Page 58 of Redemption
There are no markings on any of the doors, but I choose the one that I know houses his secretary—a dragon of a woman who can withstand his sharp edges. In truth, I don’t like to speak to her, but it always prepares me for what stands on the other side of the door—the real dragon.
As soon as I step inside the reception space with its white walls and molding trimmed in gold leaf, Rosalina rises. “You do not have an appointment today. Your father is not expecting you.”
“Is he busy?” I ask her, my tone civil.
“Your father is a very important man. He is always busy.”
“I would not have come without warning unless it was imperative I see him immediately.”
“I shall see if he can accommodate your unscheduled request.”
It takes a lifetime of practiced self-control not to retort with a sharp remark, but I have learned that fighting fire with fire only results in burning everything down.
“Thank you,” I say instead, wondering for the hundredth time if she is protective of him due to his status or because she has some claim on him to which I am not privy.
Regardless, it matters not. Not today. Today is a day of celebration for the entire Giordano family.
After a hushed conversation over the telephone, Rosalina dips her chin in my direction. “Signor Giordano will see you now. Please keep in mind he has an appointment for dinner, for which he will not thank you for making him late if you take too much of his time.”
With a smile, I release a pent-up breath, accompanied by an audible sigh. “I shall do my best not to upset anyone’s plans, Rosalina, but I make no promises.”
Her brows dive together, accentuating the two vertical lines between them. I have never seen her smile, but that is the least of my worries today.
I stride around her, and when my hand lands on the heavy brass handle, I pause and take a long, slow, deep breath.
Before she can chasten me for wasting time, I depress the door handle and step inside my father’s inner sanctum.
The marble floor is covered by a priceless oriental carpet, stood upon by antique furniture from Italian and French nobility. Heavy mahogany bookcases with thousands of rare books line all four walls.
As a child, I used to dream of working with my father in this room, but once I became an adult, I wanted to stay as far away from it as possible.
Joy did not live here.
This is where my father attempted to work himself into an early grave by long hours each day and night.
“I have asked again and again for you to give me notice before you interrupt my plans. Still, you struggle to give a simple phone call of warning to Rosalina?—”
“He’s alive,” I say simply, cutting off my father’s admonishment.
“Who’s alive?” he asks, still looking annoyed that I arrived without warning.
“Your other son.”
My father shoots to his feet and slams his hands down on the desk. “Impossible! Do not come here with your outlandish claims! Do not speak to me of him!” Rage rolls off his frozen, aged frame in frenetic waves.
Instantly, I’m grateful for what my mother remembered just before I left. Even after being banished from his presence for more than forty years, she knew what to expect better than I did. For some reason, I believed he would welcome the news, not look at me with murder in his gaze.
“I have met him and hugged him. He?—”
“Is a charlatan. Someone has taken advantage of your gullibility. You are a brilliant man, Marco. How could you be so stupid as to believe such a fairy tale? He is dead! Long dead! How dare you interrupt my?—”
“How dare you speak so hatefully to me when I bring you news of a miracle? Your son. Luca. He is alive and well. He has a family of his own.”
“I do not believe a word you say. It is impossible. Leave now. I do not wish to speak of this for another moment. Go!”
“I should go.” The words grate from my throat as I retrieve my mobile phone from my pocket and pull up the photo. “But first, I will show you the proof that Mother swore you would need before you believed a word from your own son. How she still knows you so well after all these years, I don’t understand.” With a shake of my head, I stride forward and toss the device on the desk in front of him.
The phone lands with a thud on the contracts upon the leather blotter.
