Page 5 of The Godfather’s Christmas Twins

The coffee turns bitter in my mouth. Three weeks ago, I found the first letter in my mailbox, no stamp, no return address. I'd dismissed it as a prank, tore it up without reading past the first line. Then came another. And another. All followed by texts, like the one this morning.

My hands shake as I scroll through my phone, pulling up the photos I'd taken of the last two letters before destroying them. The words blur together.Your father kept secrets. So do you.

I'd told myself they were empty threats, probably someone trying to shake down the new Don's sister for money. But this is different. This person is here, watching.

Soon, you’ll pay.

The phone slips from my fingers, clattering against the table. The barista glances over. I force a smile, pretending to wipe up spilled coffee that isn't there.

Another message appears.

Look outside.

I don't want to, but my eyes drag themselves to the window. A black SUV idles across the street, its windows tinted too dark to see inside. Even so, it’s brazen. Threatening.

My chest constricts. The safe bubble I've built around my children is threatening to shatter.

My hands won't stop shaking as I gather my things. The SUV across the street hasn't moved.

I leave cash on the table and hurry out the back entrance, taking a circuitous route through the alley. As I rush, I order a car. As I arrive at the corner, it’s waiting.

“Mrs. Cantore, good morning,” the driver who works for Nic says.

“Good morning, Theo.” I try to keep my voice light.

“It’s been awhile.”

“It has.” I don’t normally use the family’s services, but right now, I don’t need just a driver. I also need someone who’s skilled with a gun who can protect me. “Can you take me to Nic’s?”

“Sure thing.”

Theo deposits me at Nic's office building twenty minutes later. The security guard waves me through. The elevator ride to the top floor gives me time to compose myself. I can’t go running into Nic’s office in hysterics. He needs to know what’s happening, but I don’t want him sending me off to Timbuktu, which is something he’d consider doing to keep me safe.

Nic's secretary rises when I enter. "Mrs. Cantore?—”

"Is he free?"

"He's on a call, but?—”

I walk past her and through the double doors to Nic's office. My brother looks up from his desk as I burst in.

"Gia?" Nic's expression shifts from annoyance to concern. "What's wrong?"

"I need to talk to you." My voice cracks. "Now."

He studies my face for a moment, then speaks into the phone. "We'll continue this later." He hangs up and rises, rounding his desk, reaching for my trembling hands. “What’s going on? Are the kids?—”

“They’re fine.” But are they?

The words tumble out before I can stop them. The texts, the letters, the SUV. I watch my brother's face darken with every detail.

“For how long?” he asks.

“Three weeks. A month…”

“Fucking hell, Gia, and you’re only now telling me? Show me.”

I hand over my phone with shaking fingers. Nic scrolls through the messages, his jaw tightening with each swipe.

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