Page 55 of Vicious Redemption

“I’m sorry to hear about the man who was attacked. Has he made it through surgery?” I ask tentatively.

From the corner of my eye, I catch the slightest shift in Leo’s frozen posture.

“I believe so, though he’ll be in the ICU for some time.”

“Well, I’m glad to know Maury and the others are okay,” I murmur.

Leo’s come a long way from wanting to kill everyone involved in the charity ball incident—including my father—to putting just one man in the hospital. And while I hope for the day when I won’t have to think about the violence or bloodshed between our families, I can dare to believe that he’s trying to minimize my pain.

Reaching beneath the table, I rest my hand on Leo’s knee in an effort to subtly show him my gratitude. To demonstrate I’m by his side. And though the shift is nearly invisible, I can see the tension wash from his shoulders. Leo’s fist relaxes as he takes my hand in his, interlacing our fingers.

My heart warms at the display of affection. And for the first time, it feels as though he’s drawing strength from my presence. We’re a team, and he’s using my support to stand firmly on his path.

“I’m glad to hear he survived,” Leo says, giving my hand a squeeze, though his eyes remain on my father. The simple gesture tells me his words are sincere.

“Thank you.” My father’s gracious nod is timed perfectly with the server returning with a tray of water and a bottle of wine.

“Here we are,” she says, her hands still shaking, though she seems to have regained some composure after the somewhat star-struck response she had when she first came to the table. “Waters for you,” she explains unnecessarily, giving away her nerves as she sets them down around the table. “And our 2016 Biondi-Santi Brunello di Montalcino.”

She shows the bottle to Leo, who nods approval before she opens it to pour a taste.

“That’ll be fine,” he says, and she pours three glasses.

“None for me,” I pipe up before she can pour a fourth.

“And are we ready to order?”

“We might need another minute,” my mother pipes in, ever refined and tactful. “But perhaps we’ll start with the bruschetta.”

“Of course,” the server agrees with a nervous little half-bow. Then she slips away.

“So, what’s good here?” my father asks, picking up his menu.

Leo smirks. “I don’t actually know. I’ve never been here.”

That draws a chuckle from my father. And though I don’t quite see why the comment is funny, it eases the pressure building from the rather tense subject of my father’s traitorous men.

Air rushes from my lungs in relief as I release a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. And the tension seems to vanish as we carry on as if this is just another ordinary dinner. By some miracle, the situation seems to have simply resolved.

My lack of response to my father’s gossip and Leo’s composure seem to have formed a solid wall that can’t be brought down.

We did it.

Leo and I.

We formed a truly united front, and it feels amazing.

I lift my menu, scanning the options, and by the time our server returns, we’re all ready to put in our order. Leo’s thumb brushes the back of my knuckles beneath the table as he raises his wine glass.

“To family. And second chances,” he says.

“Saluti,” my parents agree in unison, and I raise my water glass to join in.

The moment is poignant, and it marks a transition in the night. Leo’s establishing that he would prefer to let bygones be just that. He’s willing to forgive my family’s treachery if my father will stop antagonizing him. For my sake, Leo is willing to establish peace. And that level of devotion and sacrifice takes my breath away.

“So, Don Guerra, I believe you invited us here tonight to discuss where our families might go from here,” Leo states calmly, his expression cool and poised as he follows his statement with a sip of wine.

“Yes. I think enough damage has been done on both sides. We keep fighting, and for what? No one wins when death is the consequence.”

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