Chapter 7 Elio
ELIO
The weight of my father’s signet ring on my hand feels foreign as I adjust my collar, looking in the mirror in my new bedroom.
The penthouse that I chose is every bit as luxurious as the pictures that I showed Annie. Standing here, looking out over the view of Boston, the sky clear this morning and the sun bright despite the cold, I start to feel for the first time as if I’ve made it.
As if all of the work, all of the long years of struggle, fitting into a family that wasn’t mine and living in the liminal space between friend and brother, leaving home and coming back again—it was all worth it.
This is mine now. And regardless of the fact that Ronan is the one who handed it over to me, I’ve earned it. Through loyalty, through blood, through hard work.
I’m the don of Boston’s most powerful Italian family now. Decades of De Luca empire-building, under my control. I’m no longer just the ward who grew up in the O’Malley house.
I have my own power. And it’s up to me to decide how I want to use it.
Tightening my tie—despite how I feel about them—I reach for my leather messenger bag, slide on a pair of Italian leather shoes that cost far more than I once could have imagined spending on a single piece of clothing, and head down to collect my car from the valet.
Ronan is poring over a stack of paperwork when I enter his office thirty or so minutes later.
My shoulders are tense as I walk in, and I’m looking for Annie from the moment I open the door, but she’s not here today.
I don’t know whether the wave of emotion I feel at that is disappointment or relief… or maybe a mixture of both.
I can’t stop seeing the face of the asshole who interrupted us at the bar Friday night.
The smug way he looked at Annie, like he had some right to her.
I’ve spent the whole weekend wishing I’d smashed his handsome face in, even though that wouldn’t have helped endear me to Annie in the slightest. Especially if, as it seemed, there is something between them.
And why wouldn’t there be? I certainly have no claim to her. I never could have, not really, and whatever there was between us once was relinquished when I left. When I chose the honorable path rather than what we both wanted.
I don’t have any right to begrudge Annie romance, or love, or desire. But the thought of that man—of any man—touching her makes me want to commit violence.
“Are you alright, Cattaneo?” Ronan glances up from his paperwork as I walk in and sit down. “You look tense.”
“I’m fine.” I set my bag down. “Just a long weekend with realtors and moving. You know how it is.”
Ronan chuckles. “Actually, I don’t.” He motions to the mansion around us. “I grew up here, and now I live here. My second home is in Ireland, also ancestral. But who knows? Maybe I’ll decide I want a penthouse in the city one of these days. If I do, I’ll be sure to ask you for advice.”
My jaw tightens slightly. I know he didn’t mean anything by it—his tone is affable, the entire thing meant to be a light joke, but it reminds me all the same that while I grew up in this mansion too, it was never mine. None of this has ever been mine. And what is now was given to me.
“The mansion was the De Lucas’,” I say flatly. “Not mine. It didn’t feel right to move into it.”
Ronan shrugs, closing the file in front of him. “Sure. It’s yours to do what you want with now. Raze it to the ground if you want.” He nudges the paperwork to one side. “Fill me in on the situation with the docks. And Annie says you’re interested in the restaurant proposition?”
For the next hour, we go over strategy and business plans. Ronan seems pleased with how I’ve handled things so far, even though I’ve barely started. By the time the hour winds down, Annie hasn’t appeared to go over any finances, and I’m certain that the pit in my stomach is disappointment.
“There’s something else we should discuss,” Ronan begins, his expression turning serious, and my attention snaps back to him.
That pit in my stomach spreads, and I wonder if this has anything to do with what happened Friday night.
Did Annie say something to him? Was the man with her a friend of Ronan’s? Did he say something?
“Oh?” I try to keep my expression as neutral as possible, leaning back in my chair. “What is it?”
“You need to think about finding a wife.” Ronan drums his fingers against the top of the desk. “There’s the party that we’re throwing here for you next weekend, of course, to celebrate your return. But I think you should arrange a date sooner than that.”
I blink, momentarily too caught off guard to speak.
Of all the things I’d expected Ronan to discuss with me, finding a bride wasn’t one of them.
But as my brain clicks back into gear, I admit that it makes sense—at least given his point of view.
I’ve taken over for Rocco De Luca, and now I need the one last thing that will secure my legitimacy.
The right kind of wife who can give me an heir.
The fact that the only woman I want is his sister is something he doesn’t need to know. Can’t know. And somehow, I realize with dawning horror, I’m going to have to force myself to marry another woman.
I hadn’t thought about it. It’s not as if I didn’t know about this part of it all, but it was the last possible thing on my mind, so far removed that it got lost in, well…
everything else I had to think about when Ronan made me the offer.
I never once thought about the fact that coming home and taking over the De Luca empire would not only mean that I’d see Annie again, it would mean that I’d have to marry someone who isn’t her.
Ronan frowns at me. “Is everything alright? Did you have someone in mind already?”
I shake my head briefly to clear it. “No. Not at all. I just—” I clear my throat. “I hadn’t really thought about it. But you’re right, of course. I need a wife and an heir.”
Ronan smiles, pleased. “That’s good. I don’t want to push you into a match that isn’t good for you both, of course.
” His smile fades away, his expression tensing slightly.
“I’ve been on the other side of a poorly arranged marriage.
But they can be useful when both parties are pleased with each other and agree.
You don’t need to rush into anything, but I do have suggestions if you’re ready to start your search. ”
I nod. There’s no reason I can think of to delay it, and saying no will only encourage suspicion on Ronan’s part, especially considering how hard it is for me to keep myself together around Annie. The least I can do is go on a date and look like I’m trying.
“Here.” Ronan takes a file out of a drawer and pushes it toward me. I flip it open and frown when I see a photo of a woman on the first page.
“Do you just keep files of gorgeous women in your desk?” I raise an eyebrow. “Should I be concerned?”
Ronan chuckles. “No. But I have taken the liberty of getting together information about a few potential brides for you. Like I said before, you’re under no obligation to entertain any of them.
These are just suggestions.” He nods toward the file in front of me.
“You might remember her. Gia Marcelli. She hung around a bit when we were younger. Her father had an interest in marrying her to me, actually, but the Connellys got to him first.”
That feels… a bit strange, knowing that this woman could have been Ronan’s bride and is now potentially being passed on to me.
But I have to admit, looking at the photo, she is beautiful.
Strong Italian features, olive skin, glossy black hair that tumbles around her face in the photo, framing it like a portrait.
She’s model-gorgeous, with full lips, a long nose, and wide dark eyes.
There’s other information about her in the file, I see as I flip through it.
No college education, but she speaks three languages and plays in the orchestra—cello—suggesting that her father hired private tutors for her after high school.
She volunteers often. Has a membership at a local yoga studio.
“I don’t remember her from when we were kids,” I admit. “But I’d be willing to take her out to dinner. See how we get on.”
Ronan gives me an approving smile. “Excellent. Give her a call. I’m sure she’ll be pleased to hear from you.”
That’s how, two evenings later, I find myself getting ready for dinner just before seven, with a date to meet Gia in thirty minutes.
I grab my suit jacket from the back of my chair, the Italian wool sliding smoothly over my shoulders. It’s just dinner, I remind myself. Ronan isn’t pressuring me, and it doesn’t need to be more than that. It’s not as if Annie isn’t going out on dates.
Why the fuck am I even thinking that? I rub a hand over my face. It doesn’t fucking matter what Annie is or isn’t doing. It has nothing to do with me. I need to focus on my future, not on my past. And that means actually taking this date tonight seriously.
Truthfully, Gia is an excellent prospect. I should be looking forward to this. So why does the thought of spending an evening with her feel like swallowing glass?
I don’t have to think too hard to know the answer to that. But I also know that there’s no point in allowing myself to go down that road yet again.
Annie.
Even thinking her name is dangerous. Even more dangerous is the way my body responds instantly to the memory of the way she looked at me when she realized who I was. Like she was seeing a ghost. Like she was remembering the same things I was remembering.
Summer afternoons when we were teenagers, stealing moments in the garden behind the O'Malley mansion. The way she'd blush when I caught her staring at me during family dinners. The night before I left for Chicago, when we almost—
Stop.