Page 4 of Worth the Risk

Chapter 2

ISABELLA ROSE TO HERfeet, her knees shaking, never once taking her gaze from the pistol aimed at her chest. Lorenzo Giordano was a dangerous man, capable of violence, and, from the stories she’d heard, committed, or at least ordered it, routinely. But would he actually shoot her in cold blood, after proclaiming to the world she was his daughter for nearly three decades?

She wasn’t in any position to make demands, and it wouldn’t help her situation to provoke him, but she had questions and didn’t hold back.

“What did you do? Forge my birth certificate?”

“It wasn’t forged but corrected. By signing, the listed father takes legal responsibility. I was out of town on business when you were born, and your mother—” He shook his head, and muttered, “What a mess she caused. Getting the records put to rights after the fact required a lot of greased palms, I can tell you that.”

“Did you ever plan to tell me the truth about who I really am?” she asked, curious but also stalling so she could figure a way out of this alive.

“No. There was no point in stirring up old ghosts.”

“It’s the reason you were always so distant. I’m not your daughter.”

“Your mother wanted me to play the part.” He shrugged. “So, I went along with it. Believe me, treating Marcus Pietro’s bastard like she was my own wasn’t easy, but it served its purpose.”

“Which was what?”

“Gaining wealth and power. Is there any other goal in life worth achieving?”

His unapologetic avarice sent a chill down her spine. “I can think of several—love and happiness, for example.”

“Love makes you weak,” he scoffed.

Isabella looked down at the damning paper in her hand. “Why did you keep the proof? And all the letters?”

He shrugged, frowning, as though puzzled over his reasoning, too.

“How did you end up married to my mother?”

He stared at her for a moment. “I suppose it won’t hurt to fill you in. It’s not as if you’ll be sharing it with anyone.”

Isabella didn’t have to be a genius to read between those lines. Dead women don’t talk.

“There used to be three Cosa Nostra families in New Jersey. The Pietros rose to power long ago, during prohibition. They held the position of the first family for years. The Contis, your mother’s clan, and the Giordanos were comparable in size and wealth, but if Marcus and Maria married, the pendulum of power would have shifted, effectively pushing my family out.”

“Oh my god! You killed him,” she accused. “Then took his place, swinging the pendulum in your direction.”

“Hm, that was quick. Maybe I underestimated your intelligence, like I did with your mother’s. But, now that she’s gone and no longer has me by the short hairs with the ever-present threat of disclosing the truth hanging over my head, there’s no reason to keep up the charade.” He cocked the pistol. “You can just disappear. If anyone questions your whereabouts, I’ll tell them living in the house with so many memories of your mother was unbearable, and you had to leave to escape the grief and pain. You don’t have many friends, and no one in the family likes you, so they probably won’t bother to ask.”

She flinched. His words stung like a slap to the face. These people were supposed to be her family. But he wasn’t wrong.

“I’ll go to the Pietros’ boss and tell them how you schemed to take over. Worse, how you murdered his uncle to do so,” he went on.

“And launch a bloody mafia war in the process? How many innocents would die? But that’s neither here nor there because you’ll be dead.”

While telling his story, his hand had dipped under the weight of the gun. Now, he brought it up again, aiming point-blank at her chest.

“Did you ever love my mother?” she blurted out, frantically seeking a delay.

He blinked. “I cared for Maria very much.”

“But how could she marry you after you killed my real father?”

“Your mother was loyal and understood her duty to family. Besides, I didn’t kill Marcus.”

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