Page 85 of Forgive Me, Father
“I’ll have to ask him.We’re going back to Italy, and after that, I’ll find out when we can visit.”
“Okay, sweetheart.Take care—and send our love.”
“I will.Talk to you soon.”I hung up before she could say more.
The tears were already gathering, and I didn’t want them to fall before I boarded the plane.I’d spent years thinking my mother was cold, even cruel, but now I saw the strength behind her distance.She wasn’t heartless.She was forged, like me.And for the first time, I understood her.
I wiped away the last of my tears, steadying myself before stepping out.No trace of emotion could remain, not for the world I was walking back into.My husband and his guards stood waiting, composed and silent, their patience never faltering.
We boarded the plane without a word.This time, the stewardess was different—older, professional, and refreshingly uninterested in Alfonso.It was a small detail, but one I appreciated more than I cared to admit.
The flight would take about eight hours, and exhaustion weighed heavily on both of us.It didn’t take long before sleep claimed us.I woke hours later, curled into him, his arm wrapped protectively around me, my head resting against the steady rhythm of his chest.
It was the best sleep I’d had in days—deep, dreamless, and warm.And somehow, this quiet moment between us made all the turmoil worth enduring.
The drive to Alfonso’s home was short, but the moment we arrived, I was struck by the grandeur of the mansion.
It stood proudly, crafted from warm, beige stone that gleamed softly under the fading sunlight.The architecture was imposing yet graceful, with sharp, clean lines that exuded strength and sophistication.Massive, arched windows lined the façade of the two-story building, offering glimpses of the life inside.A sprawling rose garden stretched across the center of the property, its vibrant blooms adding a touch of softness to the otherwise regal surroundings.The entire estate was framed by tall, wrought-iron gates and lush greenery, giving it an almost timeless, secluded feel.As the car came to a stop, a large wooden door swung open, and an older woman emerged, her presence adding a sense of warmth to the grandeur.
She had kind, watchful eyes that missed nothing, her dark hair tied back in a loose bun, an apron wrapped tightly around her waist, and flour dusting her sleeves like a badge of honor.
Nico let out a laugh, exchanged a few words in Italian with Alfonso, and stepped out of the car.He hugged the lady and picked her up.
“His mother, Rosa, is the lady of the house, or she takes care of everything.But now she is at your service,” Alfonso said and climbed out.
“Alfie,” Rosa yelled, adding something in rapid Italian, a string of words that sounded like a warm “welcome home.”Alfonso had to lean down to embrace her, his laughter filling the air.
I climbed out of the SUV, taking a few steps toward him, feeling a little out of place in the grand surroundings.
Alfonso turned toward me, his hand reaching out, and I took it without hesitation.
With a smile, he spoke to her in Italian, then turned to me, his voice soft as he introduced us.
She pulled me into a tight hug, pressing me close to her chest.“Welcome home,” she said warmly in English, her accent thick with Italian.Nico let out a chuckle as she immediately switched to Italian, scolding her son in a playful but firm tone.
“I’ve made your favorite for tonight,” she said, her eyes twinkling.“And you must tell me yours as well, madam, so I can prepare it for tomorrow night.”
“Thank you,” I said, a genuine smile spreading across my face.She was easily the most welcoming person I’d met since marrying Alfonso.“Please, call me Camilla, or Cami, if you prefer.”
I followed Alfonso into the house.His guards ran up the stairs with our suitcases as he showed me the foyer.There was a huge painting of an old man hanging on his wall.
“Is that Henco Pontisello?”
“My belated Nunno.It was one of his favorite homes, and when he died, he gave it to me, along with a string of other ultimatums.”
“I see.”
“Let me show you your home.”He gently guided me toward what looked like a lounge, and we descended a few steps into the space.The room took my breath away.Everything was bathed in light, with sleek, all-white leather couches arranged in a way that invited relaxation.Large windows framed the view, letting in the soft glow of the outside.Abstract paintings adorned the walls, their vibrant colors standing out against the clean, minimalist design.Wooden artifacts sat thoughtfully in the corners, adding warmth to the modern space.Dominating the back wall was an enormous bookshelf that stretched from floor to ceiling, lined with books and curiosities.
His phone rang.
“I need to take this, but feel free to look around.”He gave me a kiss before he took the call and walked in the opposite direction.
For the next fifteen minutes, I wandered through his house,ourhouse, trying to take it all in.It was a sprawling three-story mansion, and I quickly realized I had gotten hopelessly lost, each new room only adding to the confusion.I had no idea which room was mine, or even where I was, but one thing was certain: it was breathtaking.The open spaces were grand, with soaring ceilings and rooms that seemed to stretch on forever.There were multiple foyers and even a billiard room tucked away.
Everywhere I looked, guards were sat at tables or pacing the grounds, their watchful eyes never far from their posts.It was unsettling, the constant reminder of the dangers that hovered just outside these walls.The thought that other Dons might want to take everything from the Pontisellos, from my husband, sent a shiver down my spine.
I eventually stumbled upon Alfonso’s study and paused, hearing his voice on the phone.The conversation sounded serious, definitely not the kind of call I wanted to interrupt.
