Page 21 of Sins of the Son

Our argument quickly forgotten, I exchanged a knowing look with my father. We all had doubts about my brother’s new wife’s pregnancy. It wasn’t just the fact that he somehow got her pregnant after a drunken night he could not recall; it was the fact that she was barely showing after six months. It didn’t help that she refused to allow Enzo to join her on any doctor’s visits, or even tell him the name of the mysterious doctor in Rome she insisted on visiting. Until now, he had allowed her to get away with it to keep the peace, but after the bullshit she caused with Dante Abruzzo, not to mention trying to frame my father by claiming he attacked her, Enzo had finally had enough.

I waited while my brother poured himself a cup of coffee and took a long sip before asking, “So, how did that go over?”

He winced. “About as well as you'd imagine.”

Papà put the cap back on the thermos and tucked it into the saddlebag. “Is this going to become a problem?”

Enzo nodded without looking up. “Probably.”

Clapping us both on the shoulders, Papà said, “Then we’ll deal with it like we always do.”

I raised an eyebrow. “With guns, money, and a disgusting amount of arrogance.”

Papà grinned. “Precisely.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“But first we need to get these grapes in and processed.” Enzo looked up at the rising sun. “The laborers will be here soon.”

Papà returned to his saddlebag and pulled out a map of the property. He unfolded it and pointed. “We cleared the fields to the west yesterday, but we really need to get to the ones to the south today.”

I listened with only half an ear.

My thoughts on Milana.

Who brought the fear to your eyes, and I swear to God, I’ll see to it they never take another breath.

It’s you.

A normal man would recognize defeat and let her go.

But I was a Cavalieri. I had the money, power, and resources to force her to stay by my side until I could convince her we were meant to be. That whatever I had done, it was in the past.

And that was just what I planned to do.

CHAPTER 8

MILANA

I pasted a smile on my face and approached Amara. She had a clipboard in her hand and was busy checking in a busload of American tourists. For some strange reason, Americans actually paid the winery for the pleasure of helping harvest the grapes, as opposed to the other way around. Something about experiential tourism.

The moment she saw me, she handed me a second clipboard. “I’m so glad you’re here. Can you help me—” Whatever she was going to say was cut off the moment she noticed the hulking man behind me.

Her gaze flicked from me to him and back again.

I broadened my smile, showing more teeth than any sane person would as I widened my eyes. In a strained voice, I said, slightly louder than necessary, “Of course, I’ll help you. What do you need?”

Catching my silent distress signal, she kept her gaze on me. “I need you to have each person sign out a pair of gloves and clippers.”

I held up the clipboard, continuing to play out our strange pantomime. “Where should they sign?”

Amara gave me a tight-lipped smile before clearing her throat. “Let me show you.”

She stepped close, her shoulder touching mine. Our heads bowed over the clipboard as she whispered, “Who the hell is that and what is going on?” before saying loudly, “Have them sign on this line here.”

“Can’t talk here. Wait for my signal,” I whispered back and then tossed over my shoulder, “Sounds good.”

For the next hour, Amara and I worked side by side, checking in three busloads of tourists who had come to the Abruzzo region for an authentic winery experience. Usually during the harvest, we were stuck in the village, with Amara working in the souvenir shop and me working the counter at Sal’s leather goods shop. We had often wondered what it would be like to be a part of the real action up on the mountain at the winery.

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