Page 16 of The Red Queen

“Where are you from, Desiree?” Antonio asked. He was sitting across from her, his sharp eyes on her face.

Though she tried not to, she glanced at Giovanni before answering. The older man sat in his chair at the head of the table, his gaze hooded, his body deceptively relaxed. His gun had gone back into its holster, but she was sure he could have it out again in a matter of seconds.

“San Ignacio de Piaxtla, Sinaloa, Mexico.” She deliberately threw out the town of her birth, knowing that Antonio couldn’t possibly know anything about it. Judging by his expression, she was correct.

“Desiree has a mother still living there,” Giovanni added, his words for Antonio, but his eyes on Desi’s face, looking for a reaction. “But she hasn’t seen her in years.”

“How do you know that?” Desi demanded sharply, then could have bitten her tongue. Of course he knew about her. He’d taken her from Mateo, from a certain death. He would want to know about his new slave before introducing her to his home.

Then it hit her. Maybe she wasn’t the first. Had he had other slaves? She would have to find out. Especially the fate of any other women who’d lived under his roof.

“I find you interesting, my dear,” Giovanni told her.

“Not many people know of my origins.”

“I’m not many people.”

No, he certainly was not.

In the world they inhabited, the underworld, revenge was rife. Desi had attacked the Venezuelan mob boss, Sotza, The Butcher, on orders from Nico. Then, after Nico was killed, she concocted her own revenge plan, attacking Mateo and blowing up his mansion. Giovanni had been inside at the time. He should be furious, want to see her dead. Yet, he acted opposite of everything she would expect. He piqued her curiosity.

“So, you dug my future stepmother out of some Mexican hovel,” Antonio snorted, drawing their attention back to him. “A real step up frommi madre.”

Desi opened her mouth to tell him she must be a step up if his mother taught him his manners, but Giovanni startled her by surging from his seat, knocking over his glass of wine. He flew from his chair and leapt at his son, gripping him by the collar, picking him up from his chair and throwing him into the wall behind him. The wall shuddered with the impact and before Antonio could recover, Giovanni buried his fist in his son’s stomach.

Frozen, Desi watched, her mouth gaping.

How could a father and son act so terribly towards each other? She’d never seen it before. She didn’t think they were actually fighting over her, but rather the way Antonio spoke to Giovanni. Disrespectful and purposely causing offense.

Antonio swung his fist blindly at Giovanni, but his father easily countered the move and landed another punch, dropping Antonio to the floor.

Desi watched with interest, sipping her wine. It was delicious. Rich, flavourful, with a hint of cherry.

Giovanni spat on his son and snarled, “You will not speak of Desiree this way, nor will you speak of your mother again. She died of shame, and you are the cause.”

From his position on the floor, Antonio twisted to look up at his father, his face red with pain and anger. “She died of a broken heart,pezzo di merda.” He picked himself up and lurched away from his father. “You killed her the day you married her.”

“Perhaps,” Giovanni said, seeming to collect himself once more, straightening his collar and rolling his shoulders back. “But it was you who left this family to party your trust fund away as she lay dying. If she died of a broken heart, I am not the only one responsible.”

A flash of guilt crossed Antonio’s face, which he quickly shuttered. “I have to live with that every day,” he said heatedly. “While you have to live with the destruction of your family.”

Giovanni shook his head in disgust. “I didn’t destroy this family. It’s time for you to grow up and stop blaming me for your every frustration.”

Antonio looked as though he would say something else, but he held it in. His gaze lingered momentarily on Desi before he turned to stalk from the room, slamming the front door hard enough that they felt it in the dining room.

Giovanni took his seat again while Mrs. Capelli whisked Antonio’s salad plate away.

He straightened the sleeves of his dress shirt, then his tie. Once more the calm and collected Italian Godfather, he turned his attention to Desi. “I trust you will forgive us for what you witnessed. We shouldn’t have played out our family drama in front of you.”

Desi nodded. “An old argument?”

Giovanni let a small sigh escape his lips. “One of many.”

Desi remained silent, but she was curious. Luckily, Giovanni seemed in the mood to share.

“He wants to take over the family business, but I refuse to give him the responsibility he craves. He’s angry and impetuous. If I allowed him any amount of power, he would quickly lose it and get himself killed.”

She sipped her wine and pondered what he’d told her before asking, “He blames you for his mother’s death?”

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