Page 40 of Forgive Me, Father (Don #1)

THIRTY-THREE

THE LITTLE RUNAWAY

I hated being away from Alfonso.

The moment he left my side, the world felt dull. Empty. The laughter around the table faded into background noise. Everyone spoke rapid Italian—beautiful, yes, but isolating. I didn’t belong in their words. And if I quietly slipped away, no one would even notice.

So, I did.

I took my glass of wine and wandered toward the hill that overlooked the sea. The sun danced over the waves like scattered diamonds, and the sky was the kind of blue that made you forget anything ugly ever existed. For a second, I let myself breathe.

Then I felt it—a presence at my side.

My heart leapt, foolishly hoping it was Alfonso, drawn to me like always. But when I turned, it wasn’t him. It was the man I’d seen on the yacht with Loretta and Fiona. Dark hair, golden sun-kissed skin, handsome in a forgettable sort of way, with eyes that hinted at too much knowledge.

“My name’s Luigi,” he said with a crooked smile. “Your husband is my cousin.”

There was a pause, a weight to his words, and then: “He scares the hell out of me. So, here’s to you for marrying the bastard.”

He lifted his beer and clinked it against my wine glass.

I raised a brow but didn’t look away.

“Cheers,” I murmured, my voice cool, letting the sea breeze tousle a few strands of my hair. “If it makes you feel better, he scares me too.”

That earned me a real grin, wide, dimpled, boyish.

Luigi didn’t look like an enforcer or a cousin from a mafia dynasty. He was softer than the others, rounder in the face and midsection, and there was a graceful tilt to his posture that confirmed what I already suspected. He didn’t exactly fit the Pontisello mold of brooding, muscle-bound menace.

“Are the two of you okay? After that little incident?”

His tone was casual, but I caught the subtle flick of curiosity behind his words. He was fishing—for someone else. Simi, maybe?

I kept my expression gentle, but my answer was deliberate. “We’re more than okay,” I said, sipping my wine. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Another flash of dimples. He lifted his beer in approval before taking a sip, eyes still on me.

“I’m glad,” he said. “Glad you didn’t buy into Simi’s nonsense. She really believed Alfonso would see the error of his ways, annul your contract, and come crawling back on his knees.”

I laughed softly. “Poor Simi.”

Luigi laughed too, a warm, genuine sound that made him feel like the first real person I’d spoken to all day. “You, Camilla, are a breath of fresh air. Unfortunately, I have a feeling that’s exactly the kind of thing my thick-skulled cousin’s going to break.”

I huffed as the silence stretched. We both admired the view as the soft breeze blew gently through my hair.

“So, have you met everyone yet?” Luigi asked, his tone light. He gestured for a walk and held out his arm for me.

“Half through my husband and half through Paulo,” I said, hooking my arm through his with ease. His body relaxed beside mine, as we walked along the side of the hill.

“Ah,” he nodded knowingly. “Then I guess no official introductions were needed.”

“Only through his commentary,” I said with a soft laugh. “I met Maggie—briefly—and her boys. I think I also met his aunt…”

“Mavis.”

“Yes, that’s her. Apparently, she’s always up in arms about your grandmother vanishing for a year, only to resurface days before her birthday like it’s perfectly normal.”

Luigi threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah, we still haven’t figured out how she pulls it off every single time. No trail. No witnesses.”

“She’s eighty-two. I’m sure by now she knows how to disappear.” I smirked.

He grinned, then leaned closer. “My money’s on Roberto helping her. He has that look—you know, the type who secretly grants her every wild request.”

I laughed, the image almost too perfect. “Oh, absolutely. He’s the accomplice. No question.”

Luigi’s smile softened. “Want to meet her?”

“Your grandmother?” I asked, eyebrows raised.

He nodded, and I inhaled deeply, straightened my spine, and lifted my chin just a touch higher.

“I’d love to,” I said with all the poise I could muster.

Outwardly, I looked composed, confident even, but inside, I felt like a seven-year-old girl about to meet the matriarch of a royal family.

Alfonso’s grandmother wasn’t just a sweet old woman, she’d been married to the man who once ruled the Dons.

Henrico Pontisello. The same man who gifted Alfonso that fortress of a home.

Whatever bond Alfonso had shared with him, I knew it ran deep.

The lawn was crowded, and their grandmother held court beneath the canopy of the main marquee, surrounded by relatives and their eager small talk.

She had a regal air about her, wise, sharp-eyed, with a grace that demanded respect, but she wasn’t shy about shooing away the younger ones when they annoyed her with too much chatter.

Luigi whispered something in rapid Italian that made several heads snap toward him with disapproving frowns. His grandmother, however, burst into delighted laughter as half her entourage scattered like pigeons.

With a grin, Luigi dropped into a squat beside her chair, and she greeted him with affection, pinching his cheeks and planting a kiss on each. The bond between them was clear, and watching them, I was convinced he was her annual escape plan, not Roberto.

Luigi motioned toward me and said my name. I took that as my cue and walked over quickly, nerves fluttering in my stomach. Her eyes narrowed with curiosity.

She murmured Alfonso’s name, and Luigi chuckled before opening his mouth to translate.

She held up a hand, cutting him off. “I can speak for myself,” she said with a sharp little glare. “Don’t need no man to do it for me.”

Then her eyes slid back to me, bright and appraising. “You are much better than that whore, Simi.”

I nearly choked on my own breath, coughing into my hand as Luigi burst out laughing beside me.

“Mamma,” Mavis scolded under her breath, clearly horrified.

Grandmother waved her off with a sharp curse in Italian, absolutely unbothered.

In that moment, I understood why so many people adored her, and why Alfonso’s grandfather had named an entire hotel in her honor.

She radiated the kind of effortless authority that came with age, legacy, and zero patience for bullshit. She was pure joy wrapped in steel.

“I hope my Alfonso is taking better care of you,” she said, her voice warm but edged with meaning.

“Better care?” I echoed, a little thrown by the phrase.

“Of course I am, Nonna,” Alfonso’s voice broke in from behind me, rough and familiar. I hadn’t even heard him approach. He kissed the top of my head, then leaned down and pressed a respectful kiss to his grandmother’s cheek.

She let loose a string of rapid-fire Italian that made his brow furrow as he shook his head, clearly amused but also slightly exasperated.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Camilla,” she said with a smile that felt like a benediction. “You take care of her, ” she added, nodding pointedly toward me.

Alfonso replied in Italian, his voice low and rhythmic, and I didn’t need to understand the words to catch the meaning in the way his hand gently curled around my waist.

She gave him a firm tap on the cheek, hard enough to sting, judging by his blink, and then turned to me and winked.

I was completely smitten. His grandmother was everything.

As we said our goodbyes, I became more aware of the eyes following us, lingering on me. It wasn’t just curiosity, it was something heavier. Measured. Like I’d disrupted some invisible hierarchy.

“Okay…” I whispered as we walked away. “Why is everyone staring?”

Alfonso gave a low chuckle. “Because that’s the first time my Nonna has ever spoken English to anyone. ”

* * *

The Lamborghini tore through the winding hills like it belonged to the road, like Alfonso was born with one hand on the wheel and the other wrapped around destiny.

The roar of the engine echoed between the ancient stone walls as vineyards blurred past us in streaks of green and gold.

I sank into the buttery leather seat, just enjoying the luxury of this masterpiece of a vehicle.

We were heading home, but the weight of the afternoon lingered between us, his family, his Nonna, the ghosts of a legacy that refused to stay buried.

“She never speaks English?” I asked quietly, watching the curve of his jaw as he drove.

A smile curled at the corner of his mouth. “That’s the first time I’ve heard her do it. Ever.”

His tone was soft, reverent almost, but his eyes stayed locked on the road ahead. Even now, he drove like he was guarding a secret.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” he said with a smirk. “That’s how you Americans say it, right?”

I laughed. “Yeah, we do. Okay, does she really vanish for a whole year and just reappear like a ghost every birthday?”

He chuckled, the sound low and fond. “She does. My Nonno, for all his power and admiration, kept her in a cage.”

“A cage?” My eyes widened. “Like an actual?—”

“No,” he interrupted with a laugh. “Figure of speech, Cami. But yes, controlled. Watched. Like she belonged to the legacy instead of herself.”

I nodded slowly, letting that sink in.

“So after he passed, she finally got her freedom. Not that Mavis likes it.”

“Your aunt?”

He gave a curt nod. “She tries to control everything. But Nonna—she finds a way to slip the leash. Every damn year.”

I smiled. “Luigi thinks it’s Roberto helping her disappear. But I don’t know, after today? I think it’s Luigi. I saw the way she looked at him.”

Alfonso raised a brow. “Luigi?”

“You didn’t see them together. She adores him.”

He let out a small laugh. “The fruitcake?”

The way he said it made me laugh harder. “What?”

“Please tell me you know that he is different.”

“I picked up on it. But that is not what I mean. She loves him.”

“I got news for you. My Nonna loves all her grandbabies. Even the dark ones. It’s not Luigi.”

I let out a mock gasp. “So you know who helps her disappear?”

He chuckled, like he was setting a secret finally free. “She deserves the escape, Cami.”

“Wait.” I narrowed my eyes. “You?”

He glanced at me sideways, full of mischief, but he didn’t reply.

“It’s really you?” I pushed a bit harder.

“Yes, why is it so hard to believe? Believe me, I would do it too. My family is big, overpowering, and demanding.”

That was the sweetest thing I’d ever heard.

“If you want,” he added casually, “you can come with me in a week.”

My smile stretched wide. “Does anyone know it’s you?”

He leaned back slightly, one hand casually gripping the steering wheel as he looked at me sideways. “No. So, I’ll have to kill you if you tell. And I really don’t want to kill you, Cami.”

“Whatever,” I scoffed, pushing his arm. “I think it’s sweet.”

“She’s my Nonna,” he said quietly, his voice rough around the edges. “My actual, real first love.”

Something about the way he said it made my chest tighten. Maybe I’d been wrong about who shaped him most. Maybe it wasn’t his Nonno who left the deepest imprint—maybe it was her.