With This Ring (To Have And To Hold Duet #1) - Natasha Knight Page 0,14

legitimate side of things, I keep my uncle out of the criminal side.

“Are you going with him?” he asks Dante.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Why don’t you stay out of it, Dante. Let Cristiano—”

“Like I said, I wouldn’t miss it,” Dante says, cutting him off. We exchange a glance. My brother has my back and I’ve got his, even if we don’t agree on everything.

“All right,” my uncle says and takes a step but stops, wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb and looks around before asking his question. “What’s your plan with Jacob?”

“Don’t ask me those questions. You know that. You’re either in the family business or you’re out of it.”

He studies me for a long moment, then nods. “I don’t trust him.”

“You think I do?”

He chuckles, pats my back. “Just make sure it’s not the girl that’s turned your head. Fuck her and get rid of her. You owe them that.”

Them. My family.

“I know what I have to do.” That’s the one thing he doesn’t need to remind me of.

5

Cristiano

Cerberus, my German Shepherd, enthusiastically greets me when I enter the house. I smile, crouching down to pet him. He’s been with me for two years. A loyal companion. Dante is spending the night in town. I can’t blame him. I’m not a lot of fun these days and now that we’re back in the land of the living, he’s making up for lost time.

Servants have cleaned more of the house in my absence. More dust cloths removed, almost the whole of the downstairs looking lived-in now.

The house is huge. Well, it’s a compound, a safe place. It should have been, at least, and it will be again now that I’m back. For all intents and purposes, the island is only accessible by sea or air. Guards are stationed in a watchtower. The building itself is six centuries old. A castle for a nobleman whose name I can’t remember.

Another damn thing I can’t remember.

My family purchased the house more than five-hundred years ago when the owner’s family fell out of favor with the ruling party at the time. We’ve managed to hold onto it since, and the Grigori family has lived in it for all that time. Except, of course, for the brief decade after the massacre when it sat empty.

The Grigori family has been running things in southern Europe for all those years. We’ve lined the right pockets, made the right alliances. And we made the rules for all the crime families to obey. Ones they agreed to adhere to.

Well, agreed is a big word. That’s one thing my father did wrong. You can’t coerce true allegiance, I know that. You either have it or you don’t and if you don’t, you cut it out.

But when the new trade deals were negotiated, I was a kid. Barely ten years old. And it did work for seven years until the De La Cruz Cartel and the Rinaldi Mafia Family joined forces, rounded up supporters, and took us down.

“Cristiano,” Lenore, the woman who manages the house and one of the few people left that I trust, says as she comes out of the kitchen.

I appreciate the interruption and smile, relaxing a little. “Lenore, it smells wonderful.” It makes me realize how hungry I am.

Cerberus goes to her to take whatever treat she has for him. He doesn’t like many people so those he does seem to take a liking to, I remember.

“Thank you. It’s good to be back in my kitchen.” Lenore has been with our family since before I was born and is more like a grandmother than staff. While my mom loved baking, she wasn’t always successful, and she couldn’t cook a meal to save her life.

Crap. What a metaphor.

“You took lunch upstairs?”

“Yes, of course. And she ate every bite.”

“Good. I have a request.”

“You do?” I never have requests so she’s surprised.

“My mother’s crème caramel. Can you make it?” Burnt sugar. I want the memory back.

She appears confused momentarily but then nods, her smile a little sad. I know she loved my mom. “I’ll start on it tonight and have it for you tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

I turn to walk out of the dining room as a woman begins to set the table for one. I stop and turn to Lenore. “Two. Set it for two.”

“Will David eat here?” she asks, her tone always just a little different when she mentions my uncle. I wonder if she realizes it herself.

“No.”

“Your brother?” Her eyebrows crawl up her forehead. Dante rarely spends evenings