“You look haunted.”
“This house is haunted,” I said eying where I’d dropped the diary onto the floor.
El walked over and picked it up. “Want me to read to you?”
I gave her a jerky nod.
And then her voice washed over me like a warm blanket, like safety, like love, and I prepared for the worst between those pages.
I prepared for shattered promises.
Broken hearts.
Death.
I prepared for my future.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
El
MY HANDS WERE shaking, I was afraid to read the secrets, afraid of what they would reveal.
“Diary of Joyce Alfero,” I said, reverently running my hand over the first entry just as a slip of paper fell out.
I read it out loud.
“Son,” My voice cracked, I reined it in. “A war was nearly fought over this damn diary. It holds many secrets, many regrets, it holds it all. I remember when Joyce told me about it, I felt so much shame for my part in ruining life after life after life. Son, I am not a good man. If you take one thing from this diary take the God’s honest truth.
I have killed.
I have warred.
I have fought.
I haven’t won.
And finally son, I have loved. God gave me a moment in time with the only woman I ever had eyes for — I loved her with every beat of my heart, with every inch of my body. I loved her, and you were born out of that love.
If you’re reading this — it means only one thing.
I have failed you as a parent.
I have left this earth too early to raise you to be the man I need you to be. My only hope is that Frank and Phoenix did the right thing in finding you and your sister.
My last hope as you were told, was for you to take the rightful place as the boss to the Alfero family. Frank pushed me into the Nicolasi’s because my father wanted power.
We were both rightful heirs to the Alfero throne.
But my father wanted more.
He was blood thirsty.
And I was born out of that blood — not love.
My dying wish was for Frank to find you, to place you where you belong.
My dying wish is selfish, because it’s to see my son as the head. You are Nicolasi by birth.
You are Alfero by blood.
Maybe, my story, the story of your mother and I, will help you with that decision.
My final advice, my final wish for you is that you will find a love so deep, so pure that it transcends this life of war.
That in your love, you will find peace, even as the world burns around you.
With love in your heart, a gun in your hand, and family at your side.
You. Will. Not. Lose.
I welcomed death, not because I wanted to leave you — but because I knew that through my death — my own blood would rise to power. My family would become unstoppable.
Nixon. Frank. Phoenix. Tex. Chase. Sergio. You.”
I frowned when I realized he’d left out Mil.
“The new Cosa Nostra.
People will fear you.
Let them.
People will fight you.
Let them.
People will die for you.
Let them.
Never forget who you are.
Dante Luca Nicolasi Alfero.
My son.”
I looked up. Dante had tears in his eyes. I’d never seen him cry, never seen any emotion even close to it on his face.
Wordlessly, he stood, and walked out of the room. His footsteps echoing behind him.
A door shut.
I closed my eyes as a single tear fell onto the letter still clutched in my hands.
And then another.
I cried for a man I never knew.
And the love he’d had.
The love that gave me the beautiful broken monster that could kill in cold blood but refused to lie to my face.
I folded the letter back into the diary and closed it.
They weren’t my secrets to read — not without Dante by my side. I stood on shaky legs and decided to sit on the porch.
I imagined a time when Luca was holding Joyce’s hand and telling her everything would be okay.
I imagined a time when laughter filled the ranch house that looked just like this.
When they were free.
And when I glanced at the clock on the wall, I could almost hear it ticking in the silence reminding me, that we had little of it left.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Dante
I’D WALKED INTO an office.
His office?
I wasn’t sure if he ever came back to this house once it was built, the memories, the ghosts, were almost too much for me to handle and I didn’t live through them.
He’d left me a letter.
And I could have sworn, in those moments, it wasn’t El’s voice I heard, but my fathers.
Memories of his scent rushed to the surface.
Of the cigar in his mouth.
Of being pat on the head.
Of being shoved behind him as he yelled at men around him.
Flickers, they’d always been flickers, and just like that, they unleashed hell on my mind, my heart, my soul.
His voice.
His strong, slightly accented voice.
I closed my eyes again, unable to get it out of my head no matter how hard I tired.
My son.
My son.
My son.
Up until this moment in my life — I just wanted revenge. I wanted to kill. I wanted the tools to do what needed to be done.
I wanted Petrovs line ended.
I wanted to be free.
One letter from my father changed everything.
It lit something inside me I knew I couldn’t ignore.
Like ignoring the crown on your own head for the last twenty years only to find it still there all along.
Italian royalty.
I wondered how Frank felt.
Then again, he wouldn’t have fought so hard to find me unless he wanted me to have this dynasty, this power.
I was too young.
I wasn’t ready.
Too many uncertainties plagued my mind and still the clock ticked by minute after minute, every one I wasted thinking, was one I could have spent in El’s arms.
I sat behind a large oak desk, the chair dipped under my weight.
I groaned and looked down, paralyzed in place.
Charcoal.
Paper.
Pencils.
Breath seized in my lungs.
“You used to draw…”
With shaking hands I picked up the charcoal and didn’t let go, didn’t stop as my hand furiously moved across the paper, and with each stroke, with each movement, a calm poured over me.
Until the picture was finished.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Dante
I LEANED AGAINST the doorframe, she was on the back porch, a mug in her hand, her eyes staring out at the horizon. There wasn’t much to look at except for the great expanse of land and one solitary cow.
“Who do you think feeds it?” I asked making my way toward the empty chair next to her and sitting down.
El smiled out at the cow. “I’d like to think that it just exists doesn’t need to be fed, like a miracle cow.”
“Yeah.” My eyes narrowed at the brown and white animal. “It’s too fat to exist without extra help.”
She laughed into her mug. “I’m going to assume that since Phoenix was the one who sent you here, he’s the one who knows about the cow. I’m going with scary as hell Phoenix.”