Chapter 9 - The House Without Guards
One year after the attack, Giana returned to the Fontana estate.
Or what remained of it.
Luca had not rebuilt the mansion.
That surprised her.
The burned structure had been demolished.
In its place stood a smaller house.
White stucco.
Wide windows.
A lemon tree near the entrance.
No gates.
No armed guards.
Giana parked with Antonio asleep in the back seat.
Luca waited on the porch.
“You came.”
“You invited me.”
“I've invited you to six things.”
“You invited me to three dinners, Antonio's baptism discussion, a museum, and something you described as an emergency.”
“The air conditioner was leaking.”
“That is not an emergency.”
“In Miami it is.”
She smiled.
Antonio woke.
“Da!”
Luca's entire face changed.
He opened the car door.
“There's my traitor.”
Antonio reached for him.
Giana watched Luca lift their son.
A year had changed them all.
Antonio had curls.
Luca had more silver.
Giana had rebuilt Gallo's and opened a second location in Coral Gables using money she had earned herself.
Luca had completed the terms of his federal agreement without prison time after extensive cooperation, financial penalties, divestments, and testimony that helped dismantle both Stahl's network and Vittorio's remaining organization.
Vittorio awaited trial.
Stahl had pleaded guilty to multiple federal charges.
For the first time in decades, the Fontana name did not control a shadow network across Miami.
Some called Luca weak.
Others called him finished.
Giana suspected he slept better.
Inside the new house, she stopped.
The kitchen looked familiar.
Not identical to Gallo's.
Inspired by it.
Warm wood.
Open shelves.
A marble pastry counter.
“You built a bakery.”
“A kitchen.”
“With commercial ovens.”
“I like bread.”
“You cannot bake.”
“I have staff.”
She stared.
He sighed.
“Fine. I hoped Antonio might like baking with you here someday.”
Her throat tightened.
There was a small bedroom upstairs.
Lemon branches painted along the baseboard.
The nursery.
Recreated.
Giana touched the wall.
“You remembered.”
“Everything.”
She turned.
Luca stood in the doorway holding Antonio.
“Why didn't you rebuild the old house?”
“Because I didn't want it.”
“You loved that house.”
“No. I loved what I thought it represented.”
“And this?”
He looked around.
“A place my son can leave without asking permission.”
Giana swallowed.
They ate dinner outside.
Antonio threw pasta.
Luca pretended to be offended.
After sunset, the baby fell asleep in a portable crib.
Giana and Luca sat beneath the porch lights.
For a while, neither spoke.
“I miss you,” she said.
Luca did not move.
She laughed nervously.
“You could react.”
“I am trying not to ruin this.”
“You're doing a strange job.”
He looked at her.
“I miss you every day.”
“I know.”
“I don't want the marriage we had.”
His expression tightened.
Neither did she.
“That marriage had beautiful parts,” Giana said. “But I gave you too much authority because I thought your certainty meant safety.”
“And I took it because I thought providing safety made it mine to control.”
She touched the ring hanging from her necklace.
“I don't want to go backward.”
“Neither do I.”
“What if we fail?”
“We probably will at something.”
“That is deeply unromantic.”
“I've been told grand gestures are currently discouraged.”
She laughed.
Then became serious.
“If I come back, I keep the bakery.”
“Yes.”
“My accounts stay separate.”
“Yes.”
“Antonio doesn't inherit a criminal empire because there isn't one.”
“There isn't.”
“No men following me because you get nervous.”
He hesitated.
Giana raised an eyebrow.
He sighed.
“Fine.”
“Luca.”
“I'm agreeing.”
“You're suffering while agreeing.”
“I am allowed private suffering.”
She smiled.
Then:
“And if I ever tell you I need space, you give it.”
“Yes.”
“No tracking.”
“Yes.”
“No deciding what I should know because you're protecting me.”
“Yes.”
“No Camille living in the guest room.”
His mouth opened.
Giana burst out laughing.
“You should see your face.”
“That was cruel.”
“You deserved one.”
“Probably.”
Silence again.
Warm this time.
Luca reached into his pocket.
Giana immediately narrowed her eyes.
“If that's a giant diamond, I'm leaving.”
“It isn't.”
He placed something on the table.
A brass key.
Her father's key.
Restored.
Cleaned.
The same initials.
A.G.
“I thought you should have it.”
She picked it up.
“My father would have hated you.”
“I suspect so.”
“He distrusted expensive suits.”
“Smart man.”
“He would have hated the criminal part more.”
“That too.”
Giana looked toward Antonio.
“He would have loved him.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes filled.
Luca did not reach for her.
That was the final thing.
The old Luca would have touched her because he could not tolerate her pain.
The new Luca waited until she reached first.
Giana took his hand.
His fingers closed carefully around hers.
“Come to the bakery tomorrow.”
“What time?”
“Six.”
“In the morning?”
“Bakers work, Fontana.”
He looked horrified.
She smiled.
“If you want another chance with me, you can start with croissants.”
“I have negotiated international shipping contracts.”
“Butter is less forgiving.”
He leaned closer.
Stopped.
Waited.
Giana closed the remaining distance.
Their kiss was soft.
No desperation.
No ownership.
A beginning.
When they separated, Luca rested his forehead against hers.
“Does this mean—”
“It means come at six.”
“That's all?”
“For tonight.”
He smiled.
May you like
Giana touched his face.
“For tonight, that's enough.”
