Caterina
Making love with Connor—because that’s what we did in that warehouse—and forging a genuine partnership flipped my life on its head.
The canvas that forms my story switched from the sedate style of soft art rampant across the Renaissance to Expressionism, Fauvism, and the Pop Art of the twentieth century. Jarring colors, images that leap off the canvas—Dali, Lichenstein, Warhol—have transformed my world in just a few short days.
Connor Gallagher is dangerous and unpredictable, a walking lethal weapon. If you piss him off enough, he’s sinister, with the skills and stamina to back himself up.
He’s also the most interesting person I’ve ever met, bar none. He’s complex and deep. Confident, with an IQ that’s off the charts and a wicked sense of humor.
My gut insists Connor Gallagher is falling for me.
Wild, considering a few days ago, we were enemies and I was certain he was only interested in a quickie.
It’s not in my nature to wonder all that much about how people feel about me. That’s their business, and nothing I do will likely change their opinions.
With Connor, it’s different. I can’t help but ponder how he perceives me.
His eyes pierce straight through me, and his touches are a spiritual experience, as if he’s mapping my every valley and curve.
He might roll his eyes at that piece of art he insulted, but he’s not unlike the woman on the canvas in Paris. He’s mysterious, catches you by surprise, and his face seems to conjure an endless supply of expressions. No two smiles are the same.
I think neither Declan nor Finn understands who Connor is. Maybe they won’t appreciate his value until he’s gone, just like the Mona Lisa didn’t really gain fame until she was stolen in the early 1900s.
I don’t think Connor’s meant to remain a dutiful underboss, and I’m wondering why he’s been in this subservient role for so long.
On Monday, Connor dove into Domenico Verone’s purchase history as if the dead man were his own flesh and blood. He dug up every toxic substance, legal or illegal, that the thug bought in the last five years. If the guy acquired a bottle of aspirin or a can of WD-40, Connor added that to the list.
He then fed me the information while the specialists on my end—a world-renowned pharmacologist, medical toxicologist, and integrative medical doctor—collaborated to identify the poison and concoct an antidote to reverse the damage.
Best-case scenario, my father will fully recover.
Worst-case scenario is that time wins the battle. While they may be able to slow the process or make my father more comfortable, he could be gone in a matter of weeks or months.
Still, it’s a start. Hope where none existed before. Connor’s using his powers for good, and when we come up for air and my father starts to heal, I will repay him in kind.
In this brief span of days, I’ve changed.
My body is the same, but my mind and soul have shifted me into someone new.
Even Eduardo Ricci—the crime boss, not my father—seems to truly see me for once.
He’s weak, frail, and in constant pain, but he finally realizes my full capabilities.
He’s been one hell of a father, but the way he lights up now when I enter his suite is because he knows me beyond his loving, dutiful daughter and silent support system.
I’ve officially become a real asset.
That almost pleases me as much as the knowledge that we might succeed in saving his life.
The mahogany doors at the estate’s grand entrance—complete with patina caming and shipped in from Tuscany by my grandfather—have never seen so much use. I considered having them swapped for some revolving doors.
After four days of tireless effort, my father received his first dose of antitoxin.
Despite Connor’s involvement, even Nino’s on board. I can sense that he’s attempting to come to grips with the word “compromise.” He doesn’t want to see Father die this kind of death any more than I do, and to that end, he’s willing to accept Connor’s presence.
He’s also ecstatic that Domenico Verone is dead. They know I killed him. Following my instructions, Danny’s keeping his lips sealed, but I didn’t want to lie to the two most important men in my life any more than necessary, so I gave them the CliffsNotes version of what happened at the warehouse.
Connor grabbed Verone, interrogated him, then brought me there to kill him.
Thanks to Danny’s confirmation, my family accepted that explanation.
It’s Thursday now, and I’m whistling as I bring my dad his dinner. I haven’t been this light in months. Maybe years.
Sundown is often the hardest part of the day for my dad, but tonight, optimism bleeds through the usual despair.
“Hi, Father. I hope you’re hungry.”
“Caterina, aren’t you pretty this evening.” For the first time since autumn, his smile reaches his eyes.
“Am I? Well, thank you so much.” I’m in a forest green tracksuit and very little makeup. I highly doubt I’m glowing. “I’d ask if you’re drunk, but I know better.”
He laughs a little louder than usual. “Not drunk, my dear. Just hopeful, maybe even a little energetic.”
I set the tray down and kiss him on the cheek. “Energetic looks good on you.”
“Is it crazy to say I think I feel better already?” He grabs one of my hands and clings with more strength than he should have. “The placebo effect, possibly.”
“I don’t know about that.” I sit down on the edge of the bed and offer him a smile.
“Doctor Singh said you could start noticing the effects in as little as twenty-four hours. It’s been about eighteen.
Not to mention you’re an overachiever. I’m surprised I didn’t walk in with dinner to see you doing jumping jacks. ”
My father laughs again, then coughs a little. He’s probably not ready for calisthenics or more of my silly jokes quite yet.
I’m just happy to see some color back in his olive cheeks. These last couple of months, his skin tone took on a sallow cast.
As he eats the creamy mushroom and pea risotto that Cook prepared just for him, I note the return of his appetite.
Not one-hundred-percent, but he even grasps his fork with more gusto.
I wish we could’ve served this with his favorite red blend.
As a man of tradition, red wine with dinner was standard until he got sick.
Maybe next week he’ll be well enough for a glass of his treasured Chianti.
I fix the tea with cream and sugar to provide the post-dinner sweet treat he enjoys. I even make one for myself, though I rarely indulge in dessert tea anymore.
It’s just that kind of night.
After the drinks steep and I add the goodies, I sit in the recliner beside him and blow on my beverage.
My father sets down his fork with a sigh. “I’m concerned about the future of this family, Caterina.”
I glance behind me, expecting Nino to sail through the door as if his boots are on fire. My father opened the floor for business, so I’m shocked by my brother’s absence.
“More specifically, I’m worried about the direction your brother’s steering the family.”
Is he finally admitting that he’s not thrilled about the Roguilin-Ricci alliance? Oh, how I pray that this turn of events—and Connor saving his life—will finally clear my father’s head.
I cross my legs, drinking my tea to give him a chance to form the right words.
“We both love you so much, and we believe you’re on the mend.
And just as we both want what’s best for you, Father, we also want what’s best for the family.
Nino’s smart, and he’s a hard worker.” In his weakened state, I hope he can’t sniff out the lies. “He’s doing what he thinks is best.”
I can’t just go against Nino right away. Do I want my father to sympathize with my perspective, which just so happens to be Connor’s too? Yes, but I won’t undermine my brother for that purpose.
I know Nino’s hurting and losing his way.
Maybe with Father healing, he will too. I need to believe that together, we can fix this family and improve the organization.
I imagine watching our dad fade away and jumping into the leadership role came with a fair amount of stress.
Nino took on the top position while simultaneously stifling the emotions stirred up by Father’s physical decline.
That would impact anyone’s choices. It might even help explain why he’s partnering with the Russians. He’s searching for role models, for seasoned leaders in anticipation of our father’s passing. While I don’t agree, I do understand.
My father hums. “I just want you two to be happy and safe. For the family to thrive.”
“I think I know why Nino’s decided to align with the Roguilins.” I sip more of my tea to hide my frown. “Now that you’re getting better, maybe he’ll be open to talking about it.”
And talking about me. While I was content with my role before, I was never perfectly happy on the sidelines. Nino and Father both know this. Unless the Riccis shift their priorities away from traditional and patriarchal standards, though, nothing will change.
If I want to improve my lot, Father and Nino need to jump on board. Now that I’ve helped save the family, maybe they will.
“We’ve had a strong week. A breakthrough, if you will.” Father pauses to take in a few full breaths and consider his next words. “And I’m not referring to the antidote that may save my life.”
Despite my confusion, I nod. What else could he possibly be talking about?
My father sets his cup down and stares through me with honeyed eyes. “You teamed up with a man we viewed as an adversary because you relied on your instincts.”
I’m not so sure it was all instinct. The mere mention of Connor causes the space between my legs to tingle, and I issue a stern warning before recrossing them.
Maybe I should apologize. Even if we got positive results, I still went against my dad and brother. I betrayed their trust. Before I can open my mouth to do so, my father continues.
“You killed the man who was going to testify against me. Hired Connor and Danny to work with you to accomplish this hefty goal.”
I avert my gaze.
I hate that I can’t tell my father the full truth. If I did, Connor would be dead, and I’d probably get locked away for insanity.
“Caterina?”
On his gentle command, I bite my lip and meet his eyes. “Yes?”
“You killed a man, my dear.” He smiles, his eyes crinkling. “For me.”
He’s not angry. Of course he’s not. This man loves me unconditionally.
“I would do it again.” A newfound sense of bravery backs up my statement. I would still do anything for my father…I just hope I never need to prove my devotion again.
He shifts in his bed, pulling himself upward with newfound energy. “You did all of this despite our choice to go in a different direction.”
I bow my head. “I realize that was wrong.”
“No, wrong would’ve been forming an alliance with the Irish Kings after we decided against it.” He hums and taps his fingers on the bed. “You only allied yourself with Connor. A single man. You thought outside the box.”
Relief floods me. I went outside the bounds but did well, so he approves. “Thank you, Father.”
“That’s the mark of a true leader.”
Or a fantasist gone rogue. In any case, my face heats from his praise.
“I believe I’m seeing clearly for the first time in a long while.” He rests his head back against the pillow. “Seeing you clearly, my darling.”
His pride washes over me, warming me from the inside out. My father and I have always been close, but when my mother died, the bond between us doubled in strength. Since then, we’ve been inseparable.
Hearing him say this—that he’s proud, that he supports my decision, that he sees me—is almost more than I can bear. If he keeps going, I think my chest might explode.
My father clears his throat. “It’s strange and sweet, and I’m embarrassed that I haven’t understood you on a deeper level before this. I don’t know…”
Tears wet his eyes, and I spy an emotion I’ve never identified in them before.
Regret.
Over what? Not seeing me fully? That’s not his fault. Women are a support system. We’re maids, chefs, bearers of offspring… I don’t blame my father for adhering to the old way. He’s already proved he’s a trailblazer by always saving a seat for me.”
I drift back to his bedside. “I love you. You’re the perfect father.”
“No one’s perfect, Cat—”
“You are to me.” I grasp his hand. “Don’t ever forget that.”
He places his other hand over mine and squeezes. His fingers are no longer stone-cold the way they were just days ago.
My father brushes his fingers over my cheek. “I’ve just been thinking about who I want to leave this family to and about how I want it to look moving forward.”
Ice forms in my chest, and my blood freezes.
What’s he saying?
A soft smile graces his face. “Dead or alive, I have to trust the men…the people…at the helm. Trust them above all.”
His words terrify me.
How am I any different than Nino when I went rogue with Connor to protect my family from the Bratva and topple Belinski and his men? The hit on Domenico Verone was a cog in a much bigger machine.
Connor and I saved my father’s life, but does the end truly justify the means?
I’d never defect like Connor’s brother Brody did, but the fact remains that no deal exists between us, the Irish Kings, and Port Kings. Nothing’s on the books to date. Does that mean I acted treasonously?
Yet he says…he trusts me?
Father sips his tea. “A man is remembered by what he builds when he’s alive. I think about what my legacy will look like. When you have children and they have children, what will they say of Eduardo Ricci? How will I be remembered?”
“I hope you’re worrying about this less now that you have the antidote.” My nose stings. “You’re going to be okay.”
He shakes his head. “Now that I’m starting to feel like myself again, I’m thinking about it more. That’s what second chances do to a man. Or should do, if he’s wise.”
I’ve fantasized about this moment. Of my father saying—even implying—that I could run the family. Take the position Nino got to assume solely for being male since I’m the eldest and more capable. Talk about busting through the glass ceiling. Wouldn’t that be something?
I’ve remained in the background for so long that leading was a pipe dream I could never envision clearly. A reflection in a pond…a wavy, transparent image that vanished in the ripples.
The voice in my head reminds me of my place in this family and in the world. After all, working behind the scenes allowed me to get shit done without shaking things up.
I can’t really do what he’s implying. I could never take my brother’s inheritance, even if my father wished it.
My father’s strength fades, and he slips to sleep without another word. I pull the covers up over his chest.
If Nino remains the heir to the family, then where do I fit in?