Page 4 of Checkmate

I scoff. “I highly doubt my father would care if a hit was placed on me.”

I can feel Matteo’s eyes on me. He might not have said hit, but he implied it when he said moves. I just spoke the truth. "Vivianna,” he says, his voice stern.

Shrugging, I turn back to face him. “Matteo.” I hold his eyes, daring him to challenge me, to tell me I’m wrong because we both know I’m right. After a few silent moments, he looks down, breaking eye contact, admitting defeat. I smile to myself. “See, no point in sugar coating the shit my dad gets us into.”

“Your father tries to protect you.”

A harsh laugh fills the quiet car. “Yeah, want to ask my mama and Leo about that?” I ask him, as I turn to meet his eyes again. I’m not sure what he sees in mine, but whatever it is, he backs off.

We make our way through the familiar streets of Vegas, and I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a sense of homesickness that weaves its way into my body. I hate that this city that I once called home is so tainted for me now. All too soon we turn down the street that leads to the house hidden behind iron gates, trees, and endless security detail. Nerves ignite within the pit of my stomach.

“For what it’s worth, Vivianna, it’s good to have you back home,” Matteo says, as the tall, almost overpowering, iron gates with the large, intricate Gworked into the bars on either gate appear. Matteo may think it’s good I’m back, but I think he’s alone in that matter. I take a deep breath and try to prepare myself to come face to face with the devil himself, my father.

Five

Vivianna

I took a deep breath as we drove down the paved road leading up to the circle drive of the house I had once called home. Up ahead, I saw the three-tier water fountain sitting in the middle of the circle portion of the driveway surrounded by blood red roses. The house sat just beyond it, looming over me, reminding me that no matter where I went, I would always be owned by the Giordano name, no matter what I tried to do.

The house hadn’t changed a bit. I’m sure my father had hired someone to keep the rock clean, but other than that, it was just how I remembered. The massive two-story house was created using a rock outside, giving it a true Italian vibe. The wood was all dark and rich on the front door. The contrast of both earthy and rich was very welcoming. The house was larger than anything that, even when my family was whole, would ever need. It was too large. The main floor consisted of a large kitchen, formal dining room, formal living room, a sitting area with a grand piano, and powder room. The upstairs housed six master bedrooms, all equipped with their own full bathrooms and walk-in closets as well as a guest bathroom on that floor, a library, my father’s office, and a space that we often used as kids to play and later watch TV with friends. The basement was completely done with a home theater, gym, sauna, and lounge.

Getting out of the car, I followed behind Matteo as we walked up to the front door. I didn’t have to look to know that there are men positioned all over the grounds right now watching us. Matteo opened the front door, ushering me inside as well as the two gentlemen behind me with my luggage, before turning toward the security system and punching in the code to keep it quiet. Entering this house after so long made me feel out of place. The dark hardwood floors shined just like I remember. I had almost forgotten how breathtaking the view was from the house. The back of the house was floor to ceiling glass windows allowing you to see out onto the porch and beyond into the spacious backyard that housed a beautiful garden and pool, as well as tennis courts farther out. However, this view was nothing compared to when nightfall arrived and the Vegas lights took over the view.

I looked to the side to see the same rich brown leather furniture sitting in the seating area surrounding the grand piano. The French doors are closed to the formal living room, but I can still catch a glimpse of my mother’s design in there. My father loved the dark and rich colors, but my mother loved all things clean, crisp, and white. The living room she designed has a large white sectional with white and gray throw pillows covering it. A plush gray rug would be sitting in the middle of the room with a large glass coffee table on it. Two large crystal chandeliers hang directly above that. The only thing hanging on a wall inside the room was the large mirror that the sunlight would dance off of. Aside from my parents’ bedroom, this was the one place that truly felt like my mother. I was glad to see that my father hadn’t changed it.

“I assume I’ll be staying in my old room,” I state, as I turn around and face Matteo.

He smiles at me. “Yes, of course. Is it safe to assume that you still remember how to get there?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, of course.” I reach for my bags, but Matteo shakes his head. I sigh and stomp off toward the grand spiral staircase and head upstairs to my bedroom. The moment I step into the bedroom, it’s like I’m going back in time. Everything is just how I left it. Once this was me, but not now. The king size, four poster, canopy bed sits in the middle of the room, slightly elevated from the rest of the room. The white satin bedding and sheer drapes hanging from the posters of the bed are a bright contrast to the black furniture of my room. There are pops of red here and there since it is my favorite color. The gentlemen enter my room, dropping my luggage off just inside the bedroom door. When they pull the door shut, it echoes in the quiet of the large space.

I didn’t realize I was tired until now. I sag in some form of relief and walk over to the black couch sitting along the wall in the sitting section of my room. I toss the white and red pillows into the floor before removing my leather jacket and lying back. The stress, nerves, and jet lag of the past few days comes crashing down on me at once and suddenly my eyelids feel incredibly heavy.

A few hours later I sit up on the couch, wide awake, my heart in my throat. I had been dreaming, but I can’t seem to remember about what. Frustrated, I scrub my hands over my face and look out the window behind me to see the sun already setting. Shit, I hadn’t meant to sleep that long or at all really. I stand up and stretch out my now stiff muscles. I find the light switch on the wall by the door before grabbing my luggage and moving it to the walk-in closet. I hang everything up, keeping out the red sleek maxi dress that is a favorite of mine to change into.

Once everything is hung up or stashed away in the dresser, I head into my bathroom. I change and release my hair from the ponytail before touching up my makeup. I hear a knock on the door. I’m not surprised to find Matteo standing on the other side when I open it. For a moment, he just stares at me. His eyes roam up and down my body before finally finding his voice. “Your father is home and would like to have dinner with you in the dining room.”

“Of course, he would. You can let him know I’ll be down in a bit,” I tell him, before shutting the door. I didn’t miss the way Matteo’s eyes flashed wide. No one told my father to wait, but I just had. After picking up my travel clothes and dropping them in the hamper to be washed, I grab my phone and head out of my bedroom to face the man I had hoped I’d never have to see in the flesh again.

I hear a commotion of voices as I reach the top of the stairs. For a moment, I try to listen but there are too many conversations happening at once and none of it makes sense. As I start to descend the stairs, I notice as eyes fall on me, but I don’t let it affect me. I’m used to being looked at in this world. I’m the Giordano mob princess, something to be seen, so of course, they look. It isn’t until I reach the last five stairs that my eyes meet with another set. A set of unusually dark blue. They remind me of the ocean on a stormy day. His hair is sandy blonde and cut short and styled, so he has spikes. His jawline looks strong underneath the neatly trimmed beard covering his face. Of course, his overly expensive suit fits him like a glove, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say that it made my mouth water. A nicely dressed man was a weakness of mine. Maybe the world I had grown up in had created that weakness, but it was there regardless. I held his eyes until I reached the first floor. I didn’t know this strange man, but by the looks of him, he wasn’t full blooded Italian, and he was a pretty new recruit. One that had to show up after I left which made me suspicious. Then again, everything made me suspicious. Any man in this room could have killed Leo.

“Vivianna.” It’s a simple word. My name. The name he allowed my mother to give me because of her love for unique names. He had let it be well known throughout the years that if he’d had it his way, my name would have been Rosalyn. Thankfully, it wasn’t. I was pretty fond of the uniqueness Vivianna had to it.

I took a deep breath before turning to my right and seeing my father standing there, staring at me as if I was a ghost. Just like the house, not much had changed with him except that he had more silver running through his hair and possibly a few wrinkles present around his eyes. He stood near the sitting area with a glass of bourbon in his hand. He looked as commanding as ever. I held his eyes with my own, my chin held high, and shoulders straight, and for a brief moment, I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. But that thought didn’t last long because I was sure it was disappointment. “Father,” was my only reply.

Six

Luca

I head down to the parking garage owned by my building. I make sure that my dark sunglasses and baseball cap cover most of my appearance, along with the well-worn jeans and flannel button-up shirt and black hiking boots. I stop beside my all-black Bugatti Veyron to place the phone that the Giordano’s use under the seat before locking it up. I don’t want anyone to GPS my phone and find me in the wrong place with the wrong person. Scanning the garage to make sure it’s empty, I jog over to the old Ford truck that I inherited from my grandpa when I graduated high school.

My grandpa was a hard-working farmer who took pride in his work, but always wanted more for me. Growing up, I had wanted to be just like him, but then I realized how hard it was financially to keep a farm like his going. So, I joined the police academy right after graduation and when I saw online that the Las Vegas Police Department was hiring, I had applied and got the job. I had been cocky at first, but I’ve learned over time that you earn respect within the force, it’s not passed out like candy.

As I climb behind the steering wheel, the lingering scents of mint and tobacco fill the cab. It smells just like my grandpa. I do one scan of the area before backing out and heading out of the garage. I weave in and out of traffic and even run a couple of yellow lights just to be sure that if I’m being followed, they can’t keep up. Finally, I reach the outskirts of town where the desert really starts to show up. I turn down the dirt road and head out to the abandoned warehouses and park around back at the first one. I get out, tucking my gun into the back waistband of my jeans. I scan the area and listen for anything out of the ordinary, but it’s mostly silent except for the birds in the sky.

I walk to the third building and bang on the door before entering. My hand instantly rests on my gun as I walk through the dark and deserted warehouse. Finally, Ratliff appears in front of me. Charles Ratliff is nearing his retirement age with the force. He’s well respected and smart as a whip and for his age, he is a brick house! He’s seriously built with broad shoulders and bulging muscles. His graying hair is cut short to his head and his dark eyes match the color of his skin. “I was starting to get worried, kid,” he comments.

I sigh and bring my hand back around while my body relaxes. “You can never be too safe.”

---