By Virtue I Fall (Sins of the Fathers #3)(35)

The next day, around lunchtime, Dad and I headed to the Cavallaro mansion together in his car. Our flight was scheduled in the late afternoon, so we had time.

Three suitcases waited in the entrance hall when we stepped into the house. Anna was probably still packing her three suitcases in her room.

To my surprise, I spotted her in the living room with her little sister Bea on her lap.

“Where’s the rest?” I motioned at the suitcases. “My father and I are going to load them into the car now.”

“That’s all,” Anna said. “Mom has one suitcase and I have two.”

“Only two? Are you sure you have packed enough outfits?”

Anna gave me a sweet smile. “Paris is the home of fashion. Why should I bring what I can buy there or create myself?”

Dante came out of his office and headed my way. “We’ll say our goodbyes here. I don’t want to draw too much attention to your trip to Paris.”

“That’s reasonable.”

I glanced at the clock. “We should leave in about fifteen minutes, just to make sure we have plenty of time.”

Dad and I carried the suitcases out into the car, and when we returned the Cavallaros were already in the midst of their farewells. Valentina held Bea in her arms who clung tightly to her mother. Anna was wrapped in her father’s arms and actually crying. Despite having worked for the Cavallaros for years, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Anna cry. She was like her father in that regard.

I stepped back outside to give them some privacy but kept glancing inside from the corner of my eye as Anna hugged her brother next. Those two often fought but you could tell they were close. Watching Anna being so honestly emotional and cry, I felt a hint of guilt over being an asshole to her most of the time, but it was the only way how I could keep her at a distance.

I really wished I hadn’t seen this vulnerable side of Anna. Fuck. Now I would have an even harder time pushing her away.

Dad watched me, no longer disapproving, but with honest concern.

“Everything’s going to be fine.”

He nodded, but he didn’t believe it.

In all honesty, neither did I.





When we boarded the plane to Paris in late January, I could have danced from joy. Until the last moment I’d been worried Dad would change his mind and not allow me to leave for France. The wistfulness and sadness lifted off my shoulders as soon as we lifted off the ground.

Mom accompanied us and would stay for a week to help me settle in, and to make sure everything was to her satisfaction. Of course, I knew she also wanted to make sure Santino and I didn’t seem too close. That was the only advantage of the cold war between Santino and me at the moment. Nobody would suspect there could ever be anything between us.

When I stepped into the apartment that Dad had rented for us, my heart did a little jump. It was near the Jardin de Trocadero and had a partial view of the Eiffel Tower from the small balcony with its iron banisters and flower pots. A small round metal table and two very uncomfortable matching chairs filled the space. I couldn’t wait to have breakfast there.

It was a two-bedroom place with high ceilings and old wooden floors. The interior was a mix of a few old art nouveau pieces and modern French furniture from Roche Bobois.

I was in heaven. I hugged Mom tightly, completely overwhelmed. “It’s perfect!”

“Your dad and I picked it together.”

“I wish Dad could be here now.”

“We’ll all come to visit you over Easter, Anna.”

That was still two months away. I bit my lip. “I hope nothing happens that’ll force Dad to stay in Chicago.” Dad was dutiful and wouldn’t leave his men to deal with problems alone if something major happened. But he’d never missed one of our family holidays, not birthdays, Christmas, or Easter. And I really hoped this time would be no different.

I glanced over my shoulder at Santino who lounged on the colorful sofa. With his sour expression, he looked out of place amid the red and orange and yellow of the Missoni fabric of the Roche Bobois sofa. His arms were stretched out on the backrest and his legs parted in his usual bad boy man-spread way. He slanted me a look, his expression unmoving.

“You can pick a room,” I told him.

He pushed to his feet without a word and checked the two bedrooms. Even the cold shoulder treatment from him was hot.

Mom touched my shoulder and I met her gaze. “I still worry about you being all by yourself in this place.”

“I have Santino.”

Mom’s lips pursed. “With a grown man under the same roof—”

“Mom, now you sound like Grandmother.” Dad’s mom was ancient and so were her views.

“I’m worried about you.”

“I can handle myself. I have been alone with Santino before and he’s such a dutiful killjoy, you really don’t have to worry of me having too much fun. He’ll prevent it, trust me.”

Mom laughed, looking entirely too happy about that. “Your dad will be very pleased.”

“I’m sure he had a conversation with Santino before we left Chicago.”

“Of course.”

I shook my head.

Santino came back out of the bedroom to the left and closer to the entrance door. “I’ll take this one.”