chest?”

“No, one of these on her shoulder blade,” I say, pointing to the praying hands on my left pec. “In memory of her mother.”

“She lost her mother too?”

“When she was ten years old, her father intentionally set her mother on fire. Poor Arabella had to witness her burn alive.”

“The fuck!”

“I know. You can understand why I have nothing to worry about when it comes to her. I think she’d be glad to see that cocksucker six feet under.”

“Makes two of us.”