Page 29 of The Red Queen

She flung herself back onto the bed, her hair fanning out around her head and enjoyed the basic pleasure of a gorgeous plush comforter to cushion her fall.

Chapter Thirteen

“Tell me about this woman.”

Giovanni’s mind flashed to Desi upstairs, alone in her room. Waiting for him? Maybe. He hoped so. The day had been taken up in meetings and he hadn’t had time to check on her.

“What about her?” he asked, drawing on his cigar.

Tommaso, or Tomas, as his friends called him, was from an older generation, and when the two men were together, Giovanni respected the other man by providing familiarity and comfort. He presented cigars, beverage, leather chairs and a fire while they talked business.

Tomas was his consigliere. The man closest to him. The only person in the Savino organization who could, and occasionally would, argue with the boss. Tomas was eighty-four, had no family and had worked for the Savino family since he was a thirteen-year-old boy living and working on the streets.

Giovanni respected Tomas and valued the other man’s opinion, as Giovanni’s father had when he’d elevated the man to consigliere.

“I’ve heard she’s Mexican?” Tomas asked, puffing on his cigar. In his other hand, he clutched a crystal glass filled with brandy. “Mrs. Capelli tells me she is a captive, yet Antonio has spread the word that she is to be your wife.”

Giovanni smiled grimly. “There are some flapping tongues coming from my household.”

“At least there is something coming from your household. You’ve been too quiet for too many years. Since the death of Antonia. You’ve mourned for too long; I’m pleased that you finally show interest in another.”

Only the consigliere could get away with mentioning Giovanni’s dead wife.

“I don’t mourn. I blame myself,” he admitted.

“She died of cancer, correct? How do you blame yourself for this?” Tomas took a healthy drink of his brandy, his hand shaking slightly.

Giovanni wondered when the last time was that the man saw a physician. Perhaps he should send his personal doctor around to check up on him. It would be a significant loss to his organization, and him personally, if Tomas were to pass.

Giovanni rubbed his hand over his face. It had been a long week between getting Desi settled in, chasing after Antonio, and checking in with his underboss and capos. Tomas was his final meeting of the week. Giovanni had left it until last because he wanted to have a good handle on the organization before meeting with the man whose job it was to give him advice and to see things from another perspective. Plus, he truly enjoyed Tomas’s company. Having a drink and a smoke with the older man ended a hectic week on a high note.

It would end on an even better note if he found his way into Desi’s bed at the end of the evening. The taste he’d had in his car was just that. A taste. He wanted so much more. He suspected she would become a dark addiction for him.

Giovanni focused his mind back on Tomas’s question. How could he blame himself for Antonia’s death? Easy.

“She died from a broken heart.” They were the same words Antonio had hurled at him. “She couldn’t stand my lifestyle, actively fought against it, and I ignored her concerns. I ran roughshod over her wants and desires. By the time she got her cancer diagnosis she was so broken down, she couldn’t fight.”

Tomas shook his head. “She was born into the life. She knew what she was getting into. It was her weakness that dragged you down, not the other way around.”

“Antonia was my wife,” Giovanni said sharply. “I was as responsible for her as I am for the Savino organization. We will speak of her with respect.”

Tomas stared at him steadily, refusing to back down. It was an old argument, though not one they had often. It required speaking of Giovanni’s feelings, which wasn’t something he did.

Tomas believed Antonia had been weak, that she’d willed herself to die to escape the life she could never reconcile herself to, despite being born into the mob. Her mood was always up and down, either anxious or sad. She’d tried to kill herself on two occasions and suffered from bouts of prolonged illness that had never been adequately diagnosed.

Tomas also believed Antonio carried his mother’s weakness in his blood. Not her physical weakness, but her wild mood swings and her inability to settle into a happy life. Antonio wanted more, he always wanted more. He was never satisfied.

Giovanni didn’t know if his son had inherited his mother’s genes, but he disliked the way Tomas spoke of her. Antonia had needed help and due to lack of information and the need to portray strength, Giovanni hadn’t gotten her what she needed. She’d died a lonely, broken woman and he would forever regret his part in her death.

Which was why he’d chosen Desi as his next wife. She was strong, and she was a fighter. She would stand with him, protect him and his holdings and give as good as she got. Or she would once he trained her.

She was already starting to surrender to the idea, though he was suspicious. He didn’t believe she would or could switch loyalties so easily. He would know once he’d observed her in the house for a few days.

“My apologies,” Tomas said easily, ashing his cigar. “I mean no offence toward either you or Antonia’s memory. I’m no good where women are concerned. Probably why I never married.”

Giovanni nodded his forgiveness. He suspected Tomas had never married because he was gay, something he would’ve spent a lifetime either hiding or denying to himself. Homosexuality was not accepted among their mafia circles, though things were changing. Times were changing. For the better, in Giovanni’s opinion. He never understood why a man like Tomas, a decent man, intelligent and firm in his convictions, couldn’t be happy with a partner of his choosing.

It wasn’t something they’d ever discussed, nor would they. Tomas liked his private life to stay private. So did Giovanni, but he didn’t get that luxury. Not when an entire organization depended on what was going on behind the closed doors of his home.

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