165
Gianna
I step into the room, which looks like a large private library. The walls are lined with books that reach all the way to the ceiling, and there’s even one of those ladders to get to the higher shelves.
In the middle of the room, there’s a sitting area with red leather wingback chairs and a coffee table.
At the far end is a massive redwood desk with an older man sitting behind it. When he sees us, he stands up. He looks a bit like Marlon Brando in The Godfather, but older and without the fake cheeks.
He’s wearing a blue suit without a tie, and the air is thick with cigar smoke—it stinks. I try to keep things casual and say, “Mind cracking a window?”
He smiles slightly, like old people do, then motions for me to sit. I glance at the three guys behind me, and Antonio nods, signaling me to take a seat.
I stand my ground and say, “If this isn’t going to take long, I’d rather stand.”
The old man takes a drag from his cigar and blows out a cloud of smoke, “Sit.” His voice is raspy, and his hair is slicked back and gray. He’s clean-shaven and looks like he was handsome when he was younger…maybe even now. It’s in his eyes. He gestures again with his cigar and a smile—Sit.
I reluctantly sit in the chair across from him at the desk.
“How was your wedding?” he asks as he sits back down. Then he notices my cheek and points to it, “Who did that to you?”
“Christian,” I say, pointing at the big guy. I feel like I’m telling on a classmate to the teacher.
He stares at Chris for what feels like forever, then says, “Do it again, and you’ll answer to me.”
Christian responds, “She was trying to run.”
They continue to glare at each other, and I almost feel bad for Chris.
I interrupt the staring contest, “You know how the wedding went. I left, and now I’m here. I assume I have you to thank for the pictures?” I say it with a bit of sarcasm, hoping he catches it.
“Yes,” he nods.
“Why? Why on my wedding day? Why not before or after?”
“Because,” he puffs out more smoke and leans back, “one big decision would show me that you’re strong enough to make an even bigger one.”
“And what decision is that?”
He clears his throat, “I’ve been watching you for the last six months, Chelsea.”
Oh God! I almost want to laugh. “You’ve got the wrong person,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief, “I’m not Chelsea. My name is Gianna!”
“Please,” he raises his hand to stop me, “I’ve been watching your ex-fiancé for only three months. I had to wait for the right moment. If I’d approached you any earlier, you wouldn’t have been ready to hear what I’m about to say. This has all been carefully planned.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” I raise an eyebrow at him, “I’m not Chelsea!”
"Your real name isn’t Gianna Plateau,” he says with absolute certainty, “you were born Chelsea Lombardo.”
For what feels like the fifth time today, my chest goes hollow. I don’t know how much more I can handle. I’ve spent my whole life wondering who I am, and now this man just casually tells me like he’s pulling it out of his back pocket. Is it true? Is this who I really am?
I feel like I’m trembling, and my heart is racing. Daniel pours me a glass of water from a fancy decanter. I take it with shaky hands and drink it down quickly.
Everyone stays silent, waiting for me.
I hand the empty glass back after making a few awkward slurping noises, “Do you have anything stronger?”
He gives me a serious look, “Like whiskey?”
“Bourbon.”
He looks at me with a squint.
“If you have it?”
“Sure.”
I turn back to the old man, “Who are you? How do you know this?”
“My name is Vincent Bernardo.”
Antonio interjects, “Don…Vincent Bernardo.”
The Don puts his hand up to silence Antonio and continues, “You may call me Vincent or Don. In time, perhaps you’ll call me something else. To answer your question—I was your father’s best friend. This is how I know.”
“That doesn’t explain much,” I say, accepting the glass of bourbon and taking a big sip. It cuts like razors. They all wait for me and after ten seconds, my shaking seems to stop. “Why now?”
He puts his cigar down, leans forward and tents his fingers, “I found out you were alive only six months ago. I wanted to be sure I wouldn’t be taking you from a good life into a worse one.”
“And who are you to judge what a good life is?” I’m not sure if it’s the bourbon or my heightened emotions, but my face is getting hot.
“Nobody,” he shakes his head, “only someone who loves you, that is why I let you decide for yourself. If you leave the wedding—my boys bring you to me. You stay…we leave you alone. Those were my instructions.”
“Why should I believe you?” This is bullshit, he’s lying.
He picks up the cigar and leans back, “It was your fifth birthday. You father took you, your mother and your two brothers to celebrate—pizza and ice-cream.”
Is this the dream that I keep having?
“On the way home, our enemies drove your father’s car off the road and riddled it with bullets. It was an unforgivable act of cowardice and violence. They broke a very important rule.” He leans forward again, “No families. Ever.”
This is my nightmare. He knows. I take another sip, “Why am I alive?”
“The first responders, a policeman and an emergency medical technician, they found that you were unharmed, but you had been lying in the blood of your family for ten minutes before they arrived. You were crying…inconsolable. You clung to your older brother and wouldn’t leave him. The policeman knew that if the people who did this discovered that you were alive, they’d come for you.”
That’s my nightmare. I’ve had it since I was a little girl. It never made sense before. Over time, people convinced me it was only a dream…that it wasn’t real. “And?”
“And he gave you to the paramedic, lied on his statement, set the car ablaze and told his friend to put you into foster care.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Your father was respected in the community. He had done this man a favor many years prior. The policeman was returning that favor. He did what he thought your father would want.”
Jesus.
“By the time it was done, no one counted the bones. The policeman made sure of it. It was luck…or a blessing from God that he was there and no one else. We have enemies all over.”
“Can I talk to him? The policeman?”
The Don grimaces, “He’s dead.”
“Then how do you know all this?” Is he lying? But how could he know about my nightmare?
“The paramedic’s daughter got sick. Cancer. He approached me. He traded the information for money. A daughter for a daughter.”
“I’m not your daughter,” I try to sound angry but it doesn’t work. All I feel is empty inside. I swallow the rest of the bourbon and shove the glass at Daniel, “More.”
“Your father started this family. We have an oath inour thing. A blood oath.” The Don says the words so cryptically.
“What’s our thing?” I almost spit the words, “The Cosa Nostra?” I’m only taking a guess but the Don slams his hand on the table, startling me.
BAM! "We don’t say that!" His face twists with anger, and I immediately fall silent. A moment later, his expression softens, and he adjusts his suit Jacket before sitting back. "You’ll learn."
“What will I learn?” I try to stay defiant, but I can feel my resolve slipping away. I’m just so tired. So very tired.
“Our oath is to family. Family above all else. The fact that those people attacked your father’s family… my family… it’s unforgivable. Now you’re back with your family. You are the last Lombardo.”
“Am I?” I feel like crying, but I force myself to stay composed.
“When you were born, you were promised to one of my sons. We were going to unite our families,” the Don raises an eyebrow, “that’s how close I was to your father.” He dismisses it with a wave of his hand, “But that’s in the past. We’re here now to decide your future.” He points at me, “You’re under my protection.”
“What if I don’t want it?” This could be either a blessing or a curse, but I’m betting on the latter.
He scoffs and shakes his head, “You’ll have it, whether you want it or not.”
Daniel hands me more bourbon. I take a sip and glance behind me. Antonio and Christian are standing still, leaning against the furniture, just listening.
“What does it mean to be under your protection?”
“It means you’re part of this family. That’s the oath I took. It’s the oath my sons took. If you want to go back to school, it’s done, but only at a school nearby so we can be close if you need us. If you want to run a club, a restaurant, a store—whatever—you decide, and it’s done.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“What about the people who killed my family?”
His face hardens, becoming unreadable. “It’s been dealt with.”
“Are they dead?”
“I said… it’s been dealt with.”
He’s lying. I take another big sip, letting the burn of the alcohol dull the emotions threatening to overwhelm me. “What happens now?”
“Now,” he stands up, “we have a beautiful room with a view prepared for you. You’ll stay here until you decide who you want to become. We have wardrobes full of clothes, all in your size. There’s a full-time chef in the kitchen and every amenity you could need.”
“Huh?”
Antonio says, “Get something to eat, have a good rest, and then you can talk to Don Bernardo again. Take some time to process everything.” He helps me to my feet, holding my shoulders.
The Don adds, “As for this man, Sotherby. He will be punished. Chris, see to it.” He says it as casually as ordering takeout! He can’t be serious!
“Listen, Jax Sotherby’s an asshole, but he doesn’t deserve to die over it! You can’t—"
The Don puts his hand up, “The punishment will fit the crime. If you were already married, I would not intrude. What happens between a man and his wife is between them and God. Now, please leave me,” he waves his hand, “I have business to attend to.”
“Come on,” Antonio turns me around.
I walk like a zombie. The booze or the news? I don’t know. I know I’ve got tunnel vision and I follow silently behind Antonio as we go out the door.
Can I just leave if I want? Where would I go?
I think I stumble, but someone catches me from the back. I turn and see that it’s Daniel. I look from side to side…Christian isn’t with us.
Before I know it, Antonio shows me into a bedroom. He gives me some instructions about the bathroom and something about calling down to the kitchen for food, but I can’t seem to focus.It’s all too much.
Is this really happening?
Suddenly he shakes me, “Chelsea?”
“Yeah?” I try to concentrate.
He gives me a flip phone. “It’s Savannah. Let her know you’re alright.”
I take the phone and hold it to my ear, “—Hello? Are you there? GIANNA?”
I manage to say, “I’m okay, Savannah,” before handing the phone back to Antonio.
He talks about getting me a new iPhone because the old one might be tracked. I don’t pay much attention. I’m too focused on the bed in front of me. As soon as I reach it, I hear the door close behind me.
I climb onto the incredibly soft, luxurious bed, wrap my arms around myself, and let the tears flow.
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