“I know, and I’m shocked she did. I’m glad she didn’t succeed because I would lose my mind without you.” Her tears dry up, and she smiles at her youngest daughter. “I failed her as a mother, and it’s one of my biggest regrets. Maybe in the next life, she will finally be at peace.”
I hope she’s rotting in the fiery pits of hell, but I keep those thoughts to myself.
“How many people know who Giuseppe was?” I ask, needing to understand if there is further risk. Barretta and I already discussed this, but I want to hear it from DeLuca’s wife.
“Our personal bodyguards, you two, Serena, and Barretta. Those are the only people who know.”
“Are you very sure? Please think carefully. It’s important.”
Sierra pins me with a perplexed look. “I’ll explain later,” I whisper, feathering kisses across her cheek.
“There is no one else. At least no one I’m aware of,” Georgia confirms after further contemplation.
“Okay. Good.” The coils in my stomach loosen a little.
Georgia takes a sip of her wine, staring into space. “We were very much in love when we first met, you know. It was a whirlwind romance, and we were married within six months of meeting. I only found out he was mafia after we were wed. He told me he was the heir to The Outfit, but I didn’t really comprehend what it meant.” She shakes her head. “I was so damn naïve.”
The lovesick look disappears off her face as she eyeballs us. “He started with the whores after Serena was born, and he made no apology for it. He was CEO of Lawson Pharma by then, and he had just taken over as don. The power went to his head, and soon there were very few people he listened to. I hated how he took my family legacy and made a mockery of it by laundering money for the mob.”
She gulps back her wine, and her chest heaves. “His attentions blew hot and cold. Sometimes, he treated me so well it was like we were at the start of our courtship, but other times, he was cruel and dismissive, flaunting his sluts in my face. I had an affair because I was desperate for someone to love me and I wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine, but it backfired in a major way.”
Pain is etched across Georgia’s face, and I hold Sierra close, knowing this is hurting her, rubbing my hand up and down her arm in what I hope is a soothing gesture.
“When he discovered I was seeing Mario, he killed him in front of me. I thought he would kill me next, especially when I told him I was pregnant and he refused to believe the baby was his.”
My eyes dart to Georgia’s, wondering where this is leading to.
“To this day, I don’t know why he didn’t kill me. Unless he didn’t want the hassle of finding another wife to take care of his kids, or maybe he wasn’t entirely unfeeling and he couldn’t bring himself to kill a pregnant woman.”
I highly doubt it. The man was a psychopath. I doubt he considered that.
“Saskia said he punished you for it,” Sierra says. “What did he do?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I do. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise. I think he kept you alive so he could make you suffer for your sins, over and over again. That’s the kind of man he was, Mom. There was no mercy in him saving you and me that day.”
Georgia wipes more tears away. “Perhaps you are right,” she whispers. “He kept me on a seesaw for years, and it’s been exhausting. In public, I had to act the dutiful loving wife. Even in front of you kids. Yet in private, he tortured me mentally and physically. He beat me, only in places you wouldn’t see. Forced me to watch as he fucked his whores, and he regularly let his friends rape me.”
“Oh, Mom.” Sierra slides out of my embrace, rushing to hug her mother. “Why did you put up with it?”
“I had no choice, sweetheart,” she says, tucking Sierra’s hair behind her ears. “You can’t run from this life, and I wouldn’t leave any of you with him. Especially not you. He threatened you all the time if I didn’t cooperate.”
“I’m sorry.” Sierra holds her mother tight, tears swimming in her eyes, and I want to resurrect that bastard and kill him myself.
“I know you were hurt that I hadn’t told you the truth,” Georgia says. “But I never wanted you to know any of this. I was comforted with the fact you were kept protected from it, but there is no point concealing anything now.”
“What was my father’s surname?” Sierra asks. “Does he have any other family?”
“Sweetheart.” Georgia cups her face. “I wish Mario had been your father. He was a good man. He loved me, and I repaid him by getting him killed. The guilt and the pain will never go away, but he didn’t impregnate me. Giuseppe DeLuca was your father.”
“I don’t understand.” Sierra frowns.
“That makes two of us,” I say, leaning forward. “He told me Sierra wasn’t his flesh and blood.”
“I knew when I was pregnant that the baby was my husband’s. Mario and I were always careful in that regard. Giuseppe refused to believe it, so after you were born, I had DNA tests done. They confirmed it conclusively, but still he refused to believe it.”
“Oh my God.” Sierra sighs, shaking her head. “He really and truly was crazy, wasn’t he?”
“I believe so. Or maybe it was a conscious decision. Another way to permanently punish me for my affair. Every time he refused to acknowledge you or he was hurtful and cruel, it destroyed me. I think he continued doing it for that reason.” Georgia shrugs. “Maybe, in the end, he said it so much it became his gospel and the only truth in his head.”
The conversation pretty much ends after that depressing news, and Sierra shows her Mom to one of the guest rooms while I slip into bed beside my son. His small hand is tucked under his cute face. For the first time in a week, his face shows no sign of unhappiness and he looks settled and at peace.
Sierra pads into the room, and I watch her undress with hungry eyes.
“Stop that,” she whispers, stifling a yawn as she pulls a silk nightie on over her gorgeous body. “I’m already horny without your heated stare undressing me.”
“We could go to one of the spare bedrooms, and I can take care of you,” I murmur, getting out of the bed to retrieve the box from my pants.
“As tempting as that is, Mr. Mazzone,” she says, resting her head on my chest. “I’m absolutely exhausted. I just want to sleep with my two favorite people close to my side.”
“We’ll take a rain check,” I say, removing the ring and sliding it on her finger.
“Oh my God,” she whispers, looking at the glistening diamond and emerald ring. “Where did you get this?”
“When Brando told me how she destroyed your ring, I was enraged. I called the jeweler and had him make you another one.”
“It’s different,” she says, “but I love it as much as I loved the other one.”
“I didn’t know if you’d want a permanent reminder of what she did, so I asked him to alter the design a little.” The emerald shaping is different, and he placed a fine row of tiny diamonds on the platinum band.
“It’s perfect.” She stretches up on tiptoe and kisses me.