Page 58 of The Don's Eternal Vows

I exit the car first and scan the surroundings. Old habits die hard. My heart races and my breath hitches in my throat as I notice our groundkeeper in the distance, striding towards me as he usually does to help me carry things in from the car, should I have any.

I quickly open the passenger door and lean in, Genoveva’s eyes the sole focus of my attention. Her face is mere inches away, her cheeks flushed.

“The groundskeeper is here,” I say rapidly. “Listen, stick to the story. Some will be shocked, others in disbelief. Let me handle it. Don’t say a word unless they ask first. Do they understand? The more we explain, the guiltier we shall look.”

She nods rapidly, registering my words. I give her a hand, and she takes it. Together, we step out of the car.

The gravel crunches behind me, and we turn to see him standing a few feet away from us.

"Welcome home, sir," he says. I quickly look over at Genoveva to see how she’s feeling, but she stares ahead motionless. I extend my hand and take hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. When I look back at the groundskeeper, his eyes rise from our conjoined hands to my face.

Yet, apart from the confusion, his face betrays nothing else. He asks no questions. He merely nods in greeting and goes about his business.

In this moment, I realize how well our staff is trained. They’ve been told repeatedly that decisions are often made amongst our ranks that they shall never be privy to. Ask no questions; hear what’s said.

That’s the motto, and clearly, they’ve been trained well to act without question. Smart enough to recognize when silence speaks louder than words.

“Would you require any assistance, sir?” the groundskeeper asks softly.

“Gen?” I turn to her. She shakes her head. The groundskeeper’s eyes widen just a little before he collects himself again. He doesn’t say a word and doesn’t look in her direction again.

This might just be easier than I thought.

“That would be all,” I say.

He bows just a little and walks off.

I step into the foyer, my eyes sweeping the room with laser focus. Maria polishes the silver, her movements methodical. Luca arranges fresh flowers.

My muscles uncoil slightly, but I remain alert. "Afternoon," I call out, my voice low and controlled.

They turn, offering respectful nods. I search their faces for a flicker of surprise, a hint of recognition.

Nothing.

"Good afternoon, Don Montagna," Maria responds, her eyes never straying to Genoveva.

Genoveva's fingers tighten on my arm, a silent question. I give an imperceptible shake of my head. Not yet.

"Any messages?" I ask, maintaining the illusion of normalcy.

Luca approaches, his expression neutral, though his eyes drift between where Gen and I stand. "Nothing urgent, sir. Your usual reports are on your desk."

I nod, watching intently. Not a flicker of curiosity, not a single greeting or question at the woman by my side. It's as if they’re petrified of what they see.

Or far too well-trained.

"Very good," I reply, my mind racing. Their discretion is impeccable.

Genoveva's breath catches almost imperceptibly. I feel her tension and desire to speak. I squeeze her hand gently. Later, my love, when we're alone.

It must be hard enough for the staff to see her again after having attended the funeral.

As we climb the stairs, I allow myself a small, grim smile. Phase one is to introduce her back into the house - complete. Now, to keep her safe while we plan our next move.

After helping Genoveva settle into her room, I walk into my study and close the heavy oak door behind me. I turn to face Marco, my most trusted lieutenant, who stands by the fireplace, his face a mask of practiced neutrality.

"You understand the gravity of the situation," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I need my revenge on Paolo Greco.”

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