Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Gualtiero
Ella’s dogs are the first to greet me when I enter my house.
The flight from Chicago felt endless. Every mile screamed at me not to go, not to put more physical distance between me and Ella, but it couldn’t be helped.
My responsibilities are waiting, no matter how much I resent them. The men guarding the estate are an unwanted reminder.
Milk, Oreo, and Brownie come barreling down the corridor like I’ve been gone for years instead of just a week.
Nails skitter against marble, tails wag hard enough to knock into furniture. One leaps up, paws colliding with my chest, while another circles my legs.
My throat tightens.
In Ella’s absence, they shadow me whenever I’m home. As if they’ve chosen me as a substitute. As if they know I’m just as lost without her.
I crouch, burying my hands in their familiar fur. And still, the villa feels wrong. Too quiet. Too hollow. Like a body missing its heart.
I straighten and head for my office, already knowing Mateo will be waiting for me there.
When I push the door open, he’s sitting behind my desk with his feet propped up like he owns the place. The sight almost makes me smile.
“Looks like you’ve made yourself at home.”
He drops his feet to the floor, mouth quirking. “Sit. You look like hell.”
I feel like it too.
He stands, and the moment we clasp each other’s shoulders, I feel more grounded already. I linger, but Teo doesn’t seem to mind.
“You clearly have everything under control. I should have stayed in Chicago longer,” I mutter.
“No,” he says immediately. “While I don’t mind taking over for you, you’re the Don.”
The words land like a sentence. It’s not like I ever had a choice.
We sit on the leather lounge, opposite each other. I pour us both a stiff drink. The burn barely registers.
“Did you end up hunting down some of the Romero scum while you were with Max?”
I shake my head. “They are as resourceful as Molinaro used to be here. Different accents, same games. This business of ours is the same wherever you go. You can change continents, languages, flags, but the bones are identical.”
Power. Fear. Blood.
Mateo lifts his glass. “That’s tedious and reassuring at the same time. In case we ever want to relocate,” he jokes, but his eyes don’t laugh.
I reach into my pocket.
The plastic feels absurdly light in my hand as I place it between us on the table.
Mateo picks it up, frowns, then stills.
“Is this Ella’s?”
I nod. “I found it in the luggage she left behind on the cruise ship.”
He stares at it for a long moment, as if he blinks it might disappear.
“Wow,” he says quietly. “You’re going to be a father.”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” I say too fast. “It’s early days. So many things can still go wrong. They might have already. The stress of being on the run can’t be good for the baby.”
My throat constricts as the words keep coming.
“Teo, all I do is worry. I can’t seem to stop. Is she eating enough? Is her food even nutritious? What does she have access to? Does she have enough money to buy things?”
I take a breath, but it does nothing to slow my overactive mind.
“Is she getting enough sleep? What about vitamins? She wouldn’t have seen a doctor yet. How do we know everything is okay with the baby?”
Mateo doesn’t interrupt. He lets me unravel.
When I finally stop, he asks gently, “What are you going to do?”
I laugh, but there is no humor in it. “What can I do?”
I swirl the liquid in my glass, listening to the ice strike the sides.
“I’ve never felt so helpless in my life.”
The glass hovers near my lips when something occurs to me. I lower my arm again, my gaze drifting to the ceiling as the image of Ella in Halifax flashes through my mind.
“It all makes more sense now,” I mutter more to myself than to my brother.
“What does?” Mateo looks confused.
“Why she kept running in Halifax, despite our pull to each other. Why I saw fear.”
Mateo’s forehead creases as he tries to follow my logic.
“No wonder Ella is so determined to get away.”
Mateo still frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Ella is fundamentally opposed to the Mafia life. It’s why she kept trying to escape as soon as she found out. Do you really think she would agree to bringing a child into our world?”
Saying it out loud hits hard, and I take another swallow of my drink.
“You’re right,” Teo admits after a moment of silence. “She’d do everything in her power to make sure that never happened.”
Quiet settles over the room, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
“Where does that leave you?” Mateo asks. “Will you let her go?”
I stare at him, wondering if he is joking.
Let her go?
Never.
The idea doesn’t even register as a possibility. It slides off me like a language I don’t speak. It’s foreign and just wrong.
“Live without her for the rest of my life?” I repeat quietly, more statement than question.
I shake my head once.
“I cannot live without her.”
The words come out raw, unfiltered.
“Everything feels empty now. It’s a hollow existence after knowing what it’s like to have her in my arms. To be loved by her.”
My throat closes, but I force myself to continue.
“We might have only had a short time together, but for the first time in my life, everything felt real. I was happy… content.”
I gesture vaguely around us, at the stone walls that signify my legacy, the power I inherited and am conditioned to pass on to my son.
“I can’t go back to this. Not after knowing what it feels like to wake up and want someone more than control, power, or anything else in this world.”
Mateo is silent, but it’s like I can see the wheels turning in his mind.
“What are you going to do then?” he asks finally. “Finding her is only the first step. How are you going to convince her to stay?”
I look at him. Really look at him.
He is not just my brother. He is my friend. My right hand.
And loyal to la famiglia.
Both of us are bound by duty, blood, and rules neither of us has ever questioned.
Until now.
I don’t reply. Sharing my plan seems dangerous, not because I don’t trust Teo with it, but because once spoken, it becomes real. My brother will understand parts of it. He will resist others.
The path I’m considering doesn’t end cleanly.
And it might cost me everything.