Page 50 of A Valentino Reunion

“If you want to keep your nose out of this, Romeo, I suggest you go back to the estate,” I tell my brother. He does his best not to get mixed up in family business these days. Well, not the dirty work anyway. Backhanded deals are more his thing. Politicians are the most corrupt of us all.

“They shot at my daughter, Theo. I’m not sitting this one out,” he says.

I think back to when Romeo found the fucker who attacked Livvy back when they were in college. That ended up with a missing body and Romeo behind bars for a few months. “Okay, but just so you know, I’ve got this. You don’t have to come along,” I remind him.

I might choose this lifestyle, thrive in it really. But I know the costs, and I will never force that on any of my brothers or nephews or even my own fucking son—who, at this stage in his life, is dead set on following in my footsteps. I think Maddie has tried everything in her power to get him to choose a different path for himself. Nothing has deterred him. I haven’t let him take the oath yet. Though I do think it’s about time the next generation steps up.

By the time we were their age, we were already made men. Don’t get me wrong, Lorenzo, Enzo, and Alessandro are all ready to swear their loyalty. It’s us parents who have been holding them back. Their hands are already covered in blood. It’s a dangerous thing to be a Valentino in this world. If you don’t fight, you will get taken out. It’s that simple.

We’ve done our best to make sure our children have the skills it takes to survive with the name they were given at birth. As my wife likes to remind me, you can’t protect them all the time. I want to tell her that she’s full of shit, but unfortunately she’s not. Look at what happened today? I’d hate to think how that would have ended up if Romeo hadn’t seen the car coming.

If he didn’t react quickly enough…

We’re fortunate in our family. Sure, we’ve suffered plenty of deaths within the ranks of the organization, but we’ve yet to bury a blood relative. Which is unusual to say the least. Pops says it’s because we’re smarter than the others. We think before we act, never go into anything without a strategy. Which is why, right now, we’re headed to the home of a Donatello capo to formulate a foolproof plan on how we’re going to take every fucking last one of these assholes out. They might not have been targeting my family, but they put them in harm’s way, and that in itself deserves a consequence.

Unfortunately for the Gobbis, it won’t be the kind you can come back from.

ChapterTwenty-Five

“What’s happened? Where did the boys go? And why the bloody hell did you let them go off on their own?” I yell at my husband.

T’s lips tip up at one side ever so slightly. “Dolcezza, first of all, they’re not boys. Haven’t been for a long time now. They’re grown-ass men who don’t need their father to hold their hands anymore. And, second, why are you yelling?”

“I’m yelling because all of my sons are off doing God knows what, T. When they’re all gone together, something is wrong. What happened?” I ask, my voice rising even louder.

“Nonna, are you okay?” Dante walks out onto the back patio, where I just found T and Neo sitting around having a freaking whiskey tea party, while my sons are off doing something that will likely cause one of them to get injured. Or worse…

“Oh, I’m fine, Dante. Sorry. Your grandfather is just being an ass,” I tell my grandson.

“Where’d my dad go?” he questions us.

“Out,” T and Neo say at the same time.

Dante—who is the spitting image of Romeo at this age and, well, I guess Luca too, considering Romeo and Luca are identical twins—looks to me. “I’m sure, whatever they’re doing, they are fine, Nonna. I’ll make you tea,” he says and disappears into the house.

He is such a sweet soul, that child.

“See? Now you have the kids worried.” I scowl at T.

“No, I think that was your yelling, dolcezza. Trust me, the boys are fine,” he says.

“If they’re fine, then how about one of you tell me what they’re doing?” I look from T to Neo. Neither of them opens their mouths to talk.

“Oh, we were shot at while eating gelato. Dad is looking for whoever shot at us,” Tilly says from behind me.

I spin around. “You were shot at?” I ask, running my eyes up and down her body. There are a few scratches on her arms. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. Dad knocked me to the ground. It happened really fast,” she says.

“What do you mean you were shot at?” Dante turns to his sister, appearing in the doorway with a mug in his hands.

“It’s fine. We didn’t get hit,” Tilly says.

“Here, Nonna.” Dante hands me a cup of English breakfast tea.

“Grazi.” I thank him and take the mug. “Does your mother know?” I ask Tilly.

“No, I’m avoiding bringing it up until Dad gets home,” she says.

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