Page 7 of Forgive Me, Father (Don #1)

SEVEN

THE LITTLE RUNAWAY

The Pontisello name was monumental. They were the power behind the throne, the ones who controlled the entire mafia world. Even now, I still struggled to grasp the reality of being married to a Pontisello.

Neither my father nor my mother was going to believe me. But then, he did ask who he could make the invitations out to for tomorrow night’s ceremony. Which meant I was going to be alone on my wedding night.

How fantastic was that?

Heat flooded my cheeks as I replayed his comment about how he would make me forget Philip if I just gave him a chance.

Somehow, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he had no idea just how handsome he really was. Every time I was near him, something shifted inside me, like a pull I couldn’t escape. And when we kissed...

What was that?

It felt as the world around me vanished, leaving only him. In that moment, he was all I could see, all I could feel, like he existed in every inch of the air around me.

I knew he wasn’t a direct heir of the Pontisellos. Rico had two sons, and Alfonso wasn’t one of them. Maybe he was a distant cousin, three times removed, with the same grandfather. But despite that, he was still high up, right alongside the rest of them.

There was a knock at the door, and it opened. Nico stepped inside, arms loaded with bags of clothes.

He did the shopping too?

“Something for you to wear. I hope they fit.”

I nodded.

“Are you hungry?”

My stomach growled. “Starving.”

“Then pick up the phone and order something to eat, Camilla.”

I nodded again. I was starting to feel like that was all I was capable of. The stress of the day was catching up with me and I was struggling to keep up with my own emotions. But I knew that I needed to keep my composure.

He closed the door, and I did exactly that. The menu in this room was different than the ones in our rooms.

There weren’t prices on this one, and my mouth watered just reading the descriptions of the food.

I dialed a number, and a lady answered.

“Hotel de Anna. How can I help you?”

“Hi, I don’t know which room I’m in.”

“Don’t worry, miss. It’s the Pontisello suite, the penthouse. How can I assist you today?”

“Oh,” a chuckle left my lips, “May I please have a cheese and bacon burger, and fries sent up? With a bottle of champagne.”

“Of course. Anything else?”

“No, that’ll be it.”

“Food will be ready in twenty minutes.”

“Thank you.”

I set the phone down and wondered if I should’ve ordered something for Alfonso too. I wanted to phone back but then realized that I had no idea what he preferred. I didn’t know the man I’d married any more than the one I was supposed to marry.

New tears welled up, and I despised them.

I hated that I couldn’t turn off this overwhelming sense of betrayal.

Yet, it had brought me to the most significant and successful merger, one that my father had never managed to orchestrate.

I could almost feel my grandfather’s approval, as if he were smiling down on me.

I only wish he were still alive to see it, to know that I had done this.

Not my father. Not my uncle or brother. But me.

I also decided that it was something I wasn’t going to tell my mother. She was going to be livid, but at least she couldn’t force me to marry that lying son of a bitch anymore.

I couldn’t help but wonder what my father would do if he knew the truth.

I slipped out of my dress and stepped into a long, soothing shower.

It was a glass-walled sanctuary of slate and steam. A rainfall cascaded from above and the city lights watched in silence.

It was erotic and at the same time nerve-wrecking, but I doubt that anyone could have seen me.

The warmth melted away the tension and eased the knots in my muscles. My mind wandered back to Philip and the wedding I left behind. By now, we should have exchanged our vows and wrapped up the wedding photos. We’d likely be walking in as Mr. and Mrs. DaCosta.

But it wasn’t my reality anymore. I wasn’t Mrs. DaCosta. I was Mrs. Pontisello.

A small detail that my mind struggled to process. I still needed to find out where in the Pontisello family tree he fit.

Who was his father, as there were three brothers?

Rico, Marcello, and Jacob. Rico was the head of the Pontisello family, the one who controlled everything. He even held the highchair in the circle. He had the final say, and whatever he chose held power.

He had two sons: Luca and Roberto, both constantly in the spotlight. The more dangerous of the two carried a nickname, the White Rabbit, but I had no idea which one it belonged to.

Stories about him had always scared me. They said he was vicious. Killed without flinching, but even as the White Rabbit, none of Rico’s two sons carried the mark underneath their eye like Alfonso. Maybe they were still working up to it.

I didn’t know much about Marcello and Jacob. My father’s attention had always been fixated on Rico. He was obsessed with the idea of merging with him, desperate for it to happen.

He might be disappointed when he realized it wasn’t the right Pontisello, but I knew I had made the right choice.

I wasn’t going to tell them either. The consummation ceremony would speak for itself.

They’d find out tomorrow, just like everyone else, that I was now a Pontisello.

Another part of me wanted to scream out of pure excitement. A fucking Pontisello.

I giggled to myself. It was the weirdest emotion I’d ever felt.

A fucking Pontisello.

No matter how many times I said it, I still struggled for it to sink in.

When I felt clean, I got out and clutched the lush towel to my body.

I got dressed in the jeans that Nico had brought and pulled a shirt over my head. It all fit like a glove. The jersey was soft and the boots a bit big, but they rounded off the look beautifully.

I dried my hair and reapplied some makeup that the makeup artist had left for me. All my things were still in my room.

A knock came at the door, and the butler pushed in a tray that probably had my food.

I thanked him, and he pulled out the bottle of Golden Rouge. My father had promised me that when we moved up in the circle, he’d buy me a bottle, worth 1.2 million. Yet here, they uncorked it as casually as if it were just a bottle of Pellegrino.

The butler poured in half a flute and handed it to me. I was literally shaking as I tried to do the math of how much I had in my hand.

He nodded, and I brought the glass to my lips, taking a sip.

The taste hit me immediately, sharp and bitter.

I never understood why people raved about expensive champagne.

It wasn’t sweet or refreshing. It was an acquired taste, and frankly, I didn’t care to acquire it.

The flavor lingered like sour disappointment and shit on my tongue. Not that I knew what shit tasted like.

To me it was this champagne. Maybe I just wasn’t a fan of expensive drinks.

I thanked the butler as he returned the black beauty to the ice bucket. The bottle itself was a work of art, its pure gold emblem gleamed against the deep, obsidian-black surface, as if it were crafted from the night itself.

I devoured the burger in a few bites, washing it down with a sip of champagne. A pang of longing hit me as I thought about sharing this moment with my dad. He’d probably agree about the taste, and we would’ve laughed together over it.

I finished the last bite of my burger and switched on the TV. Put it on Netflix just to kill the silence and the war going on in my head.

A knock on the door made me sit up in bed, and Nico entered.

“Cartier is waiting for you.”

I nodded as he eyed the bottle of champagne.

I looked at it. “I just asked for champagne. They brought that up. Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. It’s not my taste, but Alfonso would enjoy the fact that you love it.”

I didn’t, but I wasn’t about to tell Nico that.

I followed him into the lounge and was taken aback to see Alfonso lounging on the couch, dressed in jeans and a white sweater. The outfit made his eyes stand out even more. He was breathtakingly handsome, and for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what I was going to do with him tomorrow night.

“Come sit, Camilla.”

I thanked the heavens that he didn’t call me that Italian name and plopped down ungraciously onto the couch next to him.

He placed his hand on my back, and I couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through me. That magnetic pull I couldn’t explain was back. It made my throat dry, and I had to squeeze my thighs together to keep myself from doing something impulsive with my husband tonight.

That was what he was: my husband.

It sucked to be a Don. I wondered why he couldn’t get the crowd attending the other ceremony tonight to come to ours instead. I could ask him, but it would only make me sound desperate, and I was sure that Nico was going to tell him that I liked the Golden Rouge.

“The choice is yours,” Alfonso’s husky voice lingered, the kind of voice that could make any woman melt.

I tried to focus on the rings. They were beautiful, but each felt far too extravagant for my taste.

When I glanced at Alfonso, his gaze was locked on me.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice dripping with that honeyed tone that made my stomach flip. Already?

I cleared my throat, trying to keep my composure. “Do you have something that won’t make me feel like I’m sinking when I swim?”

His smile was knowing, and he turned to the jeweler. “Something more understated,” he requested, his eyes never leaving me.

The old man smiled softly, taking the larger box away and replacing it with a smaller one in front of us.

These rings were smaller in diamond size too. My gaze landed on a piece, and I wanted to reach out for it, but stopped. I pulled back my hand and apologized as my mother’s years of training kicked in.

“Don’t apologize, Camilla.” Alfonso opened the box. “Which one?”

“The one by your pinky.”

He picked it up and handed me the rose gold band with a delicate design and the diamonds placed in the middle. It almost reminded me of vines.

I put it on my finger, but it didn’t fit. It was a bit big, but I loved this one.

“Do you have this in her size?”

“Let’s see her size.” The old man reached for my hand, and I laid my hand in his. He put my finger into a ring measurer and worked to find the right size.

Once he’d confirmed my size, he said, “I’ll have it sent over tonight around six.”

“Thank you, Pierre,” Alfonso replied.

The old man bowed his head, and his assistant helped clear up the boxes.

Alfonso already had a band on his ring finger. It was beautiful, plain, but I doubted the price was plain.

“I really thought this was going to take hours,” Alfonso remarked.

I huffed and smiled. “Guess I always know what I want. Was it expensive?”

“I don’t mind paying for a ring, just as long as you love it.”

“I’m sorry none of the big ones grabbed my attention.”

He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear, and my heart instantly beat faster as his hand lingered. He smelled divine, dangerous even, and I made a mental note to Google him. I was sure he was somewhere on the net.

“You’re a breath of fresh air, piccola fuggitiva . That’s for sure. I have work to do; thank you for keeping it short.”

I nodded, and he took a sip of my champagne. He smiled. “Finally, someone who can enjoy the expensive tastes that life has to give.”

I smiled in return. If he only knew that I had to force it down my throat. “Keep it. I have more than half a bottle left.”

He raised the glass and stood, walking back up the stairs to his office.