Page 71 of Redemption
“It is us you are concerned about? Not yourself?” Marco asks incredulously.
I nod. “I would turn myself into the Feds before I let this touch your family.”
“Our family, brother.”
“Either way, my response is the same. I won’t let this touch you, our family, or my wife and daughter. They stay here. You keep them safe. I created this beast by my own actions and decisions, and it’s up to me to deal with it. It touches no one else. This is on me and me alone.”
“You’re not going back to America alone,” Marco says with unyielding emotion threading through his words. “Not a chance. I just got my brother back. I won’t let you sacrifice yourself before I even get to know you.”
“You might not have a choice.”
“You have your choices, and I have mine. When you go back to slay this beast, I go with you. We put this to rest together, and then we both return as Giordanos. Promise me you will not leave without me.”
I inhale slowly through my nose and release a long breath the same way before replying, “It might not be pretty. In fact, it could get downright ugly. There are no guarantees that we both return. I can promise you that I will not leave without you, but I can’t promise how this is going to end.”
“God will take care of that. You have your plans, and I have my faith. But no matter what, we go together.”
He holds out a hand, and I take it and shake it, sealing our bargain.
“Then, God have mercy on both of us, because we’re damn sure going to need it.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Lachlan
The last week has passed in a whirlwind of surreal family experiences. My mother showed us her entire island with some of what must be the most exquisite terraced gardens in the entire world. The other two islands that make up the family holdings on Lago Maggiore were also stunning beyond belief. I understood how my mother could be a recluse here, in one of the most beautiful places on earth, especially after she showed us her conservatory, where she paints.
It felt familiar somehow, even though I’d never been there before. But it wasn’t until she showed us her paintings that I was truly astounded.
I’ve seen this place before. In one of her paintings. That hangs in my home.
Astonishment filled me when I realized that the conservatory I was standing in was straight out of a painting that hung in the dressing room in the French Quarter that Keira and I shared.
I own one of my mother’s paintings.
How could this even be possible? I wondered, staring, open-mouthed, at her work on their easels and the yellow signature in the corner of each canvas.
I’d purchased the painting from Leo. He’d fenced it, as it’d been stolen from someone, somewhere, sometime. Something about it called to me, and I had to have it. It was one of those purchases I didn’t question at all. I simply followed my heart and acquired it and then put it somewhere I’d see it every single day. For some reason though, I’d wanted to keep it away from prying eyes. It was special to me. Something I didn’t want to share with anyone, except for Keira once she came into my life.
The quirks of life would never cease to amaze me. It seemed fated.
I was so shocked at the realization, and when I told her, we both cried.
“I have been with you for years,” she said. “Just as I was meant to be.”
It was a moment I would never forget.
The family estate in Tuscany was another revelation. Its gentle, rolling hills produced organic durum wheat for pasta and organic tomatoes that I learned were made into sauce prized by chefs worldwide. The Giordano Brand was sold in supermarkets across five continents and helped feed the world.
“When you are done with your business in America, we have much business here for you to attend. I am getting old. I would happily turn it all over to you and Marco to carry forward the family name and safeguard your daughter’s inheritance until she is ready to take the reins herself.” My father beamed at my daughter, as if all the work he’d put into his own empire was simply to pass it along to her. His words and attitude were humbling, to say the least.
Everywhere we went, the staff was gracious and welcoming. They cried and wept over the miracle of my return, like I was their very own son. Marco asked everyone to keep the family news private for now so that we could enjoy each other’s company without intrusion. Everyone agreed easily, and hugs were exchanged by the dozens. I’d never hugged so many people in my life as I did in the space of a week.
Cinque Terre was an exquisite visual delight and something purely Italy. The yacht was Aurora's favorite though, as she seemed to love being at sea, near the splashing water.
“She is a Giordano through and through,” my father said. “We thrive near water. It is our second home. She will be a mermaid by age six. Mark my words.”
We finished our weeklong family excursion back on the islands, opting to save the chateau in the Dolomites and the villa in Palermo for when I returned.
