Page 5 of Bound By Sin
“I wish,” she mumbled.
“I’m gonna act like I didn’t hear that.” I smirked as I turned onto the road that led to the gated community where we lived, hoping and praying the paparazzi wouldn’t be waiting for us at the gate. There was no way I could explain any questions about her father to her.
While my daughter was seventeen, she’d never had a real boyfriend despite having a lot of boys as friends. It wasn’t that she hadn’t shown interest in boys; she chose not to focus on them while her friends were like most girls her age—boy-crazy. We had the sex talk and got her on birth control, just in case, which she was very embarrassed about but understood the necessity. She was very responsible for her age, and I believed I could trust her.
If she was spending the weekend at Rose’s, that meant I had time to go to the club. I hadn’t been since Laila’s wedding, and with the news that someone was digging into my past, more importantly that they were trying to identify Nia’s father, I needed to release the tension.
Chapter two
VALENTINO
I fastened one of the buttons on my bespoke suit’s blazer as I descended the massive stone stairs of the cathedral. It finally felt like I could breathe. I was so glad to be out of that fucking church. I wasn’t religious anymore, hadn’t been for a long time after all the shit I’d seen and participated in. In my opinion, none of us could be saved. However, despite being a godless man, I had a healthy dose of fear of the Big Man upstairs, and I couldn’t wait until my ass was off holy ground.
“I fucking hate church. I don’t want a fucking funeral, Aurelio. Just cremate my ass, stick me in some fancy-ass jar, and sit me on a shelf. No, better yet, toss my ass in the ocean. I’d appreciate it.”
Aurelio stood on my right side, holding a massive black umbrella over my head as sheets of diagonal rain poured down on us. His deep laughter caused me to smile despite my agitation over being here. He knew my wish wouldn’t be possible since Italians, including the Cavallaro family, and especially some of my aunts who were sure to outlive me, were obsessed with religion and keeping up appearances. But I could dream.
I groaned as I looked out at the crowded street of cars, trucks, and taxis sitting bumper to bumper. It was going to be a bitch navigating through traffic in this weather, which agitated me more than I already was.
“Fuck this shit,” I mumbled.
It had been years since I stepped foot in the Windy City, but I’d had no other choice. I’d purposely stayed away from Chicago when I found out she had moved here. Whenever business had to be done here, I sent Aurelio instead.
Until today.
Whenever there was a death of a Don, all heads of the families attended the funeral, burial, and repast, whether they wanted to or not. It was a sign of disrespect to the new Don not to pay their respects to the former head of a family. When I was dead and gone, the same would be done for me, hence why I couldn’t just be cremated.
If it hadn’t been for that, I would have stayed my ass as far away from her as possible. If I’d come, I would have tracked her down. The only thing keeping me from doing it now was this fucking funeral, which pissed me off yet gave me a bit of relief. It was a fucking blessing and a curse. I wasn’t sure whether not being able to go after her also added to my irritation or if it was just being at this funeral.
It had been almost eighteen years since I last saw the woman I fell in love with. The woman I walked away from, along with everything we had built together, in order to take over the Cavallaro Family. According to Brian Hamm, a mutual friend of ours, Tara Weatherly, the woman who had my heart and the other half of my soul, moved here to be closer to family shortly after I left Los Angeles to become Don.
Back then, I’d thought I’d done what was best for her. She didn’t need to be pulled into my shit, and with me taking over after my father’s death, there would have been a power vacuum. There was always one, meaning my enemies and possibly members of my own family would challenge my rule and the ability to run the family. Tara would have been used as a pawn against me. She would have been a target to make me bend and surrender what was rightfully mine. I couldn’t let that happen. Not to the woman I loved.
So, I did what I thought was best. What I had to do for her. I left, cutting all contact with her the day I found out my father had died. I’d had people to kill, wars to wage. Wars Tara couldn’t be part of. Protecting her from the man I was to become, the man I’d needed to be to control and maintain my birthright, was my priority.
It took years to fight the urge to call her or go to Chicago to claim what was mine. There were still some mornings when I woke up and forced the memories of our time together to the back of my mind so I didn’t ruin the life she had made for herself without me.
She had accomplished everything she wanted in life while I watched from afar, making a name for herself on movie screens and the catwalks of Milan, New York, and Paris. It made me proud and disappointed she’d done it all without me.
Then she disappeared from the spotlight and Chicago for almost a year, only to reappear back in Chicago, where Brian said she was making a life away from the limelight and helping her sister with her restaurant.
I refused to marry or have kids because I couldn’t let her go; I was only meant to have that life with her. So, what was the point?
After meeting Tara, then becoming exclusive, I made up my mind that it would be her and no one else. So, after I left, women became only for me to fuck. I didn’t love them, didn’t care for them. I tolerated them for as long as I could, or at least until I wanted something new.
Wash, rinse, and repeat was my motto.
She’d done well without me.
Pride and heartache warred within me when I thought about her, but I couldn’t help but wonder whether she had an empty space in her chest like me. One that could never be filled no matter who we crossed paths with. I walked toward the black town car, the buzzing of my cell phone pulling me from my thoughts.
I yanked the phone from the inside pocket of my coat. “Cavallaro,” I barked, sliding into the back of the town car out of the rain and wind.
Aurelio closed the door behind me, shutting out the cold and noise of the Chicago streets. I was so ready to get back to Philadelphia. The weather wasn’t much different for this time of the year, but I felt exposed in an enemy’s territory. Constantly looking over my shoulder was getting tired as shit. While a truce was in effect during a time of mourning, I didn’t trust anyone to hold to it if they wanted me dead. All the heads of each family in one place at the same time would be the perfect place to strike any of us.
“Mr. Cavallaro,” a heavily accented female voice I didn’t recognize sounded over the line of my personal cell phone. “My name is Amy Montero, and I’m a journalist forExposé. I would like to ask you some questions.”
I had no fucking clue whatExposéwas or who the hell Amy Montero was, either. And I didn’t care. This was my personal cell phone number and only a select few had access to it. So how in the hell did a reporter get it? I didn’t know, but I would find out. I wasn’t in any mood to deal with any bullshit today. I had a burial to attend, as well as a repast, neither of which I wanted to do.
