by Anna Ray
The only guilty party in the whole ordeal was DeLuca, and he is gone. With a future with Alessandra ahead of me, I won’t let my former mentor poison my life any longer. DeLuca, the pain he caused, and my life with the mob is in the past. It’s time to look to the future.
A future I won’t contemplate without my godmother in my life.
I press the intercom button on the security gate, unsure if Teresa has changed the security code or not, but figuring it’s rude to just let myself in these days.
A moment later, the housekeeper says, “DeLuca Residence. How may I help you?”
“Hey, it’s Massimo. Massimo Accardi,” I add stupidly, as though Mrs. Russo will have forgotten who I am. “I’m here to see Teresa, please.”
“Of course, Massimo. Come right in,” Mrs. Russo says, and the light on the security pad flashes green to let me know the gate is unlocked. A moment later, it swings open, and I make my way up the driveway.
After parking, I approach the house, where Mrs. Russo stands in the doorway ready to greet me.
“Massimo, you look well,” she says with a pleasant smile, as though it was just yesterday that I last visited.
“You, too, Mrs. Russo,” I say, giving her a polite bow.
She leads me through the marble-floored entranceway and into the softly lit sitting room where Teresa reclines on a chaise longue. Her long black hair has a few more streaks of gray, and there are new lines and wrinkles on her face. When she offers no warm smile to greet me, I freeze in the doorway.
“I won’t say I’m sorry for his death,” I insist stubbornly. “I did what I had to. My family deserved justice. I wish it could have been different, but Carlo made his choice — he killed my mother and Bianca when they’d done no wrong.”
Teresa looks away but pats the space on the chaise longue beside her.
I sit at an awkward distance from my godmother, and it feels strange to be so far apart. Usually, we would have greeted each other with an embrace.
Finally, she turns to me with downcast eyes. “I loved Carlo with my whole heart. And I knew the price of this lavish life. I know my husband wasn’t a good man, but I could look past it — the people he killed were faceless ‘enemies.’ Other crime bosses who threaten our existence. It was easy to turn a blind eye. And it’s hard to reconcile the memories of a man I loved so deeply with the knowledge he murdered your mother and Bianca. Silvana was my oldest and dearest friend. She was the closest thing I had to a sister, and you know how much I loved Bianca. You and her both were the lights of my life. For Carlo to murder them like he did, and Primo, too, then lie about it for years…” she trails off, shaking her head.
I tentatively take her hand. “I know it’s difficult. I’ve struggled with it myself. Carlo was like a father to me. Everything I have is because of him, but I couldn’t forgive what he did.”
“I don’t think I can either,” Teresa admits, her eyes shining with tears. “It’s going to take some time to process everything. Right now, I’m still numb, but what he did is horrific. Silvana and Bianca weren’t faceless enemies. Even if Primo was informing the police, they weren’t. They were family.”
I embrace Teresa and allow myself to be enveloped in her arms, losing myself in her scent of Coco Mademoiselle: bergamot, jasmine, vanilla bourbon, and white musk. As I tighten my arms around her I know everything will be okay. We have a lot to discuss, of course, but I can already feel our relationship hasn’t changed. She’s still the woman who used to sneak me cookies as she and mother gossiped over coffee and held me while I mourned my fallen family.
When we pull apart, tears roll down Teresa’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry for everything.”
“Nonsense. You had no part in what he did,” I insist, knowing if she’d even had an inkling of what Carlo had planned, she’d never have allowed it. “And you hold no ill will against me for what I did?”
Teresa takes my hand and squeezes my fingers. “No, I hold no ill will against you.”
“I’m glad you feel that way because I want you in my life still. I know you had no involvement in what he did, and I won’t allow his actions to destroy the relationship we have.”
“I’m glad because you’re the only family I have left now, Massimo.”
“I’ll always be family, Teresa,” I vow.
“Before you go, there’s one final matter we must discuss,” Teresa says, her dark eyes are serious. “When I informed our lawyer of Carlo’s demise, I was told he left everything to me.”
I thought I’d be more hurt that Carlo didn’t include me in his will, but when Teresa tells me the news, I find I don’t care that much. I have what I came for — the relationship with my godmother remains strong.
“I have transferred some money into my account so that I’m comfortable for the rest of my life, but I don’t want the business. I will have no part in Carlo’s underworld. So, it’s yours, if you want it. My only condition is, you don’t make the mistakes he made. But I know you won’t. You’re a good man, Massimo.”
“Thank you, Teresa. I appreciate your faith in me, and I have a business proposal for you. I intend to start a legitimate investment company. I want to do everything by the books. I want to build a good future for myself and for Alessandra. If you’re interested, you’re more than welcome to buy shares in the company and be a silent or active partner. Whatever you’d prefer.”
“I will think about it, Massimo, and speak to my lawyer. But rest assured, I won’t be an active partner. I never had a head for business, and I just wish to enjoy the rest of my time in peace and quiet.” After a pause, Teresa asks, “So, you and Alessandra are together?”
“We are. I know some people might find it weird, given how we met, but I can’t change how I feel about her. I want to see if we have a chance at making a relationship work under normal circumstances.”
Teresa smiles. “Then I wish you all the luck in the world. And when do I get to meet Alessandra? You both must join me for dinner sometime soon.”
“We will, of course. I’m meeting Alessandra’s parents for the first time this evening.”
Teresa raises an eyebrow. “Are you nervous?”
I let out a light laugh. “I am. This is a big step. I’ve never been this serious about any of the women I’ve dated.”
“And of course, you’ll have the shadow of what my husband did, what he drove you to do, hanging over you,” Teresa says, giving voice to the worries I've had since Alessandra mentioned her mother had invited us for dinner. It’s uncanny how well my godmother can sense what’s wrong with me.
“Yes, that certainly adds another layer to everything.”
My legs bounce up and down as Alessandra drives up the long driveway to her parents’ home. We’re both dressed smartly for dinner; I’m wearing black slacks and an open collar dark turquoise dress shirt that Alessandra said compliments my eye color. Outside of knowing which designers make good quality clothing, I’m clueless when it comes to fashion, so I trust her judgement. She looks amazing in a dress of a similar shade, though a little brighter, with glimmering platinum and diamond jewelry.
As she parks the car, a housekeeper, not dissimilar in age and appearance to Mrs. Russo, appears in the doorway to greet us.
“Alessandra, please come in,” she says politely.
“Thank you, Betty,” Alessandra replies.
Betty nods her head cautiously in my direction and says, “Welcome, Mr. Accardi. Mr. and Mrs. Giuliani awaits you both in the sitting room.”
The Giuliani home is similar in style and architecture to the DeLuca house, and both are much older than the house Alessandra and Taylor now share.
Betty takes us through to a formal tea room with plum damask couches and wallpaper in a lighter shade of purple. A light gray coffee table stands between the two couches, already laid with a tea set. And in the center of the left couch sit Mr. and Mrs. Giuliani.
I’m struck by how similar to her mother Alessandra looks. Both have the same curly hair, though
Mrs. Giuliani’s is almost all gray. The most noticeable difference between the two women, though, is their eyes. Alessandra’s are just like her fathers, down to the shape and shade of amber, whereas Mrs. Giuliani has blue eyes so light they almost appear gray. Coupled with her gray hair, she strikes an imposing figure and looks like some sort of storm goddess.
Mr. Giuliani watches me carefully, his dark hair, that’s sprinkled with gray, swept back from his face in a style eerily similar to how Carlo used to wear his hair.
I try not to think about DeLuca now and instead focus on greeting the Giulianis.
Mrs. Giuliani stands as we enter the room, her eyes first of all taking in Alessandra’s appearance with approval, and a soft smile covers her lips.
“Alessandra, you look lovely,” she says, stepping forward and extending her arms to her daughter.
“Thank you, Mama,” Alessandra says, and the two women embrace. Mrs. Giuliani wears a simple yet elegant evening dress in a dusty purple color that compliments the decor of the room.
She turns to me, her blue-gray eyes traveling over my body, studying every detail. Then she smiles again and offers me her hand.
“Massimo, welcome to my home.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Giuliani,” I say as we shake hands in a gentle, but firm grip.
I turned from Mrs. Giuliani to the hard, amber eyes of her husband.
We regard each other carefully for a moment, and then Mr. Giuliani extends his hand.
“Accardi,” he says in a clipped tone.
“Giuliani,” I reply with a polite bow of my head.
Breaking the tension, Mrs. Giuliani says, “Please, have a seat, and I’ll pour the coffee. Betty assures me dinner won’t be much longer.”
I sit down on the couch opposite Mr. and Mrs. Giuliani, and Alessandra sits next to me. As Mrs. Giuliani pours coffee, Alessandra says, “How is everything?”
“Good, thank you. Are you and Taylor settling into your new home?”
“Yes, and you know what Taylor is like; she’s already planning all the parties we’ll have.” Alessandra laughs.
Out of the corner of my eye I catch Giuliani frown, but he says nothing about Alessandra and Taylor’s plans.
Alessandra looks at her father sharply. “Don’t worry, though, I’m focusing on my studies. After missing a month, I’m trying to catch up on everything. And Massimo is being a great help. He has a wonderful head for business.”
Mr. Giuliani raises his eyebrows. “Yes, I had heard about the new investment company you’ve started.”
“It’s still in the early stages, but things are progressing nicely,” I say, proud of how much I’ve accomplished in the weeks since walking away from my life in the mob. “And I’m very serious about being with Alessandra. I understand you have some concerns, given how we met, but I promise you, I only want what’s best for Alessandra.”
Mr. Giuliani matches my stare with equal ferocity. “I won’t lie, we do have some concerns, not only because of how the two of you met, but also because you’re eight years older than Alessandra.”
I sit up straighter, set my jaw, and maintain strong eye contact with Mr. Giuliani. Speaking slowly and carefully, so there’s no misunderstanding my words, I say, “I care about Alessandra very much and have no intention of hurting her in any way, shape, or form. We’re going into this relationship as equals, as partners. You have my word; while Alessandra is with me, no harm will ever come to your daughter.”
“And you have my word, Massimo Accardi. I won’t stand by while someone harms Alessandra. If I even have the slightest suspicion you’re mistreating her, I will do everything within my power to protect my daughter,” Mr. Giuliani says.
28
Alessandra
Now that Massimo has met my parents, Taylor and I have moved into our own place, and I’ve resumed my studies while Massimo starts his investment company, Massimo insists we go on a proper, “real” date.
So, I find myself standing in front of the closet, trying to decide what to wear. I pick out a red, sequin, plunging neckline evening dress with two long slits running from the floor to my hips, revealing my legs.
Then I settle at the vanity table to do my makeup. I create a sultry look with dark smokey eyeshadow and bright red lips that match my dress. My hair hangs in a cascade of curls down my back, and after a light spritz of perfume, I’m ready.
And just in time, too. The sound of a car pulling into the driveway catches my attention, and I peek out the window.
Massimo is here.
Butterflies take nest in my stomach as I make my way through the house and greet him at the front door. At first, meeting him like this felt strange, considering we once lived in this house together, but since Taylor moved in, it almost feels like a different place. I’m getting used to Massimo and I dating in a more traditional sense.
His gaze lands on me and his eyes widen. “Holy fuck! You look amazing.”
I blush and press a kiss to his lips. “Thank you. And you’re sure it’s not too much?”
“Not at all.” He assures me with a grin.
My eyes trail up and down his body, his muscles accentuated by the excellent fit of the well tailored suit, and the dark color making his turquoise eyes pop. Part of me almost doesn’t want to leave the house.
“So, where are we headed?” I ask, picking up the overnight bag he told me to pack.
“That’s a surprise,” he says illusively, and my mind burns with curiosity.
I close the front door softly behind me, and he leads me down the driveway to where his Ferrari F12tdf awaits us. It’s my first time going out in the sports car, and I can’t contain my excitement.
I get into the passenger seat, a barely concealed grin on my lips.
As Massimo sits in the driver’s seat he chuckles. “Who knew you were such a speed freak?”
“What can I say? I like living on the edge.”
We leave the estate and drive through the streets of Chicago, but it isn’t until we’re on the Tri-State Tollway and heading north that Massimo speeds up. Even then, at seventy-miles-per-hour, we’re still not even doing half the maximum speed the Ferrari is capable of. Still, it feels amazing to be on the road with the scenery zipping past us in a blur.
Ninety minutes later, we arrive at Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, and as Massimo leads me across the parking lot, a small gasp escapes my lips.
“You chartered a boat ride for us?”
“I did,” Massimo replies as we walk, our fingers entwined, toward the pier.
There waits a small cruise boat, probably big enough for about fifteen guests, but this evening, reserved just for us.
A man in his early forties wearing a shipmaster’s uniform, hat included, greets us. “Good evening, Mr. Accardi. Miss Giuliani. I am your captain, Jack Grey.”
“Good evening,” Massimo and I reply.
Shipmaster Grey leads the way onto the boat, giving us a tour of the 41′ cabin cruiser with teakwood decks and mahogany trim that offer elegance, while her sleek hull promises to give a terrific ride. There’s both an enclosed buffet and cocktail area and an open air dining area, but given that it’s the middle of winter, the enclosed buffet and cocktail area has been transformed into an intimate dining room for two, where a candlelit table awaits us in the center, and a team of servers stand off to the side.
Shipmaster Grey hands us over to the head server, then makes his way to the wheelhouse to start the cruiser’s engine.
As the boat gently moves across the lake, Massimo pulls a chair at the dining table out for me. I take a seat, and Massimo sits opposite.
Once we’re settled, the server steps forward with two bright orange Aperol Spritz cocktails.
I raise an eyebrow, and Massimo explains, “I thought, given as this is our first date, we could try something new.”
“And you’ve never had it before?” I ask curiously. Aperol Spritz — or at least, a non-alcoholic version of the drink — was a childhood favorite of mine, a sp
ecial treat we used to have on vacation or for holidays. Commonly, it’s made with prosecco, Aperol — a bitter apéritif made of gentian, rhubarb, and cinchona — and soda water. It has a zesty orange flavor with complex herbal scents and a touch of vanilla.
“Well no, but the caterer I’ve hired to prepare dinner highly recommended it,” he insists, but the mischievous glimmer in his eyes tells me there’s more to the story.
“Okay, Massimo, what are you up to?” I ask playfully. “I know you choosing Aperol Spritz can’t be a coincidence. What gives?”
“I called your mom,” he confesses with a coy smile. “I wanted tonight to be special, so I called her to find out some of your favorites.”
A second waiter brings out a large plate containing many small antipasi, including rosemary-potato focaccia rolls, arancini with peas and mozzarella, and caprese salad — more childhood favorites.
“Oh, Massimo, this is wonderful,” I say, taking a sip of my drink and being reminded of childhood vacations on the beaches in Sardinia.
“It’s just a little taster of what our new lives together will be like,” he promises.
Dinner is the most amazing experience ever. Childhood favorite foods are coupled with new dishes, including some of Massimo’s favorites, and while we eat, we chat about everything, including our childhoods and our hopes for the future.
Looking at me earnestly across the candlelit table, Massimo says, “Tell me something you’ve never told anyone else.”
I feel my cheeks heat and quietly whisper, “Growing up, I wanted to be an actress. I studied drama in school and everything. And even though I did well, I decided to pursue something more ‘stable.’”
His eyes shine, and he smiles at me across the table. “I wanted to be an astronaut,” he tells me. “I was never great in school, and of course, it soon became clear the choice of future careers was already made for me.”