I Hid the Don’s Son for Three Years Chapter 08
The news that Rebecca’s father had been arrested
spread in minutes. Tax evasion, bribery, and
several shady transactions – the evidence was airtight. Clearly not a spur–of–the–moment
decision.
Old Don paused with his glass in hand and said
nothing.
In the days that followed, Luca never mentioned the Bianchi family. No one dared to bring them up
in front of him.
He cut off every escape route. Cash flow, raw materials, distribution channels – even several promising divestitures got stuck in endless qualification reviews.
Within three weeks, the Bianchi family didn’t have
a dime left to cover their expenses.
Subsidiaries changed legal representatives
overnight. The people who’d relied on the Bianchis
disappeared.
At dinner, Old Don heard the news. He put down
his fork and was quiet for a long time.
He looked at Luca, then at me, bent over cutting
food for Johnny. “Luca, don’t go too far.”
I never saw Rebecca again. I heard she left the
country right after her family fell apart, barely
packing a bag.
Miss Bianchi, once praised as a rising star in their
circle, simply vanished from everyone’s lives.
Old Don and the Donna never said a word about it
after that. Before anyone realized it, control of the
Corleone family had quietly shifted entirely into
Luca’s hands.
They finally understood that their son’s heart could
be harder than anyone’s.
The sunset that day was beautiful.
Johnny fell asleep in his car seat, still clutching a
piece of wedding candy.
Luca held him with one arm and walked me back
to the car with the other.
Life after the wedding was calmer than I’d
expected.
Luca bought a house with a garden on the
outskirts of town. Not big – but enough for the three of us. He took Johnny to preschool every day, then drove me to pottery class. I’d mentioned
once that I wanted to learn, and he remembered.
He signed me up at the best studio in town, with
an instructor brought from Italy.
“You don’t have to drive me every day,” I said,
gripping the wheel as he got out and came around
to open my door. “Isn’t Matteo always with you
anyway?”
He leaned down to unbuckle my seatbelt, his nose
brushing my ear. “Matteo follows me. That’s his
job. Walking you to class is mine.”
Johnny leaned forward from the back seat, his
little hands gripping the seat back. “Dad, we have
sports day at preschool today. Are you coming?”
Luca looked at his son in the rearview mirror.
Johnny’s eyes were bright, but his lips were
–
pressed together trying to look calm, just like
his father.
“I’ll be there,” Luca said. “I’m taking the day off.”
Taking time off wasn’t something he did. The
Corleone family’s affairs were endless. Old Don
had stepped down completely last month, leaving
everything on Luca’s shoulders. But he showed up
-wearing a tracksuit, standing on the preschool
playground, pulling rope with the other dads.
I was taking pictures from the sidelines when my
phone buzzed.
An unknown number sent a photo. My pottery
studio from yesterday. My apron still hanging on
the rack, with a red circle around it.
A second message: “Miss Gia, it’s dangerous to
go out alone. Luca can’t follow you forever.”
I stared at the screen. My brain worked slowly.
Was it Rebecca? She’d gone abroad, but maybe
she’d come back. Or someone from the Bianchi
family – Luca had destroyed them, and there were
bound to be people who hated him.
A third message: “Your son’s blue jacket looks
cute on him today.”
I looked up sharply at the playground. Johnny was in Luca’s arms, grinning after winning the tug–of–war, his blue jacket bright in the sun.
I walked toward them, fast.
Luca saw my face, set Johnny down, and came to
meet me. “What’s wrong?”
I handed him the phone.
His expression changed. Not anger the calm stillness that came before a hunt. He pulled me behind him and gave a signal. Men moved in the shadows. Matteo pushed through the crowd and
whispered something.
“We’re going home,” Luca said. He took my wrist – light grip, but his fingertips pressed against my pulse. “Johnny, come here.”
Johnny ran over, sensing the shift. He pressed his
little hand into mine. “Mom, did someone upset
you?”
“No.” I crouched and zipped his jacket. “Mom just
walked fast.”
Luca drove steadily. Three black sedans followed
us in the rearview mirror.
He didn’t speak until we were home. He handed
Johnny to the waiting nanny, then pulled me into
the study.
“From tomorrow, Matteo stays with you.”
“I don’t need –”
“Gia.” His voice dropped. “I can’t lose you again. It took me three years to remember who you are. If something happens to you –”
He stopped. His eyes were red.
I looked at him and suddenly remembered the first time he’d put that tracker on me. I’d said I didn’t need it. He’d insisted. I thought he was being dramatic. Now I understood – for him, not being
able to find me was a kind of torture.
“Okay,” I said. “Matteo stays. But you have to
promise me something.”
“What?”
“Don’t go too far.” I touched his face. “Johnny still
needs his dad.”
He took my hand, kissed my palm, and after a long
silence said, “I’ll try.”
I couldn’t sleep that night. I went downstairs for
water and saw Luca on the balcony, talking on the
phone.
His voice was low, but I caught words: “Bianchi,”
“clean it up,” “don’t let her find out.”
I stood there with my glass for a moment, then stepped back toward the stairs.
Never mind. I’d think about it later.
