Page 40 of Doll Face

Determined focused with an iron will. —Lorraine Day

Three years later

Gianna stared out the window, finding it fitting that it should be a gloomy day. Rain scented the air, hanging like a heavy curtain. The first part of the funeral was a mass in St. Anthony Cathedral followed by a graveside burial. A knock on the door alerted her it was almost time. She turned away from the window and picked up her black veil on the bed before marching over to the door and opening it.

Mauro stood there with sadness etched in the lines on his face. Gianna’s heart broke for him because he’d been with Orianna for half his life, and she suspected he had been in love with her grandmother for a long time. She hugged him for a moment, sharing his heartache.

“It’s time,” he whispered.

“I know.” She turned to the mirror and put her veil on, letting the black lace obscure her features. Then she held her head up high and walked from her bedroom.

It was a twenty-minute drive from her home to the church, and she stared out of the window as Mauro drove her and Caelian in the Rolls-Royce. Her thoughts turned to the next part of Orianna’s plan. Today, she’d see Matteo Romanelli for the first time in three years. Not as the pitiful Macy but as the strong Gianna.

When they arrived at St. Anthony’s, Mauro pulled up in front of the steps that led up to the church’s ornate doors. Gianna waited as Caelian exited his side, came around the car and opened her door. He held out his hand and helped her leave the confines of the car. As soon as she was stable on her heels, he let go of her and fell into his place as her bodyguard. She walked up the steps to enter the cool interior, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the somber lighting. A thousand flickering candles lined the perimeter and people were already sitting in pews. She had deliberately waited until the last moment to enter, to garner as much attention as she could get.

Her gaze landed on Pietro and Matteo Romanelli, and for a brief moment, she froze. It was a sucker punch to her gut and it all came back to her in a rush. The basement. The fear. The gun in her face. It flashed through her mind to turn tail and run away. Doubt clouded her mind if she could go through with the plan, but then Caelian stepped up beside her and gave her a knowing nod. The big, silent man had been her guide for the past three years, teaching her martial arts and weaponry. He taught her to be brave. That she was stronger than she thought she was. Reminding her that she had stared death in the eye and only came out stronger. So, lifting her chin, she gave him a thankful nod to remind her who she was now, which was not the broken woman he had first met.

She walked down the aisle, aware of all the stares. The speculation. Orianna had come up with a logical background why no one had known about a missing granddaughter. That Gianna had grown up in the land of her father, and she had worked hard on not only her Italian accent, but her English one as well.

When she got to the front pew, she took her seat with Caelian sitting next to her. It wasn’t hard to miss all the bodyguards watching over their masters.

The priest came out to pay his respects first to Orianna’s casket that sat unopen before them, then he came over to her for a brief conversation. He told her how the service would go, and since she had declined reading a eulogy, they would be able to get through the sermon quickly. Well, as quick as a mass could get. Then the priest went back to his dais and began.

Gianna sat perfectly still, staring at the coffin her adopted grandmother resided in. She hoped she was now at peace with Violetta and her husband. Heaven received another angel. Through it all, she refused to cry. No fucking way in front of all the people watching her. Her grief belonged to her and to Orianna.

When mass was over, the altar servers came first, leading the parade back down the aisle. The priest stopped by her pew and she rose, leaving with him. As she stepped outside, a drizzle of rain had begun, so Caelian opened an umbrella over her head, gave her his elbow, and escorted her down the steps to the Rolls. Once inside, she leaned her head back and let out a sigh of relief that was over.

“He stared at you the entire time,” Caelian said.

She rolled her head to look at him. “The son or the father?”

“The father. And then sometimes the son.”

“Do you think they’ll approach me in the cemetery?”

“Probably,” Caelian said. “Will you be able to handle it?”

She sighed and turned to stare out the window. “I believe so, although I’m glad I saw him in the church. It got the shock out of my system.”

“Has he changed?”

Matteo Romanelli was as handsome as she remembered. Maybe even more so. The past three years seemed to have honed the cut of his muscles, and now she saw just how deadly he was.

“Yes,” she replied softly.

When they arrived at the cemetery, the rain had stopped, although the dark clouds still threatened to spill. Caelian came around to her side of the car and opened her door, holding out his hand to help her out. Once she was on her feet, she made sure her veil was in place before heading into the Aldighieri mausoleum where Orianna would be laid to rest. One day, it was where she’d be as well. She may have to marry a Romanelli, but she’d be damned if she spent eternity with the man who betrayed her.

They were just setting up Orianna’s coffin when she entered, and seeing it somehow made it all real. Desolation crept from her heart and she was unable to keep her tears at bay any longer. Orianna had become more than a mentor. More than her benefactor. She became her friend and finally, her family.

Caelian handed her a white handkerchief, and she took it with a low thanks, dabbing at her eyes. People started to arrive, and that included the Romanellis to her utter revulsion. But she buried her feelings because she had a plan to enact.

Pietro Romanelli slipped his phone into his jacket pocket as he immediately came over to her, with Matteo following. She refused to look at him, instead, focusing on the viper in front of her. Matteo may have given the order but Pietro had held the gun.

“Ms. Aldighieri, I am truly sorry for your loss,” the senior Romanelli murmured.

“Grazie,” she murmured, tilting her head. “Come hai conosciuto mia nonna?”

“Mi chiamo Pietro Romanelli. I was a business partner with your grandmother.”

---