Page 8 of The Red Queen

Chapter Four

As much as Giovanni wanted to go to bed and sleep for the next twenty-four hours, too much business needed his attention. Taking on a new project hadn’t been on his list of things to do when he’d flown to Miami to connect with Raina and her mobster fiancé.

He exited the wine cellar, making his way back upstairs. The basement was originally built as a prison in the late Renaissance, but his ancestors had converted it into a wine cellar.

Rumour had it, his great grandfather was the one to build the room where Desi was currently residing. He’d created it for a similar purpose to Giovanni’s. He’d fallen in love with a village girl who had eyes only for a local lad. She’d deemed the late Signore Savino too old and staid for her tastes. He’d had her kidnapped and brought to his cellar, where he’d closeted her away until she’d given in and finally loved him back. They’d eventually married and had several children.

Of course, Giovanni wasn’t interested in the kind of success his great-grandfather had found with his captive. Giovanni had loved and lost already and neither expected nor wanted more from that quarter. Love was for fools, and his foolish days had passed.

Regardless, he would still marry the woman once he’d assured her allegiance, and then he’d work on creating another heir. One much less disappointing than his current progeny.

Mrs. Capelli met him as he crossed the hall to his study. A dour woman, dressed in all black, mourning her husband, dead for so long now that Giovanni was hard-pressed to remember the man’s name or what he had looked like. She’d been Giovanni’s wife’s close companion, and he hadn’t the heart to send her away, though he had very little use for her and found her presence oppressive.

“Signore?” Her tone was tentative, but he knew better.

“Si, what is it, Capelli?” He supposed she had a first name, but he no longer remembered it. She preferred the formality of Mrs. Capelli, and he didn’t care enough to find out what her given name was.

“How was your time spent in Miami, Signore?”

He had to shove his annoyance into the dark recesses of his mind. He despised small talk on a good day, and Mrs. Capelli rarely spoke without an ulterior motive.

“It was fine,” he said shortly. “Is there something you want?”

She looked offended but took advantage of his candor. “Will the young lady in the cellar be staying long with us?”

Her look was disdainful, making clear her thoughts on Desi’s presence.

“She will be with us indefinitely, so you’d better get used to having her around.”

Again, she looked offended, but with an edge of pissed-off that he found mildly satisfying.

Though Mrs. Capelli had no interest in him as a man and he for damn sure had no interest in her, she got territorial when other women entered the house. She’d been cold and taciturn when Raina had visited. He wondered how she would act when Desi was ready to move out of the basement and into the main part of the house. He wasn’t worried, Desi could hold her own. Perhaps he should be more worried about what Desi would do to his housekeeper.

“Stay away from her for now,” he said, then added, “For your own safety. She’s unpredictable and in her current state, quite feral.”

Mrs. Capelli looked taken aback, covering her throat with her hand.

“Is there anything else?” he asked impatiently.

She shook her head. “No, Signore. Your evening meal will be on the table at the regular time.”

He thought about telling her he’d prefer a tray brought to his study, but she walked swiftly away. She was the one to impose mealtimes, saying it was unfair to expect the kitchen staff to create gourmet meals at all times of day. He personally didn’t care when he ate. He would eat a meal from the freezer if it came down to it, but this had been his habit for a long time.

His thoughts drifted back to Desi and anticipation rose in his chest. He had an urge to check on her, though he’d just left her. Perhaps she would be the change his home needed.

He settled down behind his desk and, ignoring the pile of correspondence addressed to him, lifted the phone, and dialed his personal physician, Dr. Danilo. The conversation was brief. He outlined Desi’s condition and secured the doctor’s services for that afternoon. The man had been with Giovanni for decades. He was dependable and discreet. Giovanni had no worries that he would take good care of Desi.

He replaced the receiver and pulled the pile of letters and notes back toward him. There was no point in putting it off. Though his people could work independently, they relied on his judgment and guidance. He was a man who liked to have his finger on the pulse of his own organization.

He was the head of the Savino mafia family. No one spoke or acted in his stead, least of all his fuck-up of a son. Rage still engulfed him when he thought of Antonio targeting Raina when she was holed up in Venice.

It wasn’t his targeting of an innocent woman that Giovanni despised. Giovanni was no saint. He’d done the same and worse in his long and bloody career. No, it was the way Antonio went about things.

Raina was a career forger, which meant she worked in the underworld. There were rules surrounding exchanges with people like her. A certain kind of honour system. A forger would fulfill their contract, creating the necessary documents. Once the forgeries passed hands, the forger would forget the work and the client. Bad forgers didn’t make it long in the business, but Raina was professional through and through. On the other side of the exchange was a tacit agreement that the person asking for forgeries did not harm their forger. Beforeorafter the documents passed hands.

When Antonio had gone after Raina, he’d damaged the Savino name in an underworld where Giovanni was elite. It hadn’t been the first time. The boy had proven himself uncontrolled, unfocused, and dangerous, while the disapproving eyes of the Cosa Nostra were on him. He was heading toward a crash, and Giovanni was helpless to stop it.

Giovanni would have to do something. The time for burying himself in his work and ignoring the antics of his son was over. He needed to bring his house in order.

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