Chapter 12 #2
"To you. As part of the Lombardo-Monti alliance. It legitimizes your marriage to Paola, shows the families the alliance has real value, gives you leverage to negotiate with Viktor."
My mind worked through the implications immediately.
Giovanni's empire: shipping operations, real estate holdings, political connections, legitimate businesses worth hundreds of millions. Combined with the Monti operations, it would make me the most powerful Don on the East Coast.
"What's the catch?" Paola asked, voicing what I was thinking.
Giovanni looked at his daughter. "The catch is you forgive me publicly. You tell the families that I was aware of the substitution, that it was a joint decision between myself and Cesare, that you supported it."
There it was. The price.
"You want me to lie for you," Paola said flatly. "Again."
"I want you to be smart. This benefits everyone. Cesare gets my empire. You get legitimacy. I get to retire with dignity instead of disgrace."
“You mean they won’t bother looking for whatever Viktor’s found. They won’t find out how you’ve twisted things to get ahead,” I growled. Giovanni acknowledged the truth with a glance.
"And Bianca?" Paola pressed. "What about her?"
"Bianca made her choices. She's no longer my concern."
The coldness was breathtaking. Giovanni was abandoning both daughters in different ways.
I stepped in. "And what guarantees do we have that you'll actually transfer everything? That this isn't another manipulation?"
"My lawyers are already drawing up the documents. Everything legal, binding, irrevocable. You'll have full control by end of business today."
"Why now? Why so suddenly?"
Giovanni's mask slipped for just a moment—I saw fear underneath. "Viktor approached me three weeks ago. Before the wedding. He offered to buy me out, take over my operations. I refused. Now he's threatening to expose certain... indiscretions. Financial irregularities that could land me in prison."
"Viktor is forcing you out," I realized. "And you're trying to salvage something from the wreckage."
"Call it what you want. The offer stands. My empire for your public support. Take it or leave it."
I looked at Paola—seeing the hurt, the anger, the exhaustion, the calculation. This was her choice to make. Her father. Her forgiveness or condemnation. Her lie to tell.
"What do you want to do?" I asked quietly, giving her the power.
Paola stared at Giovanni for a long moment. The man who had ignored her for twenty-six years. Who had forced her into a wedding dress. Who had denied her publicly to save himself.
When she spoke, her voice was steady. "I'll make the statement. I'll lie for you one last time. I'll tell the families the substitution was planned, that you and Cesare agreed to it, that I supported the decision."
Giovanni's shoulders relaxed slightly. Relief.
But Paola wasn't done. "But after this, we're done. No more contact. No more manipulation. No more pretending we're a family. You're dead to me. Do you understand?"
The old man nodded, businesslike. Didn't even flinch at being disowned by his daughter. "Acceptable. I'll have my lawyers draw up the transfer documents. Everything will be finalized by end today."
"And in return," I added, "you publicly support the marriage. You tell the families the substitution was strategic. You take full responsibility for your part in planning it. You make Paola look like she was following family orders, not conspiring."
"Agreed."
"Wait." Paola held up a hand. "At the anniversary celebration, Viktor had you on speakerphone. You denied knowing about the substitution. You said Bianca acted alone. Everyone heard it."
Giovanni didn't even have the grace to look ashamed. "Yes. I lied to protect myself in the moment. Viktor ambushed me with that call. I panicked."
"So now you're going to tell everyone you lied then, but you're telling the truth now?" I asked. "Why would they believe you?"
"Because I have proof." Giovanni opened a desk drawer, pulled out a folder. "Emails between myself and Cesare's office discussing the substitution. Dated two weeks before the wedding. My assistant 'discovered' them this morning."
I stiffened. "We never exchanged such emails."
"I know. I had them fabricated yesterday.
Backdated. Very convincing forgeries." He slid the folder across the desk.
"The families won't question documentary evidence.
And it gives me plausible deniability for the phone call—I was lying to Viktor to avoid giving him ammunition, but telling the truth now that the secret's out anyway. "
The man had planned every angle. Disgusting and impressive in equal measure.
"So your story is: you lied on the phone to protect the alliance from Viktor's interference, but now that it's public knowledge, you're admitting the truth," Paola summarized.
"Exactly. I was protecting family interests by denying it to Viktor. Now I'm protecting family interests by confirming it to our allies. Perfectly consistent motivations, just different tactical responses."
Machiavellian. But it might actually work.
Just like that. A deal struck. A father abandoned. An empire transferred.
Cold. Clinical. Business.
We stood to leave. Giovanni didn't try to stop us, didn't say goodbye to his daughter. At the door, Paola paused. Looked back at her father one last time.
"For what it's worth," she said quietly, "I hope retirement makes you happy. I hope it's everything you sacrificed your daughters for."
He didn't respond. Just returned to his paperwork, already moving on.
We walked out. Through the house. Past the servants who'd dressed Paola in the wedding gown. Into the bright morning sunlight that felt too cheerful for what had just happened.
At the car, Paola stopped and leaned against it, breathing hard.
"You okay?"
"I just sold my soul for territory. I just lied to protect a man who doesn't deserve protection. I just became everything I hate about this world."
"No. You protected yourself. And me. You made a strategic choice."
"A strategic choice." She laughed bitterly. "Is that what we're calling it?"
I moved closer, hands on her shoulders. "You gave him what he wanted so we could survive. That's not selling out. That's surviving."
"It feels the same."
"I know. But you'll learn to live with it. Everyone in this world does."
Paola looked up at me, green eyes exhausted and haunted. "Is this what our marriage is? Strategic choices and survival and lies?"
"No." My hands framed her face. "It's also this. Us. The thing we're building between the lies."
"And what is that exactly?"
I didn't have words for it yet. What we had was too new, too complicated, too real.
Instead, I kissed her. Gentle, then deeper. Claiming and promising at once.
When we broke apart, both breathing harder, she said, "Take me home."
"Home?"
"The penthouse. Our bed. I need—" She stopped, struggling for words. "I need to feel something other than this."
I understood. After betrayal, after lies, after watching her father abandon her—she needed something real.
"Let's go home," I agreed.
We got in the car. The drive back to Manhattan stretched ahead—two hours of processing, of coming down from the adrenaline.
Two hours before we were alone together. Before we could reconnect after everything that had happened.
Before we could be just Cesare and Paola, not the Don and his strategic asset.
Just two people who'd survived another night together.