Page 31 of Luca

It never occurred to me to make that call. She needs a minute to wrap her head around everything that’s going on, and someone needs to look out for her. It’s not as though her asshole brother gives a shit, and neither does her father, for that matter. I certainly remember how they treated her when I first came to work for the Cataldis. It was just as Giada described earlier. They brought her out and pranced her around like a show pony then put her back in her ivory tower until the next time they needed her.

“I learned a long time ago it’s better to go along with your plans than tell you no and have you sneak off without protection.”

Her hips stop moving and she looks at me through glassy eyes. “Thank you,” she says sincerely. “For stopping that boy all those years ago and for last night. Those assholes thought they had a sure thing in their pocket.” She giggles and takes a swig of her drink. “I would have loved to see you smash his face.”

“Violent little thing, aren’t you?”

“Surprised?”

Considering who her brother and father are, no, not really.

“Nah, but most girls would freak out over a little blood.”

Giada shrugs. “It’s not the first time I’ve seen blood, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. That’s the thing about being the girl everyone forgets about. I’m like a tiny fly on the wall that no one notices.”

She turns and raises her glass to the bartender. “Jay, another drink please,” she calls and sets her glass on the table before sitting down next to me. Jay meets my eyes, and I nod before he pours her a weak vodka and cranberry.

Giada telling me that no one notices her makes me wonder what she’s heard and seen living with Carlo and Francesco. And what information she has that could help me and my cousin bring down her family. I never considered she would be privy to anything useful, but now I’m wondering if I’ve been working this entire thing from the wrong angle.

“Thank you, Luca,” she slurs next to me.

“You already thanked me.”

She shakes her head back and forth. “No. For today. For bringing me here and listening to me ramble. There isn’t anyone I can talk to about any of this. My family in Italy isn’t involved with this side of our life at all, and other than Bianca, I don’t really have any friends in the States. Not that I would ever tell her any of this. Hell, I don’t even know why I’m telling you any of it, but here we are.” She lets out a dramatic sigh and closes her eyes. “I think I’m drunk.”

“I think you passed drunk an hour ago.”

A huff of laughter escapes her. “You’re right. Maybe it’s time to go home.”

“Yeah, princess. Let’s go.”

When we return to the estate, her brother isn’t around, and Giada continues to drink and play her mom’s old records that she brought down to the family room.

“My dad doesn’t like anything that reminds him of her. Maybe that’s why he hates me. I look just like her,” she drunkenly confides in me while she’s splayed out on the floor next to the old record player. The record ends and she rolls toward the player to change out albums. When the first song begins playing, she hops up from the floor and starts dancing around the room like she didn’t just share one of the saddest truths of her life.

A few hours later, after switching between dancing and lying on the floor or couch listening to another song with a sweet smile on her face, she decides she’s hungry, so we head into the kitchen. I’m not sure why I don’t just leave her to herself and go to my room to unpack the things I brought back earlier, but I don’t. Maybe I feel bad for her. She’s contending with too much for a girl her age to have to deal with on her own. It reminds me a bit of when Frank told me about my true parentage. I didn’t have anyone to turn to, and I was so damn angry. Hell, I still am. Neither of us deserves the shit hand we’ve been dealt.

Giada pulls a bag of chips from the pantry and opens them, shoving a messy handful into her mouth. While she’s chewing, she grabs a loaf of bread and some peanut butter and jelly.

“I’m going to make you the best thing ever.”

She grabs a pan from one of the lower cabinets and sets it on the large six-burner range. After slathering the peanut butter then the jelly on the bread, she butters each side and sticks them in the pan.

“What on earth are you doing?” I’m horrified at the sight in front of me.

“Trust me. This is the best way to eat PB and J.”

I shoot her a dubious look, which makes her laugh, the tinkling sound causing the organ in my chest to beat a little faster. It’s one thing to feel sorry for her and want to be there for her when she has no one else to turn to. I can sympathize with that. But this is an entirely different emotion that I absolutely need to shut down. There’s no room for the daughter of my enemy in my heart or anywhere else, for that matter.

When she finishes grilling the sandwiches, I look at the messy concoction with jelly and peanut butter oozing from the sides as she takes a huge bite from hers.

“They’re so good this way, right?” she asks as I take a bite of mine. “My mom used to make these for me.” She bites down on another messy mouthful. “Do you have a favorite thing your mom used to make?”

I shake my head. “My mom died when I was a baby.” The familiar anger at the thought of what she must have gone through in her last moments on earth rages through my body. I can’t blame Giada for the sins of her father. It’s not her fault he was responsible for my mother’s murder. Hell, she wasn’t even born then. But that doesn’t mean I’m comfortable seeing the look of pity in her eyes when it was her father’s order that took my mother and all the memories I could have had with her.

“That’s a really shitty thing to have in common, huh?”

I nod, not wanting my voice to give away just how shitty this entire situation is.

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