Page 50 of Taboo Flames

Leaving Aurora at home to do a video call with some of the parents of her students, I drive off to see my next appointment. Many years ago, after I was orphaned and left alone on the streets of Sicily, Giacob Giordano found me, took me in, and made a man out of me.

I owe him far more than my loyalty. I owe him my life, and it’s a debt I’ll gladly spend the rest of my years repaying. He’s been more of a father to me than my sperm donor ever was.

His house is on the outskirts of the city, and it sits on several acres of land. It’s one of the most secure locations in the city as there’s twenty-four-hour, seven-day surveillance and a rotation of armed bodyguards.

I honestly think it’s a little bit overkill, but of course, I’m not going to tell him that.

Even though the guards at the gate know me, they still have to call in for me to be permitted into the compound.

Giacob is seated on the patio at the back of the house. At almost sixty, he still has the body of a man ten years his junior, except, of course, for the shock of white hair on his head, but as far as I know, it’s been that way forever.

He doesn’t look anything like a man whose name invokes terror in the city. He’s unassuming when he wants to be.

“Hello, son.” He smiles at me as I take a seat beside him on one of the wicker chairs.

“Giordano,” I greet and nod respectfully.

He chuckles. “Always so formal, Gio. I haven’t seen you in a while. What have you been up to? Keep an old man up to date.”

I laugh. “I’m pretty sure you have eyes everywhere, old man.”

He shrugs and stands up. “You need something. What is it?”

It’s one of the reasons I like and respect Giordano. He’s a straight shooter, and I always appreciate that in a man.

“I haven’t played in a while.” He motions at the grass-covered yard. “The others can never keep up, and I’m tired of playing with amateurs. Let’s play.”

I go to grab the golf bag from the shed, and we make our way to the starting line marked by a white flag.

“So, what is it?” he probes, his eyes narrowing calculatedly over the distance.

“It’s about Miss Vitale…Aurora.”

“Ahh.”

My gaze sharpens. “You know something.” It’s a fact, not a question.

He shrugs. “Not much. Probably about the same amount of information as you.”

Positioning himself, he swings the stick, and the ball goes flying. I watch it land perfectly into the distant hole.

“You’re too good at this,” I tell him, shaking my head.

“I have far too much time on my hands.”

I position the ball and allow Giordano to speak. A man like him isn’t rushed, and I know he’ll talk in his own time.

We complete about three holes before he leans on the head of his stick. “I hear she’s gotten tangled with Il Sguardo Nero.”

“What do you know about him?” I ask.

“That he’s dangerous and should never be crossed. The same kind of bogeyman stories we hear about dangerous men all the time. I’ve never had an encounter with him, so I’m not personally familiar, I’m afraid.”

I sigh, frustrated by all the dead ends I keep running into.

“What do you plan to do with this man if you eventually find him?” Giordano asks. “Don’t tell me you plan to start a full-blown war because of this woman. Did I not teach you anything?”

“You taught me to protect what’s mine, so that’s exactly what I’m doing,” I say fiercely.

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