Mafia Secret (3 page)

"Who says it's a man? And who says it isn't Jiovanni himself?" The depth of her mother's lies started to work through her. She pressed her hand against her burning stomach.

"You have to get away from him right now."

She shook her head even though her mother couldn't see her. "You lied to me. All these years, and you pretended Peter was my father."

"Sweetie, listen to me, they're dangerous people. I had to lie to keep you safe. You need to stay as far away from Jiovanni as possible."

She almost choked on her outrage. "That shouldn't be a problem since, apparently, he's dead." And with him dead, she'd never have the chance to find out who her father really was.

"Jiovanni's dead?"

Bile rose up her throat. "I need to call you back."

She barely pushed the End Call button before dropping her cell and darting for the bathroom. She threw open the toilet lid and fought the urge to throw-up. Closing her eyes, she focused on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Several minutes passed before she was sure she wouldn't lose control.

Once the danger of completely embarrassing herself ended, she stepped slowly out of the bathroom. Santos stood in the same place she'd left him, his expression showing a hint of worry. Then he looked her over and his face went back to its earlier blank expression.

Her cell rang. She glared down at it and the papers and envelope she'd dropped as well. She ignored the phone but walked over to pick up the printouts and envelope then turned back to Santos. Her cheeks heated as she tried to think of what to say to break her embarrassment.

Beth suddenly banged on the adjoining wall. At least she assumed it was Beth. She walked over and knocked on the wall to say she was still doing fine. Her cell rang. After checking the display and assuring herself it was Beth instead of her mother, she answered it.

"All's good."

"He hasn't left yet. I was getting worried."

"It turns out I was the one he was looking for, but I'm fine."

Beth hesitated. "Just yell if you need anything."

"Thanks, sweetie, I will." She set her cell down on the small coffee table next to the love seat instead of dropping it back onto the carpet.

"Well." She sighed, glancing at the large man in her living room. "Looks like you were correct."

He shrugged, expression still void of emotion. "You might want to read Jiovanni's letter now."

Lessa scrunched her nose before reluctantly walking over to grab the envelope off the papers she'd set next to her phone. Turning the envelope over in her hands, she took a deep breath to bolster her nerves, slid the single piece of paper out and unfolded it.

To my dearest Alessandra,

I know this letter is coming as a shock to you. To first be contacted by the father you have never known and then to learn it is posthumously.

Please, understand I love you and have always loved you. I have observed you and your mother at a distance since you were born to make sure you were well.

Though I know there were struggles, I saw what a fine job your mother did raising you. The fine woman you have become is a testament to your mother's care. I don't know if your mother chose to tell you about me or not. That is the main reason I have broken the silence with this letter. I am asking you to come and meet your family.

Marc Santos will have delivered this letter to you and he will be happy to escort you to my family home. I would like for you to learn of your ancestry and meet your brothers and sister. They will want to meet you. Allow some time for all of you to get to know each other.

This is all I have to ask. I know it's a lot, especially since I'm no longer here, but it is my last wish that my lost daughter be brought into the family. You can trust Marc. He'll protect and take care of you on your visit and answer any questions you have.

I love you, Jiovanni.

Lessa laughed nervously. She was reading a letter written by her father. Her dead father. She tried to visualize someone besides Peter in that role, but couldn't. Blinking back tears, she took a deep breath before setting the letter down on the coffee table.

"He wants me to go with you."

Marc Santos nodded, his expression still devoid of emotion. She'd never met someone who was as hard to read as he was.

"Why?" She had a sudden thought and studied his features more carefully. "Are we related?"

"No," Santos replied with a slight smile. "I work for your family."

"Doing what?"

"Whatever they ask me to."

She narrowed her eyes at his evasiveness. "Like fetching a long-lost daughter."

"Yeah."

Dozens of questions swirled in her head, and she grabbed at the first one. "You came here to take me back with you?"

"Yes, that's what I was sent to do."

"So, I can meet my family. My father's gone." She was having a hard time picturing someone besides Peter when she said the word 'father.' "Who's left to meet?"

"You have three half-brothers and one half-sister, along with other various cousins, aunts, and uncles."

She focused on the idea of honest-to-goodness siblings. "How old are they?"

"Jio's the oldest. He's thirty. Tony's twenty-eight. Clarissa's twenty-five."

Lessa was twenty-five, too. Her expression must have shown her shock.

"You're two months older," Santos commented smoothly. "Edoardo is the youngest at twenty-two."

She couldn't get past the idea of having a sister the same age as she was. The idea was harder to wrap her mind around than having a different man for her father. Or maybe it wasn't, maybe it was just as difficult to comprehend.

"Look, Lessa," Santos said, "I don't want to pressure you, but I'm on a time crunch. I need to get back in time for Jiovanni's funeral, and he wanted me to bring you with me."

She thought about his driver's license. "You want me to go back to— Where exactly are you supposed to take me?"

"Your family lives in Napa Valley, California."

"California? You want me to go to California with you, now?" she asked in amazement.

"Your father wanted it. I'm doing as he asked me to do."

This was all coming too fast. She backed up so she could drop down onto the loveseat. Her legs weren't stable at the moment. "You want me to decide now."

"What do you need me to say to convince you to come?"

"Why do you care if I come?" She looked up at him, wondering why it would be important to him whether she went along or not. He wasn't acting like a messenger, but as if he was personally involved.

"Because it's what Jiovanni wanted."

"He told you he wanted me at his funeral. Was he sick? Did he know he was going to die?"

Santos hesitated and his face tightened a fraction. "He was shot dead."

"He was murdered?" she asked, taken aback.

"Yes," Santos said gently. "Shot twice at one of his clubs. We've yet to find the shooter."

"Shooter? Why would anyone shoot him?" Lessa asked in astonishment. "Was it a robbery?"

"No." Dark eyes held hers. "He was the target."

She almost repeated the word target just as she'd repeated shooter, but held it in, still struggling with the concept of referring to a murder victim as a target. "Why?"

"Jiovanni was a very powerful and wealthy man." He paused. "He's made enemies over the years."

She stared at him trying to read between the lines of what he was saying. She had the distinct impression she was missing something because she didn't have the correct context.

"I was hunt—tracking the person who shot him."

"But you had to come and get me." She followed his unsaid comment and then wondered at it. "Are you a private detective?" She didn't think he was a cop since he'd already told her he worked for Jiovanni.

"No." His lips curved a fraction, but a frown quickly replaced his small smile and a hint of frustration crept into his voice "Jiovanni left instructions for me to fetch you and bring you back to meet your family."

"And take care of me." She recalled what Jiovanni had written. "Why do I need to be taken care of?"

"Some of your family will be surprised and shocked to learn of you."

"Won't they all be surprised?"

"Yes, but a few might not take the news well at first. I'll be there to physically show Jiovanni's support and wishes."

She didn't like the sound of that. "What do you mean?"

"Shit," he cursed, pacing away. "This would be so much easier if you hadn't been kept in the dark all these years." He stepped up to her. "Jiovanni's children will respect his wishes to bring you into the family, but they might act rashly when they first learn of you."

"Rashly? What are they, ten?" She regretted the words as soon as she said them, and took a deep breath to focus on the questions that needed asking. "Are you saying they might hurt me? Why would you need to protect me from them?"

"No, I don't think any of them will hurt you," he said carefully. "But there are other considerations, and you'll be going into an already volatile situation. Your father's competitors don't always play by the rules. So, yes, you'll need some protection as you haven't grown up in our world and don't know how things work."

"Your world?"

She'd met her share of wealthy men and women in her years as a pro cheerleader and had never heard a single one publicly refer to being rich and powerful as "our world." But she'd also seen plenty of bodyguards shadowing many of them. She'd never really considered the reason behind the bodyguards' constant presence.

"If I need to be protected, it would probably be best if I didn't go back with you." Of course, she might need a bodyguard whether she went or not, and the possibility of siblings was hard to ignore. "Perhaps you could take a letter back with you and give it to my…brothers and sister."

"You should come back with me." Santos stepped forward and bent down to her level. "Meet your family. I didn't mean to scare you. Your relatives can be loud and impulsive like most Italians, but they aren't bad people. I won't lie and say they'll be thrilled to see you, and a few might have some harsh words, but I'll make sure nothing happens to you during your visit."

He'd completely glossed over the other reason he'd hinted at for her needing to be protected. "I don't find that very reassuring."

"Lessa, this was your father's last request of me. I know you don't know me, but I take my obligations very seriously. I won't make you come, but I'm asking you to help me honor his request and meet your family. Tell me what to say to convince you to come."

She chewed on her lip in indecision. This was coming at her too fast on top of everything else she'd had to deal with today. Sharon's suggestion of taking a vacation popped into her head. The draw of having siblings beckoned to her. It had been she and her mother for most of her life, and although being a part of a cheerleading squad guaranteed plenty of surrogate sisters, she'd always envied those who had a large family. She considered the idea of a true sister almost her exact same age.

And possibly the biggest item running through her mind - could she ignore a last request from her…father? "What would this trip entail?"

"Attend his funeral and meet your siblings. Visit for a while. Get to know your family."

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to think clearly, but it was getting more and more difficult as each minute passed. Opening her eyes, she focused on what he had told her. "The idea of needing a bodyguard to protect me against enemies of my father and possibly my half siblings is daunting."

Santos smiled. "You won't have anything to worry about. Just get to know your brothers and sister, and I'll take care of everything else."

His confident smile annoyed her. "I haven't said I was going."

"I know."

S
he had agreed to come. Marc stood alone in her living room as she had run upstairs a moment ago to pack her bag. He'd suggested the sooner they left the better. If they red-eyed it back to Napa, she'd have a full day to acclimate before the funeral. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, his spirits lifting now that he'd convinced her to come. He needed to call the pilot in and let him know to get the plane ready. The phone rang once, twice.

"Hello," Bob Kaplin said.

"I'm done." Marc informed him. "Get the plane ready."

"Uh," Bob said nervously.

"What?"

"I'm at a pub. I just had a couple of beers."

"Drink a cup of coffee."

"I can't fly for another eight hours," Bob explained. "FAA regulations. The Bottle to Throttle rule."

Marc clenched his teeth and flicked his wrist to glance at the digital display on his watch. It was just past
eight p.m.
The pilot wouldn't be able to fly until four in the morning. He was about to order Bob to be ready then, but hesitated. Outwardly, Lessa appeared pretty calm now, but he had a hunch she was holding a lot in.