Becoming His Wife by Hayley Faiman

Chapter Thirty

TIZIANO

Taking the cigarette out of my pocket, I light it as I watch him walk out of his home and slip into the back seat of the sedan.

It’s day two.

Yesterday, after following my father, speaking with Gavino, I went back to Salvatore’s office and picked up Maci. Our evening consisted of delivered food and a movie. Then we fucked until we were both so exhausted that we passed out. We slept, my cum still inside of her, her scent covering every square inch of my body.

Now, after making her a quick breakfast and dropping her off to work, I’m sitting outside my father’s home, my decision made that today is the day.

Watching and waiting, putting it off does zero good. I need this done and I need it done quickly. The contracts with Gavino need to get started and I need to take over the Bianchi famiglia men. I have a feeling that there will be a handful that will have loyalty to my father and I’ll need to deal with them before I can move on.

So today is the day. Which is incidentally why I’m smoking. I need to calm my nerves. I’m not a regular smoker, haven’t ever been and although I would rather be smoking a joint right about now, the cigarette will have to do so that I can keep a clear head, at least until later.

My father’s car pulls away and I lie low as it passes me, although I highly doubt he would even think to look over at me. When it’s gone, I sit up and start my engine, then I pull out onto the street a safe distance away.

His driver drops him off at the café a few blocks away, exactly where I knew he would go. I park across the street and watch as he gets out and shuffles over to a table, sinking down before the waitress brings him a coffee and takes his order immediately.

It’s the same waitress that has been there for years, maybe even decades. She turns to leave and a few minutes later returns with his breakfast.

I should feel sad about this—this moment. This is the last meal that my father is going to eat. This is the last time this waitress will see him. I don’t feel sad though, not really. I feel relieved. I want this over. I want my father’s bullshit, his hit, off of my fucking head.

It doesn’t take him long to eat, I continue to watch him, waiting for him to finish so that he will go somewhere else. Somewhere less crowded. I need him to be alone, or at least, practically alone.

I have no illusions that my father is ever actually alone. I’ll probably have to off his driver, too. I think I’m more upset that his driver is going to be a casualty than my actual father, then again, the driver never put a hit out on me.

My father finally finishes his meal, and I’m on my fifth chain-smoked cigarette before he stands and walks over to the waiting car. He climbs inside, and I try to feel something.

This is the man who raised me almost completely alone. I should feel something, sadness, regret for about what’s about to happen. Something. But I don’t. I feel absolutely nothing toward him when I watch the car drive off.

Shifting mine into drive, I follow behind him. It doesn’t take long for us to drive out of the city. I’m confused, I have no fucking clue where he’s headed. A few hours into the drive, he turns down a dirt road, and I follow out of pure curiosity.

I have no goddamn clue where we are.

The car continues down the desolate dirt road and he stops in front of a broken-down farmhouse. I watch as he and the driver both get out of the car and turn to face me. I half expect them to have their guns pointed at me, but neither of them even has one in their hands.

Turning the engine off, I grip my handgun in my palm and try to decide on pulling it out immediately and just start shooting, but I don’t. There’s a reason he brought me here. Once he figured out I was following him, he could have done a dozen different things, but he didn’t. He brought me here instead.

Clearing my throat, I open the car door and unfold from the front seat, my gun in my hand, but loosely hanging down at my side.

“I knew it was you,” he murmurs.

“I’m surprised you didn’t kill me immediately,” I snort.

He watches me for a long moment, then shakes his head a couple of times. “I should have, shouldn’t I? Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“I’m not going to argue with you, Padre. There are a dozen different things and reasons I could give you as to why I’m justified in this moment. None of it matters though, because in the end, you’ll be gone and I will turn my back and never look back.”

He’s quiet, his gaze searching mine before he speaks. “This is where I was born,” he announces. “This is where my mother lived while my father ran the famiglia in the city. She didn’t want that life for us, so this is where we were raised. In the country, on a farm. I hated it.”

“You’re telling me this because?” I ask.

Although, I find it interesting. My father has never talked about his parents, I never even knew them. I don’t even know if they were alive when I was born or not. I certainly didn’t know that my grandfather was the boss of the Bianchi famiglia before my father.

“I would like to die here, be buried in the family cemetery with your mother.”

My entire body jerks. “My mother?” I rasp.

He chuckles, although it’s completely humorless. “You didn’t think that I just let her walk away and live happily ever after, did you?” he asks.

“Padre?” I rasp.

He smiles, it’s cold, fucking cruel and I see the man that he is. This is the man that called a hit on his own son.

This sonofabitch.

MACI

My stomach cramps.Something is wrong. Wrapping my arm around my middle, I double over in pain. I don’t know what it is, but it hurts. It hurts so fucking bad. My legs crumple beneath me, my knees hitting the hardwood floor of the office.

Crying out, I pinch my eyes closed. Salvatore is in front of me in what feels like seconds later, his hands gripping my shoulders to keep me upright. My eyes water in pain as I search his face for answers.

“I’m calling the doctor,” he announces.

“It’s not the baby,” I whimper.

“Yeah?” he asks, though I can tell that he doesn’t buy what I’m saying.

Shaking my head, I inhale a shaky breath. “It’s Tiziano.”

His head jerks back right before he scoops me up in his arms and lifts me from the floor. He carries me into his office and gently sets me down on the leather sofa. I can’t help but notice just how soft the leather is and realize that this is the first time I’ve ever actually sat on the sofa. I typically sit in a chair across from his desk.

He calls out my name and my torso jerks, all thoughts of buttery leather leaving my distracted mind.

“What do you mean, Tiziano?” he snaps.

My eyes widen and I shake my head. “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling. I just felt sick all of a sudden, then I felt scared and worried. I know it’s him. I know something has happened.”

Salvatore doesn’t tell me that I’m being dramatic or anything like that. He watches me for a long moment in silence and then finally, he speaks, but it isn’t to me. I watch as he stands and shoves his hand in his pocket.

He scrolls through his device and I assume that he calls the doctor, but he doesn’t. He holds the phone to his ear, then starts to shout into it. “Bianchi, where the fuck are you? Answer your phone.”

My heart starts to race again. This isn’t good. His next call is also not to the doctor. Instead, he calls Gavino.

“Where’s Bianchi?” he demands without so much as a hello to his boss.

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, then he clears his throat. “Maci had a panic attack, she thinks something’s wrong. I can’t get a hold of him,” he explains to Gavino.

Again, he’s quiet as Gavino speaks on the other end of the line. I can hear his voice, but I can’t make out the words that he says.

I wait, trying to take in deep breaths and let them out slowly. I try to calm down, but that anxious sensation fills my entire body and I don’t know if I can truly calm down, not until I know that Tiziano is safe.

Salvatore ends the call, his gaze finding mine and he holds it for a long silent moment, then clears his throat.

“He spoke to him earlier, hasn’t seen or heard from him since,” he announces.

“Salvatore,” I exhale, my lips trembling as tears fill my eyes.

He shakes his head slowly. “We’ll find him,” he promises.

He can’t really promise that though. Tiziano could be dead. The truth is that his father could have figured out exactly where he was, and he could have gotten to him first.

The look behind Salvatore’s eyes tells me all that I need to know. He doesn’t think that Tiziano is alive, I can see the sadness swimming in his gaze.

I don’t mention it though, I don’t say anything. Instead, I rest. Salvatore brings me a bottle of water and I drink half of the contents, trying to calm myself. The pain doesn’t leave my belly, or my heart, instead it stays firmly planted in place and I’m afraid that it will be there to stay.

“What do I do?” I ask.

Salvatore gives me a sad smile. “I’m going to take you home. The doctor is meeting us there. He’s going to check you out, just to make sure you’re okay. Then I’m going to make you dinner and by the time it’s finished, Tiziano will be back and I’ll leave you two alone.”

I wish that what he says is exactly what will happen, but he and I both know that isn’t the case.

“Okay,” I weakly agree.

A few minutes later, my things have been gathered and I’m sitting in the passenger seat of Salvatore’s car. He drives through the city toward his condo. All I can think about is Tiziano. I have a gut feeling, it hurts deep down inside of me and it isn’t going to just go away, because I know without a doubt that something is very wrong.

Once we’re at the condo, Salvatore helps me out of the car and toward the building. He asks me offhandedly what I want for dinner. He’s making small talk and I know he’s trying to distract me. I wish it would work, I truly need that distraction.

I open my mouth to answer him when I hear the squealing tires of a car driving far too fast in the underground parking lot. Turning my head, I look over my shoulder, curious to see who could be driving so carelessly in the parking garage.

A car whips around the corner. The back door flies open before the car even stops. Salvatore shouts to me, telling me to run, but I’m completely frozen in my spot.

A man jumps out of the back. He wraps his arms around me and roughly pulls me into the back seat before the car takes off again, the door wide open. I’m thrown across the back seat, the door is closed and we’re on the busy street before I realize what’s even happening.

The man who grabbed me isn’t anyone that I recognize, and neither is the driver. I open my mouth to ask what the hell is going on when a shrill scream fills the car. I don’t realize it’s me screaming until the man next to me lifts his hand and places his palm against my mouth.

Then he pulls out a gun and presses the cold metal against my forehead. I start breathing heavily, but stop screaming.

“Scream again and I kill you right here. I don’t give a fuck about you at all,” he growls.

“Boss wants her delivered breathing,” the driver announces.

The man next to me snorts. “Who gives a fuck.”

The man driving clears his throat. “The boss does. That’s enough for you to care, too,” he snaps.

“Boss isn’t going to be the boss for long. If you think that Gavino Santoro is going to be cool with Tussio killing his kid and his whore, you got another thing coming. We’re all going to take a goddamn dirt nap for this.”

I whimper. I knew something was wrong—very wrong, and I was very, very, right.