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She’d need a car, armed guards. An allowance. I’d help her build a life here, near mine. A life with burgers and concerts and nights on the terrace . . . I could hardly wait.
But I couldn’t broach the subject yet, not until I had everything ready for her. I had to present a plan, not rattle off some midnight pillow talk. Leaving her life behind was a big ask and I didn’t want to give her a chance to say no. So I needed to create an incentive package too irresistible to refuse.
When I returned to the bedroom a flash went off. I froze and blinked. Maggie was taking photos of me on her phone. “Che cosa, bella?”
“For later. Here, put that tray down and let me get one more.”
“No.” I continued to the bed, but she was still taking photos. “Stop that.”
“Let me objectify you,please?Per favore, bello?”
The use of my language did it. Sighing, I rested the tray on the bed and looked at the camera. I even gave her the hint of a smile.
“Wow.” She snapped a few more, then finally put her phone down. “You are so photogenic. If this mafia thing doesn’t work out, you should consider modeling.”
“I’ll keep this in mind,” I drawled and dragged the tray closer to her.
We ate while she told me stories about her childhood at the winery, happy memories of her father and grandfather. I soaked all of it in, every bit of information about her past. Her life had been so different from mine. Both of us were bound by familial legacy, but one created and nurtured while the other destroyed and killed.
“Did you ever want to do anything else?” I asked when we were finished eating and tucked under the covers. “Did you ever imagine another life?”
“Nope.” She curled closer to me and rubbed her toes on my shins. “I always dreamed of running the winery. Of course, I thought I would have my dad around to help but . . . ” She lifted her shoulder, but I could see the streak of pain in her eyes.
I stroked her bare hip. “They died when you were in high school?”
“Senior year. A freak car accident on wet pavement. They swerved to avoid hitting a motorcyclist and my dad lost control of the car. They hit a tree. My dad was killed instantly. Mom lingered for a few hours in the hospital, so at least I got to say good-bye to her.”
“I am very sorry, bella.”
She drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “It hasn’t been easy. Therapy helped. And having Mikey helped. My aunt stayed with us for a few years, too, and she was a godsend.”
I gave her a kiss, telling her without words how strong, how resilient I thought she was. “I’m very proud of you, angelo mio.”
“Why?” A laugh emerged from her lips, but it held no mirth. “The winery was failing, we have a virus I didn’t catch, and my brother developed a gambling problem that I didn’t notice. I’m pretty much a disaster.”
“No, Maggie. The problems we face, the challenges we encounter do not make us failures. They make us stronger. And you are one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.”
“Thanks, baby,” she whispered and kissed me again. “What about you?” she asked when we finally pulled apart. “Did you ever want to do anything else?”
“It wouldn’t have mattered. My father would not have allowed it. In my world family is everything.”
“What was he like?”
That question was a deep well inside me, filled with so much pain and anger. Hurt and loneliness. I found it better not to examine it too closely. “A cruel man. No one in our home escaped his wrath.”
“Was he abusive?”
“Yes, mostly to my mother when she was alive. Then Enzo. My older brother protected me and Massimo from the worst of it.”
“That must have been awful. I’m so sorry.”
I lifted a shoulder. “My father thought he was preparing us for a dangerous, cruel life. In some ways, he wasn’t wrong.”
“That doesn’t excuse it. And what of your poor mother? She didn’t deserve that.”
No, she hadn’t. “Enzo fought our father on her behalf. He tried to stop the worst of it when he could, but she ended her life shortly after Paloma was born. I was eight, mostly too young to understand.”
Maggie wrapped an arm around me and held me closer. “Oh, my god. How sad.”