Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Pfeiffer
Alzheimer’s.
The word bounces around my head like a ping pong ball, familiar and strange at the same time. Dad pulls his hand from mine and starts tapping his leg. It’s a nervous tic he’s had my whole life.
Tears fill my eyes when I glance at him. The verdict, I expected. The grief, I did not.
The doctor continues in a gentle but serious tone.
“It’s mild to moderate, and there was possibly early dementia progression before this.”
The tapping gets faster. I clear my throat.
“What does that mean?” I ask. Nurse training equipped me with more generalist knowledge so I know nothing about degenerative neurological disease.
The doctor smiles sadly and turns to Dad.
“It means your memory is having trouble storing and retrieving information properly.”
Dad nods slowly like he understands, but I don’t think he does. The doctor continues to talk through the expected timeline of progression, treatment plans and support. All I hear are things like, “you’ll need to tell your employer,” and “the care can be too much for one person.”
The rest I don’t register, because suddenly I’m terrified.
I’m losing him. I’m losing my father—the man who raised me single-handedly, who sacrificed his own comfort to put me through college, who vowed to show me enough love that I wouldn’t miss having a mother.
I’m terrified that one day he won’t know who I am, and that that day is probably closer than I think.
And after everything we've both been through, I'm terrified that I'm already too late.
Suddenly, all the little things I've brushed off over the past year rise to the surface. The misplaced keys, the mentions of my mother, the men in the night.
My chest tightens. How much of him have I already lost without realizing it?
The doctor is still talking, but his voice has become distant, muffled beneath my throbbing pulse.
I glance at Dad. He's smiling politely, nodding in all the right places and trying so hard to be brave. Trying so hard to be the man who's always taken care of me.
A memory from before slips into my awareness. I was seven years old and had run to him after waking from a nightmare. He held me the rest of the night, stroked my hair and promised me I had nothing to be afraid of—that everything would be okay.
And I believed him. I still do.
But the problem is that Alzheimer's doesn't care about promises. It doesn't care that Dad is really the only person I have in the world.
It will take him anyway, memory by memory.
Until one day, I'll come home from a shift somewhere, and the man who taught me how to ride a bike, how to drive a car, how to live in a world filled with broken hearts, will look at me as though I’m a stranger.
The thought hits me so hard I can barely breathe. I came here expecting a diagnosis.
What I now have is a countdown.
There’s no way I can tell him about Callum’s death now. It would break his heart and confuse the hell out of him, and for what? Because Callum was his brother and it’s the right thing to do?
For once I have to be okay with doing the wrong thing. I’m going to keep this treacherous secret from my father and I’m going to have to live with it.
When we finally leave the office, Dad looks exhausted.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly as we walk to the car.
My mouth falls open. “For what? There’s nothing to apologize for.”
He gives me a weak smile. “For becoming a burden.”
The words slam into me so hard I stop walking.
“Dad.” I wait until he turns. “You are not a burden.”
His face floods with unjustified guilt. “But I will be.”
My eyes sting.
“No. You’ll never be a burden, Dad. I want to be here for you. I want to help. I want you to still have a full life, and I’m going to make it happen, okay? I promise.”
He pats my hand absently, like he’s humoring me. “Okay, love. Come on. Let’s go home.”
He doesn’t believe me. And somehow that makes it worse.
The following evening, I’m back at Velvet, waitressing of my own accord. Fiero has agreed to pay me a fair wage now in addition to all the medical insurance to cover my father’s needs.
I haven’t broached the topic of going back to nursing yet, because I feel as though I’m at a crossroad.
The hours here are convenient, especially now my father has an official diagnosis. It’s more helpful to him that I‘m around during the day and away while he sleeps.
After we returned home from the doctor’s I called Gayle and finally asked for help. She’s given me the name of someone close by who can visit some evenings while I work to check on Dad. Now that Callum is out of the picture, I need some reassurance that Dad’s okay when I’m not there.
With my days free, I can cook meals, take him places and keep him safe. So, for now, I’ve decided to stay at Velvet.
Although I didn’t see Fiero yesterday, he kept in touch throughout the day, checking on Dad’s progress, asking about his diagnosis, asking about me. His attentiveness made me feel… like he really cares.
And after spending an intense couple of nights in his penthouse apartment, confronting the fact he’s killed multiple men in my name, I’m tumbling down a rabbit hole far deeper and more frightening than Alice ever did.
I’m falling for him.
Hard, fast and recklessly.
And as magical as this moment should be, there’s still something intangible that doesn’t feel right.
I need to figure out what it is before I’m in so deep I can’t climb out again—I can’t wake up.
“Earth to Pfeiffer.”
I blink and look up from polishing a champagne flute to find Hallie waving a hand in front of my face.
“You’ve been staring at that glass for like a full minute.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. “Sorry. I’m just helping José while it’s quiet.”
“What were you thinking about?” Hallie smirks knowingly. “Il Diavolo?”
I flash her a warning look. “Of course not.”
She grins wider just as Vivienne appears beside us, her presence casting light over Hallie and darkness over me.
“Vivienne,” Hallie says politely.
The Head of House inclines her head before her gaze lands begrudgingly on me.
“How’s your father doing, Pfeiffer?”
I almost jerk back in surprise. Vivienne never asks after my father. She never asks after me. I’m instantly suspicious of her motives. Still, I don’t have it in me to be impolite.
“He’s good today, thank you. And we got him a diagnosis. So we’re starting to look at getting some support—different medication and some help around the house.”
“That’s good to hear,” she says with a thin, disingenuous smile. “And how are you after… the incident the other night?”
Hallie swings round to face me. “What incident?”
“Just some trouble with an associate,” Vivienne explains briefly, waving a hand to knock off some of its significance.
“I’m fine,” I reply, though something still doesn’t sit right in my stomach about what happened. Not the shooting, but the reactions of Fiero’s brothers. It felt like they were waiting for Fiero to do something or say something—to catch him out.
It’s the latest in a growing list of dubious behaviors from the other three Bellucci brothers.
First, there was Brando’s reaction to Fiero calling me an angel as I was patching up his bullet wound.
Then the glare through the elevator from the brother I think is Remo.
And then the overriding sense of hostility that flowed down the table toward me from all three of them.
It doesn’t make any sense. I haven’t met any of them before. They don’t know me and I haven’t done anything wrong.
But Fiero’s words still haunt me.
You don’t recognize me, do you?
I told him truth. I don’t. I don’t remember much about high school. I blocked it all out so I wouldn’t have to remember what my uncle made me do, and the consequences I faced when I didn’t do as he said.
But maybe… if Fiero went to Berman High, maybe his brothers did too? But I’ve no idea of their ages and what grades they’d have been in. I make a mental note to ask Fiero when I see him next. Maybe he’ll be able to explain his brothers’ strange behavior toward me.
Hallie’s eyes narrow to subtly let me know she’ll have questions later, before she turns back to Vivienne.
“So, how was the wedding?”
Vivienne smiles, which is something I haven’t been privy to before. It makes her look less vampirish and more human.
“It was lovely. Really relaxed. And the vineyard was beautiful—the perfect setting.”
“Who got married?” I ask, unable to help myself.
“Augusto Zanotti—Cristiano Di Santo’s underboss.”
I think he was one of the men in the VIP area the other night. “You know him?”
“Not well, but...” Her eyelids flicker triumphantly. “I was Fiero’s plus one.”
The words hit me so suddenly I almost drop the glass in my hand. Hallie notices and clears her throat. I force myself to keep polishing the flute.
“How lovely,” I say carefully, realizing too late I sound like a character from a Jane Austen novel.
Hallie shifts from foot to foot. “So, all the brothers went?”
“Yes—all four.”
Hallie’s gaze drifts sideways to me. “Did they all take dates?”
“Of course.” Vivienne looks faintly amused now and I’m certain she’s only telling us all of this to be mean. “Though I couldn’t tell you any of their names. I don’t think the brothers would remember either.”
The joke is so unexpectedly catty coming from Vivienne that Hallie outright chokes on a laugh.
I smile faintly too, though my chest feels tight.
“So why invite them at all?” I ask lightly, trying not to sound too interested. “Just for appearances?”
Vivienne studies me for a moment, her eyes flashing, before she responds.
“In this world?” she says. “Usually no.”
Hallie pauses subtly in her stacking of glasses.
Vivienne continues smoothly. “Italian families tend to be… fastidious about invitations. Especially weddings.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, wanting to know the answer but dreading it at the same time.
Her dark gaze flickers briefly toward the VIP lounge before returning to me.
“Bringing someone to an event like a wedding tends to mean something.” She lifts an elegant shoulder. “These men are territorial. Possession matters to them.”
Something in the way she says it sends a strange chill over my skin.
“So random women aren’t usually invited?” Hallie asks.
“Not to family events.” Vivienne’s lips curve. “Not unless someone’s making a statement.”
Hallie clears her throat awkwardly. “Well. That’s mildly terrifying.”
“It’s an Italian thing,” Vivienne replies dryly. “Everything is mildly terrifying.”
Hallie laughs again, but it fades quickly when Vivienne casually adds, “Remo’s date looked frightened half the evening.”
Hallie freezes and I begin to suspect I’m not the only one who has a thing for a Bellucci brother.
I jump in before Vivienne can try to interpret her reaction.
“So, in that case, why did you go with Fiero?”
The second the question leaves my mouth, I regret how quickly I asked it.
A look of satisfaction crosses Vivienne’s face, as though I just unwittingly set up a perfect punchline.
“I’ve known the Di Santos indirectly for a long time.
Fiero is Don of the Bellucci family—appearances are particularly important for him, so…
In the absence of someone he’s serious about, he took a trusted associate.
And I suppose that’s what I am. Besides,” she adds smoothly, “he didn’t particularly want to bring anyone, but traditions like this require adherence. ”
Something about the phrasing snags on my heart.
In the absence of someone he’s serious about.
Didn’t particularly want to bring anyone.
I feel a little bit sick.
Hallie gets called away by Dante, leaving me suddenly alone with Vivienne.
The atmosphere shifts instantly.
“I know it’s hard to hear,” she says in a vindictive tone. “But he has a complicated past and his brothers are very protective.”
She watches me quietly, registering every small emotion that flits across my face. “If you want my advice… this world is bigger than you will ever be. Don’t get attached.”
Heat floods my face. “I—”
“Take the rest of the night off if you like,” she says breezily. “I can find someone to cover for you.”
I somehow force my mouth to work. “Thank you Vivienne, that’s very kind of you, but this is a real job now and I need the money.”
“Okay.” She smiles wickedly. “Well, maybe when Fallen Angels comes around again, you could give it another try.”
I almost choke from the deja vu. “Of course.” I swallow. “I’ll remember that.”
My heart stumbles hard enough to hurt.
Is it all true? Did Fiero really not consider me worthy of taking as a date to a wedding?
Have I imagined how close we’ve become?
Am I so desperate to be loved and seen and wanted that I read into what is actually a mere fling?
My brain rattles through the questions seeking answers, while my heart thumps in confusion. I don’t understand.
Sure we’ve only been intimate for a couple of weeks and it was only days ago we committed to figuring out what this is between us, but right from the start I felt a real connection with him. So real it was staggering.
Even though we hardly touched, his breath brushing against my lips alone sent chemistry crackling along every nerve and tendon. And the second he slid inside me for the first time… God, it hurt.
But there was something else. He felt exactly right. Completely perfect.
I thought he felt the same way—shocked and stunned at how right all this feels. But, not only did he take someone else as his date, he didn’t even tell me about the wedding, despite sending me messages from the venue itself.
My stomach drops.
I feel stupid. Utterly, catastrophically stupid. I feel like the bottom just fell out of my world.
The brazen truth taps at my skull. I’ve been deluded.
It was naive to imagine I could mean anything to Fiero.
He bought me to avenge my uncle. He took my virginity without asking and he’s treated me throughout this period like a second class citizen, not even speaking to me when his brothers are around.
As Vivienne glides away, I wipe a finger under my eyes and I make a decision. I’m leaving this place. I won’t be taken for a fool any longer. I’ll look for nursing work first thing tomorrow, and I’ll figure out another way to pay for my father’s care.
Then the curtain parts and my blood pumps like it just woke up.
My body knows before my brain registers a thing.
Fiero has entered the lounge.
I look up against my better judgement and see him approach, all sharp jaw, solid muscle and smooth gait, flanked either side by Remo and Brando.
His eyes find me instantly.
But mine…
Mine turn away.