Chapter 14
Fourteen
F allon
We spent most of the day watching TV and sleeping. Leone never mentioned last night, and I don’t mention it. But as the sun sank low and shadows danced upon the polished floors of Leone’s sprawling mansion, I could feel the tension coil in the room, as palpable as the thick cigar smoke clinging to Leone’s sharp suits. Leone sets a black pantsuit on the bed for me, and I glance at him. “Get ready. We are leaving to have dinner with my mother in half an hour,” Leone tells me just as Milo steps out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his hips. He heads into the walk-in robe while I start getting ready. It takes me about twenty minutes to get ready, and by that time, Leone’s entire demeanor has changed; he almost seems angry, making me wonder what is wrong with him.
He ushers us into the car, and I notice Rocco tagging along as he climbs in the passenger seat next to Milo, who is driving. Leone says nothing for most of the drive until we hit a back road.
As we drive up the long, winding driveway toward Leone’s parents’ mansion, my heart races with the anticipation of meeting his mother. I nervously wring my hands in my lap as Leone gives me a list of rules to follow during our visit.
“You speak only when spoken to, don’t backchat, and don’t even think about seeking help from my mother – you’ll find none,” he warns me, his voice cold and unyielding. “You are not allowed to let her know our marriage is forced, and you must not upset my father.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes at the absurdity of it all, mockingly asking, “Am I even allowed to breathe? It seems like I’m not allowed to be present.”
Leone glares at me, his brown eyes darkening with irritation. “Stay away from my mother; I don’t want her upset.”
“Isn’t the entire purpose of this dinner to meet her, but I can’t even breathe in her direction, apparently?” It’s clear there’s more to this situation than he’s letting on.
He hesitates for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck, seemingly uncomfortable, but he continues. “My mother is a recovering alcoholic. She’s been sober for a few months now, and I don’t want her upset.”
I nod. He continues, “She’s very observant, Fallon. Keep your distance from Milo.”
“Okay,” I agree, swallowing my apprehension as we approach Vitorio’s mansion.
The Italian-style mansion is breathtaking, with its intricate stonework and lush gardens surrounding the property. As we walk through the grand entrance, I try to focus on the beauty of the place, but my thoughts keep circling back to what I’ve just learned about Leone’s mother.
Leone, Milo, Rocco, and I are escorted inside by a pair of attentive butlers. Vittorio greets us in the lavish foyer, which opens up to a high ceiling adorned with a magnificent chandelier that casts a warm glow over the marble floors. Large family portraits hang on the walls and a sweeping staircase with an intricately carved banister. It's breathtaking, just like Leone's; only Leone feels colder. This has a woman's touch, and it is homely.
“Welcome,” Vittorio says, extending his hand to shake ours. “Virginia is in the kitchen finishing dinner.”
Instead of following Vittorio’s suggestion, Leone strides past the kitchen and heads straight for the dining room, his jaw set in a stubborn line. I bite my lip, feeling the tension brewing in the air as we all follow him. The dining room is equally impressive, with a long mahogany table that gleams under the light of another exquisite chandelier. A large bay window overlooks the gardens. Not that I can see much outside because of the darkening sky.
“Leone,” Vittorio says, his voice strained with frustration. “Aren’t you going to greet your mother? You haven’t seen her in six months, and she’s sober now.”
“Is she really?” Leone questions, sitting at the head of the large dining table. He crosses his arms and glares at his father, daring him to challenge his disbelief.
Vittorio sighs, looking weary. “Yes, she is. Lorenzo is with her at all times, and I have other ways of knowing she’s been sober.” His gaze softens, pleading with Leone to give Virginia a chance.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Leone grumbles, drumming his fingers on the table.
Before Vittorio can say anything else, I cut in. “We should say hello. It’s rude not to, and she’s gone to all this trouble cooking for us.” My voice comes out as a whisper, but Leone hears me loud and clear.
His jaw clenches as he turns his glare toward me. “You have some nerve lecturing me about being rude to my mother when you can’t stand your own.”
Yanking me closer by my arm, Leone’s grip tightens painfully. Milo moves to intervene, catching Leone’s eye before regaining his composure. Rocco averts his gaze, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.
“My mother was a drug addict who nearly killed my sister, Leone,” I tell him, my voice firm with conviction. “She abandoned me, and I haven’t seen her since. I’ve never met the woman sober.” My gaze locks with his, challenging him to dispute my words. “Your mother is sober or trying at least. That has to count for something.”
Leone’s eyes flash with anger, and he shoves me away, only Vittorio steps in, catching me with surprisingly gentle hands. I expect to be scolded for talking back to his son, but instead, Vittorio pleads with Leone. “She is trying. Please don’t ruin this for her; she’s been planning this dinner for weeks.”
“Fine,” Leone grumbles, pushing his chair back and standing. “Let’s get this over with, then.” Glancing over my shoulder, I see Vittorio’s expression, which is one of disappointment but not anger.
Leone leads me to the kitchen, Vittorio following quickly behind while Milo and Rocco stay put. The moment we step inside, I realize Vittorio wasn’t exaggerating about Virginia’s cooking. The kitchen is a blend of rustic and modern, with exposed wooden beams and gleaming stainless-steel appliances. The aroma of fresh herbs and simmering sauces fills the air. Seeing Virginia, I can tell where Leone gets his good looks; she has olive skin and vibrant eyes and moves gracefully between the stove and the counter, her hair cascading in rich, dark waves down her deep rouge dress. She looks exotic to me; her features are sharp, and she has high cheekbones, but is still soft. I had expected a maid or cook to be helping, but she’s doing it all herself, creating a feast that covers the counters. A guard sits at the counter, phone in hand, keeping watch over her.
As we enter, Virginia looks up, and a radiant smile lights up her face. She rushes over, embracing Leone in an enthusiastic hug. Leone awkwardly pats her on the back then introduces me to her.
“Mamma, this is Fallon. Fallon, this Virginia,” he states in an almost bored tone. I can’t help but notice the venomous hatred in Leone’s eyes when he looks at his mother, and it breaks my heart. The woman just wants her son’s love and forgiveness, but Leone refuses to see that. Though I try to maintain a polite distance, Virginia pulls me into a tight hug, her excitement palpable. “You can call me Gina,” she tells me as I hug her back. The guard scoffs.
“I’ve been your guard for nearly twenty years, and it took me ten of them to be allowed to use your nickname,” he grumbles at her. She swats at his arm.
“Alright, introductions are done,” Leone says curtly, ready to leave the kitchen. But I’m struck by how warm and inviting Virginia—Gina—is.
Vittorio mutters something under his breath as he watches his son leave, but Gina just smiles sadly.
“Let him go. He’ll come around eventually,” she says, her voice filled with hope as she looks at her husband.
“Can I help you with anything?” I offer, feeling guilty for the tension between Leone and his mother.
“Fallon!” Leone’s voice booms from down the hall. “Now!”
“Go, dear. It’s not worth getting in trouble over,” Gina tells me, her eyes understanding.
As I reluctantly follow Leone’s command, he grabs my arm and yanks me forcefully back down the hall.
“Been here five minutes and you’ve already broken two rules!” he snaps angrily, his grip bruising.
“Leone, calm down,” Vittorio interjects, trying to diffuse the situation. “She was just being polite.”
“Polite?” Leone scoffs, glaring at his father. “I don’t even want to be here! She obeys my rules, or we’re leaving.”
Vittorio backs off, clearly not wanting to escalate things further. Leone shoves me toward Milo, who catches me.
“Man, I need a smoke already,” I mutter under my breath, feeling the tension rise in the room. Vittorio hears me, and to my surprise, he nods toward the patio.
“You can smoke on the patio,” he says. I can’t help but stare at him, shocked by his sudden niceness. Milo notices my hesitation and gently guides me outside to the patio area, giving me a reassuring smile.
As I light up my cigarette, trying to calm my nerves, Milo is called away by another guard. It seems they’re old friends, and they soon become engrossed in conversation. I take a seat on the garden wall, enjoying the quiet for a moment, when Vittorio joins me. He waves off my attempt to put out my smoke, lighting one of his own instead.
“Leone and Gina don’t get along?” I ask tentatively, watching him exhale a cloud of smoke.
Vittorio nods slowly, his eyes filled with sorrow. “He doesn’t believe she’s sober, but she is this time.”
“Where is Leone now?” I inquire, curious about his absence.
“Stalked off to the gym,” Vittorio replies with a sigh, clearly disappointed in his son’s behavior. We finish our cigarettes in silence, and as we head back inside, Milo rejoins us.
Upon entering the dining room, I see dinner is already being set out. Despite Milo’s attempts to stop me, I move to help Gina with the preparations. I slap his hands away, determination flaring within me.
“Back off, Milo. I’m helping,” I state firmly, earning a nod of approval from Gina as we work together to set the table and bring out the food.
The tension in the dining room is palpable as we sit for dinner, the silence heavy with unspoken words. I can’t help but notice how Leone pointedly ignores his mother every time she tries to engage him in conversation. It breaks my heart to see the hurt in Gina’s eyes, so I do my best to keep the conversation going with her.
“Your cooking is amazing, Gina,” I compliment her genuinely. “I haven’t had a meal this good in ages.”
“Thank you, dear,” she replies with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”
As we finish dinner, Vittorio suggests moving to the parlor to play cards while dessert is being prepared. I offer to help Gina, but Leone shoots me a glare which leaves no room for argument. Reluctantly, I follow the others into the parlor, where the men start playing poker. I watch from the sidelines, feeling slightly out of place.
As the poker game intensifies, a nagging pressure in my lower abdomen forces me to break my laser-focused concentration. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, feeling the urge to use the bathroom becoming more and more pressing.
“Excuse me,” I interrupt, my voice slicing through the tension like a knife. All eyes turn toward me, and I feel a rush of heat creep up my neck at the sudden attention. “I need to…uh,” I pause, glancing around nervously before finally finishing my sentence. “Use the restroom.”
Vittorio’s stern face softens slightly as he nods toward a dimly lit hallway on our right. “Down the hall,” he instructs gruffly, his hand indicating the hall. “Third door past the kitchen,” he tells me.
Leone’s sharp intake of breath is loud as he starts to protest, but Vittorio cuts him off. “Leone,” Vittorio’s voice rings out like a gunshot in the tense silence following my interruption. “She won’t attempt any foolish escape attempts. Not with our men stationed at every exit and surveillance cameras everywhere.”
The rebuke silences Leone instantly; his dark eyes flash with barely restrained irritation at his father’s words. As I rise from my chair and make my way down the hall, I can feel Leone’s gaze burning into my back.
As I pass the kitchen, I overhear Lorenzo on the phone then overhear him tell Gina he needs to head upstairs to help a security guard who’s locked himself on the roof. “I’ll be only a few minutes.”
“Go, Lorenzo. I’ll be fine.” I make my way to the bathroom, hearing the kitchen door open behind me as I enter.
When I finish and head back toward the parlor, though, I pause when I hear sobbing coming from the kitchen. Anxiety knots in my stomach as I push the door open, finding Gina holding a bottle of vodka and a poured glass. Her tear-streaked face looks up, startled by my entrance.
“Please don’t drink it,” I plead softly. She looks at the glass in her hand, and I move toward her, taking the glass from her trembling hands. The pain in her eyes is almost unbearable as she breaks down, confessing she believes Leone will never forgive her.
Gina’s eyes glisten with tears as she admits to being a bad mother, her voice raw and vulnerable. “My alcoholism ruined our relationship,” she explains, looking away in shame. “When I fell pregnant with Leone, he looked so much like Vittorio I couldn’t be the mother he deserved.”
I furrow my brow, confused. “What do you mean?”
She lets out a bitter laugh. “I love my husband now, but for a while, I didn’t. Especially when I got pregnant with Leone on our wedding night. I was supposed to be the blushing virgin bride, but Vittorio didn’t like the word ‘no.’ Nine months later, Leone was born.” She sighs, her shoulders slumping. “I was a bad mother. I should have protected him more.”
Her words strike a chord within me, and I feel a surge of sympathy for this broken woman before me. Gina asks about Leone and my marriage, and I hesitate, unsure if I should reveal the truth. She reads my hesitation, telling me not to lie, as she can recognize an arranged marriage when she sees one.
Shaking my head, I reply, “It wasn’t arranged.”
“Then he just forced you to marry him?” Gina pushes, her gaze never leaving mine.
I let out a weary sigh. “It wasn’t forced, either. We made a deal. My father owed him money, and my sister needed medical treatment.”
Gina nods slowly, processing the information. “Do you regret it now?”
I think for a second before answering, surprised by my own response. “No.”
With a curious tilt of her head, Gina asks if I love Leone. Swallowing hard, I admit the truth: “He’s growing on me.”
Gina’s laughter fills the kitchen, a warm and genuine sound contrasting with the tense atmosphere surrounding us. “It’s funny how that works,” she muses. “It was the same with me and Vittorio. After a decade or so, he grew on me.”
“Great,” I chuckle, my own laughter mingling with hers. “Only got ten more years to go, and I may be able to tolerate your son.” We both snicker.
Gina’s expression turns serious as she looks at me intently. “Does Leone treat you right?”
I nod, but Gina doesn’t seem convinced by my answer. Feeling the need to explain, I say, “He was, but he doesn’t trust me anymore.”
“Why?” she asks, her curiosity piqued.
“Because I ran off with my friend,” I admit, my voice barely a whisper. “Leone thinks we were more than that.”
“Most people run or try to escape from this lifestyle,” Gina says with understanding. “I tried to, he’ll forgive you eventually,” she says before adding. “The friend, was he a man? Is he still in the picture?”
I shake my head. “No, he was just a friend.”
“Where is your friend now?” Gina questions, her eyes searching mine for answers. I stare back at her, silent.
“Right, dumb question.” Gina sighs heavily, her gaze shifting down to the glass in front of her. The trembling of her hands conveys her desire to drink it. I can’t help but feel a strange mix of pity and empathy for her.
“My mother was a drug addict,” I blurt out, surprising even myself. “I guess she still is. I haven’t seen her since I was ten.”
Gina’s eyes remain fixed on the glass, her hands still shaking. “Please don’t,” I plead softly. “It would be nice for my child to have at least one grandmother.”
Her gaze lifts to meet mine, and I see a flicker of hope in her eyes. “Are you and Leone trying for a baby?”
“He is trying, I am avoiding,” I confess, swallowing hard. “But yes.”
“You don’t want to be a mother?” Gina asks gently.
“I don’t want to become my mother,” I answer honestly. I hesitate then quickly add, “But either way, I will end up one. Leone is pretty pushy.”
Gina looks at me with an understanding that goes beyond words, as if she can see into the depths of my soul and the future since it seems in some ways we appear to have the same one.
Gina sighs, her shoulders slumping as she admits, “I quit drinking, hoping to try to repair my relationship with Leone.”
“And you have, don’t ruin it now.” I implore Gina, my voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions racing through me. “I won’t have an alcoholic around my baby, and I don’t think Leone will allow it, either,” I admit.
“I doubt Leone will allow me near any baby. He hates me,” she says.
“Give it time,” I tell her gently. “Until then, focus on being sober for future grandbabies.”
She smiles sadly and nods, and I move to tip the bottle down the drain. Just then, the security guard, Lorenzo, walks in and sees the glass of vodka and the bottle.
“Wait, Lorenzo, I wasn’t drinking!” Gina protests, her voice quivering.
Lorenzo seems angry, his eyes narrowing. “I was gone for ten minutes, Gina!” He snaps at her, disbelief etched across his face.
Thinking quickly, I grab the glass. “It’s mine, not hers,” I lie, protecting Gina. “I wasn’t aware she had a drinking problem.” I apologize, trying to keep my voice steady.
Lorenzo folds his arms across his chest, eyeing me skeptically. “Really? Prove it because that’s the same shit she drinks, and it tastes like jet fuel.”
He stares at me, waiting. Reluctantly, I pick up the glass and swallow its contents. My mouth and throat burn violently, and my eyes water, but I force it down. Setting the glass down, I glare at the security guard, daring him to challenge me further.
Lorenzo stomps into the room and snatches the bottle, pouring me another glass.
“Enough, Lorenzo,” Gina says quietly, stepping between us. “Fallon has proven her point. No more.” Regardless, he pushes the glass toward me.
“Drink it,” he demands, his eyes never leaving mine.
I take the glass in my hand, my mind racing as I weigh my options. I can see the determination in Lorenzo’s eyes, and I know there’s no way out of this without causing a scene.
“Such a big drinker, go ahead.” He tells me, but I am already on the verge of puking. Taking a deep breath, I bring the glass to my lips when Lorenzo suddenly straightens, and I feel warmth at my back.
As soon as Lorenzo pushes the glass toward me, Leone comes up behind me, snatching the glass from my hand. I flinch, wondering how much trouble I am in if Leone has had to come to look for me. Leone puts the glass to his lips, drinking all the contents in one swift motion. Lorenzo visibly stiffens, and Gina looks on the verge of crying. A second later, Vittorio appears at the door and calls Lorenzo, motioning for the man to come to him. Lorenzo obliges, and Vittorio sends him off somewhere before Leone explodes in rage.
“Do you need help with dessert, Mamma?” Leone asks Gina, his voice cold but controlled. Gina apologizes, her voice trembling as she promises she didn’t drink it. Leone says nothing, but his eyes are hard and unforgiving as he takes the Limoncello bottle from the counter.
“You want to be a part of my child’s life. You won’t drink,” Leone tells his mother, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Gina looks up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. “What about yours?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
Leone swallows hard, a myriad of emotions flickering across his face. “We’ll see,” is all he says, turning toward the sink and tipping the vodka down the drain.
The tension in the room is palpable as Leone finishes pouring out the bottle. Gina stands there, looking defeated, her shoulders slumped as she watches her son.
“I’m sorry, Leone,” she whispers, her voice shaky. “I really am trying.”
Leone nods curtly, his jaw clenched. “Just keep trying, Mother. That’s all I ask.”
Turning to me, he gestures toward the door. “Come on. Let’s rejoin the others.”
As we make our way back to the parlor, I can feel the weight of the night’s events pressing down on me. Leone’s anger, Gina’s despair, and the tense atmosphere between them all swirl together, creating a suffocating mix of emotions.
Reentering the parlor, we find Milo and Rocco still engrossed in their poker game. Vittorio looks up as we walk in, his eyes briefly meeting mine before shifting to Leone.
“Everything alright?” Vittorio asks, his voice steady but carrying an undertone of concern.
Leone nods, his expression unreadable. “Yes, everything’s fine,” he replies curtly, taking his seat at the table.
I sit next to Milo, who gives me a questioning look. I offer him a small, reassuring smile, trying to convey everything is under control. The rest of the evening passes in tense silence, with only the occasional clink of glasses and the shuffle of cards breaking the stillness.
As we finally prepare to leave, Gina pulls me aside, her eyes filled with gratitude. “Thank you for everything, Fallon,” she says softly. “I know it wasn’t easy, but you helped me more than you know.”
I nod, giving her a reassuring smile. “Just keep your promise,” I remind her gently.
She nods, determination flickering in her eyes. “I will.”
The drive back to Leone’s mansion is silent, and Leone is brooding in the passenger seat, lost in his own thoughts. As we pull into the driveway, he finally speaks, his voice low as I reach for the door handle.
“You’ll remain,” he tells me, and I pause, glancing at him. Milo looks at us, and I wonder if he means to be in the car or something else. Reluctantly, I let Milo close the door.