Because he had no Gallo in him, he had learned, sitting on a retaining wall overlooking the lake, hearing his uncle explain to him that his mother, his real mother, was the youngest Donatelli sibling, Zia Antoinietta. The aunt who had died and was rarely mentioned because her loss made everyone so sad. Vito would later look at her photographs and see more of himself in her than in her older sister, the woman who had called herself his mother all his life.
Your father was a dangerous man, Vito. Dangerous to us as a family, to the bank and very dangerous to your mother. I pulled her away from him so many times, but she kept going back. She was pregnant. She thought she loved him. I'll never forgive myself for not finding a way... She finally realized what was in store for both of you when he knocked her around and put her into labor. She called me to come to her where she was hiding from him. She died having you. I held her, waiting for the damned ambulance, and she begged me to keep you away from him, to keep you from turning into a mafioso like him. He wanted an heir to his empire, but it's a kingdom built on blood and suffering. We would have called you Paolo's brother, but well, you know the story we tell instead.
Vito did. His adoptive mother, the middle sister, often told the story of how she had thought she had miscarried, but Vito had miraculously survived. In reality, she and her husband had spirited her sister's newborn to the family home at the lake and waited out a suitable time before presenting Vito as their son. His birthday was off by four months.
I paid a fortune to the doctors to write out a certificate that you had died with her. And threatened your father with murder charges if the affair ever came out. I'm certain he would come for you if he knew you survived, Paolo's father had warned.
Vito could only imagine the fortune Paolo's father had paid to keep the liaison from becoming public knowledge and destroying the bank as it was. If online scandal rags had existed then, the affair wouldn't have suppressed as easily, he was sure.
Your mother was too precious to me, you are too precious to me, for me to watch you two beating each other senseless. Turning to Paolo, he had lifted his shirt, showing a long scar that had always been blamed on surgery, but not today. Did I take this knife trying to bring home my sister so my own son could kill hers? Save your strength for the fights that matter, then fight them together. Understand?
He hadn't had to warn them to keep the secret. That was a given. He had risen and urged Paolo to come with him, to give Vito time alone.
No, Paolo had said. I'll stay.
They had sat in silence a long time, the space Paolo's father had taken up a wide gap between them. Finally Paolo had said, Do you want to punch me?
Yes, Vito had seethed. But he hadn't. They'd never fought again. They rarely mentioned it. Eventually Vito had learned the name of his biological father and the man's predilection for violence had sickened him. Then there was the second son's equally conscienceless disposition.
Vito wanted to believe he was different, but how could he claim to be a better man than what he'd come from when just the thought of those men and their actions put him into a state of mind willing to crush and kill? Vigilante justice was still brute force and only proved he was more like his biological father than he wanted to admit.
So he couldn't in good conscience make children with a woman without telling her what kind of blood he carried and he couldn't reveal the truth without endangering his family and the bank.
Therefore, he was a confirmed bachelor, destined to have affairs with women who didn't expect a future and to commiserate with the struggles of child-rearing from the sidelines.
"Your lips are blue. Come out," Paolo ordered his son.
"Three more," Roberto said, holding up three quivering fingers, teeth chattering, narrow shoulders shaking as he prepared to dive for yet another colored rock.
"One," Paolo said firmly.
"Two," Roberto responded.
"Everything is a negotiation," Paolo muttered, making Vito set his teeth because Paolo was complaining about a privilege not every man had. "Two. Then-"
"Paolo!" Gwyn came to the rail above them, at the edge of the pool deck. Her eyes were wide, her face pale. "Lauren says her water broke!"
Paolo went white and grim, swearing tightly. "Out, Roberto. Now. Stay with Vito," he ordered his son, locking gazes with Vito long enough to cement the command that Vito keep his son from drowning, but also sharing a moment of genuine fear.
It struck Vito that Paolo had never told Lauren why he didn't find these home births of hers as much of a joke as she did. He knew women could die.
It also told him how volatile his secret still was, if Paolo hadn't shared it with the woman who was his other half.
"I'll call the ambulance," he said to Paolo's back, pulling out his phone as his cousin took the stone stairs in great leaps, already pushing back his sleeves.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"THAT WAS THE most remarkable experience of my life," Gwyn said forty minutes later, as the ambulance carried off a grumbling Lauren and an infant boy who had squawked once, latched perfectly, then fallen asleep snuggled against her.
"They're just going to tell me that everything is fine and I can go home if I want to. I wish you hadn't called them," Lauren scolded Vito on her way out the door.
"Humor us, mia bella," Paolo said with equanimity, buttoning his clean shirt with hands that might have tremored a little, but he'd barely broken a sweat while carrying his wife to their bed and catching their son minutes later.
He'd been very coolheaded, calling Gwyn to bring him the bag he'd prepared with clean towels and receiving blankets, speaking to his wife in a calm, tender tone, using sterilized clips and scissors from the bag to cut the cord himself, as if he'd been a midwife all his life.
Their daughter slept through most of it, waking in time to glimpse her new brother, but quite content to cuddle with Vito amidst all the activity. Roberto called the little girl Bambi, which was adorable, and both children stayed with Gwyn and Vito while Paolo went in the ambulance with his wife. A car pulled out from the house across the street where the drivers and other ancillary staff were staying, following to bring them back once Lauren and the baby had been examined.
Vito didn't say anything as he closed the door. In fact, his color was down and he took a measured breath as if he'd just dodged a train.
"You're green around the gills, Vittorio," Gwyn chided, amused. "Were you worried?" She hadn't had time to panic and was riding a high of amazement.
"Lauren makes it look easy," he said in a tone that suggested he was well aware labor and delivery didn't always go so smoothly.
"I'll say," Gwyn responded. "I didn't even get the water boiled!" She moved into the kitchen where she had managed to snap off the gas on her way to fetch Paolo. "Shall I finish making dinner?"
"We'll help," Vito said, sliding Bianca onto a stool while Roberto climbed into the one his mother had been using. Vito was very good with the children and they openly adored him, grinning at his teasing, behaving angelically as he gently kept them on task.
Vito exchanged several texts with Paolo, who mentioned that everything was fine but there was a small delay in seeing the doctor.
"Paolo will be taking some family time now that the baby is here," Vito said to Gwyn. "We had planned for this, but we'll have a proper meeting when he gets back to review a few things before I assume his duties. You and I will spend the night here and head back to the city in the morning."
Gwyn nodded absently, too caught up in watching him cut up a little girl's food, steady Roberto's hand as he shook out red pepper flakes then smoothly reached to top up Gwyn's wineglass with a practiced flair. Throw in his ability give a woman orgasms and get the laundry done and he was the perfect man in every way.
He met her gaze.
Her thoughts must have reflected in her it. Building a career had been a dominating goal in her life, partly because she'd seen how hard her mother had struggled to support herself without a proper profession. Gwyn had focused on her degree and finding the right job and chasing opportunities for advancement. It had meant relegating a husband and children to a dreamy "someday" that she hoped would find her when the time was right.
But she longed for a place to settle and call home. She wanted a family within it that wasn't a tenuous late-in-life connection, but a network of blood ties like this family had, where a woman could be nosy about a man simply because she cared about him. She could leave her children with him in utter confidence that he would keep them safe and give them the affectionate security that fed their souls.