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“Then you should consider my proposal.” He came inside and closed the door. Mira lowered slowly into her chair. “Let me give the child a father.”

“My baby has a father.” Mira reminded him.

“That man can never exist to the baby. You know this. He’s dangerous, and he thinks you’re dead. What would he do if he knew you were here keeping a baby from him?”

She had nightmares over what Giovanni would think of this betrayal. To him it would be the ultimate destruction of their trust to deny him his child. “Doesn’t matter. I won’t replace him in her life.”

Kei sighed. “You know me Mira. I won’t give up. I won’t.” he turned and walked away.

Mira heard the door close down the hall. She pushed up from the chair and wheezed. Walking through her cottage she went to the bonus room that she kept locked whenever Kei visited. He never questioned her about it. This was her room. She removed the key from the inside of her robe and opened it. Once inside she locked the door and turned on the light. All over the room were sketches and drawings she’d done of Fabiana. Her best friend remained her muse and she designed clothes with her sketchpad with her lovely face and figure in mind. There were other drawings. Each depicted her time in Italy. She had drawn Bellagio, and the lake view from outside of her bedroom window, the vineyard in Chianti, the wedding dress she made for Catalina. She’d even sketched the faces of Rocco and his wife. Her entire story could be told in pictures.

There remained however one sketch she never uncovered, one she only visited on the rare nights her loneliness couldn’t be replaced with TV or a good book. She flipped the sheet back and uncovered the portrait.

“There he is sweetness,” she said. She softly touched the canvas, tracing the tips of her two fingers over the sharp outlines of his face. Her baby kicked again and she chuckled, “I know, I know, momma wishes it too. He made his choice, and we made ours.” She rubbed her belly. It was still painful to look upon Giovanni, but she did so anyway to remind her of the love they shared. No man would be a father to their child but him. Never.

“Ti Amo.” She whispered putting her fingers to her lips then pressing them against the picture, “Ti Amo.”

****

Giovanni sat in the leather recliner staring into the flames dancing around in the large fireplace. A lot had happened in six months. Vengeance came at a bloody price. Without Flavio’s counsel he slipped deeper into his grief, and madness. The first casualties were Angelo Calderone’s twin sisters. They were both married and in their early twenties living in Napoli. Executed. The shock of the killings forced Don Calderone out of hiding. He was gunned down in Genoa at the funeral. Killing the capus in the Calderone family had become a sport for his boys. They ran them down between Turin, Venice, Firenze to the back streets of Roma. And if they showed any allegiance to Calderone they were dead.

He took a drag from his cigar. A dark smile curled his lips as he recalled one man begging him for forgiveness. There was no mercy for his Bella. There would be no mercy for them.

Angelo remained on the run. He had hopes to rectify that soon, but even Lorenzo and Carlo kept coming up empty in their pursuit. For now he took possession of everything Calderone owned, family property they’d had for centuries, businesses both legitimate and otherwise. Since he stomped out the Nigerians, the Irish were dealing with them again, and the men in theCammorabowed when he entered a room.

It was enough.

Yet he wanted more.

He’d adjusted to being feared, hated.

Giovanni let a curl of smoke escape his mouth and drew it in to his nostrils before exhaling again. He had gone to America for his Bella. Dominic thought it unwise. ThePolizia di Stato, Interpol, and the U.S. F.B.I. wanted him for questioning. He obliged the insult just to attend her funeral and he was granted the opportunity to say goodbye. But his heart refused to let go. Seven months had dragged on, and he missed her as if she had just left him yesterday. The women in his bed only made him bitter and resentful.

Things were different now.

He was different now.

Dominic had accepted the role of consigliere. It was unheard of to have someone so young and inexperienced in such a coveted position. But Dominic had paid the price. He knew ordering him to put the bullet in his mentor had taken a toll on Domi. He could see it in his face, and the weeks that followed with Dominic drinking more and more. Lorenzo was his left hand once more. As underboss, his cousin more than redeemed himself. Whatever jealousy made him turn to Giuseppe before was gone. They were inseparable by the shared pain of losing Fabiana and Mira. Dominic and Lorenzo both proved to him that they knew when to lead and when to follow. A trait the old man Flavio never quite understood. They followed his orders to the letter, and he rewarded them. The blood he shed set back all efforts to legitimize the family. He didn’t give a fuck. He cared about nothing. The gambling houses were open, the whores were back in business—and business was good.

Giovanni reclined further in his chair glaring at the dancing embers of the fire. His retreat had worried his aunt so much that she and Rocco had left Chianti and moved in. And still that wasn’t enough. Catalina had convinced her new husband to move in as well. He let none of them get close. He preferred the emptiness. He wasn’t a man that deserved anything better.

Some nights when the booze didn’t get the best of him he could sense her presence. Hear her voice. And on some nights he could feel her warmth under the covers of the bed. He had found the ability to dream without nightmares of his father’s murder. In his dreams she was his donna, pregnant with his child, loving him unconditionally. Giovanni liked those dreams most of all.

The door opened.

“Gio? Are you in here?” Catalina’s soft voice echoed behind him. She would have to step further in the room to see him seated before the fireplace.

“I said I was not to be disturbed.” He answered dryly.

“You missed dinner.”

“Lascilo,” he mumbled.

“You really have to stop this, Gio,” she placed a tray on the small table he used to set his bottle of wine or whiskey on that he drank from often. “I want you to start attending dinner. Zia and I have discussed it. You can’t go on like this.”

Giovanni took another drag from his cigar and ignored his sister.

Catalina folded her arms and sighed, “Franco wants to help. He’s asked Domi to let him.”

“Domi knows that Franco is to have nothing to do with my business.”

“Gio, he’s my husband, and he wants to help.”

“Esca!” he shouted.

Catalina threw up her hands in defeat and marched out. Giovanni extinguished the fiery end of his cigar in the plate of pasta she had prepared for him. He reached for the bottle of whiskey and managed to stand. Drinking from the bottle, he walked past his bed to the open balcony. It was a bit chilly in the evening, but he preferred the cold. He stood under the largest moon he’d seen in a while. He smiled. Somehow he felt her in that moon. “I’m not done with them yet, Bella. They’ll all paycara. All of them.”

He turned and walked back in to his room to settle for the night.