Claimed

20. Furs and Memories

Chapter twenty

Furs and Memories

The next morning, it was a windy fall day in Obsidian Bay. This merciless, biting wind swirled through the streets with an intensity that cut through my new designer black dress.

Next to me, Gianni wore a black buttoned shirt, and pants complete with this belt that had a skull on the buckle. He could have been mistaken for some corporate CEO if not for that menacing skull, telling everyone that he was in fact a harbinger of death.

A devil to all.

Yet so far. . .an angel to me.

Tenderly, Gianni held my hand as he guided us down the broad, cobblestone avenue toward his sleek black Porsche.

The chauffer waited for us with the door open.

Damn. It’s freezing.

Chill seeped through my thin jacket.

I shivered with each step.

Gianni looked at me. “Are you cold?”

“Yes, but we’re almost at the car.”

Gianni slowed our pace. “No. That won’t do.”

I looked up. “What won’t do?”

He scanned the area and then had us go to the right, completely out of the direction of his car.

“Gianni, where are we going?”

“You’re cold.”

“Which is why we should get to the car.”

“Not yet. Hmmm. Where is it?” He checked out all the stores on the block we’d just rounded and then pointed. “Here it is.”

I looked in that direction. “Oh.”

A boutique stood in front of us with large windows displaying mannequins draped in luxurious fur coats and hats.

He took us that way and soon we were inside.

Thankfully, the boutique was warm and cozy, with an old-world charm to it. Plush carpet underfoot swallowed any sound our feet might have made. The air smelled richly of leather and expensive perfume.

Glittering chandeliers overhead dripped with crystal droplets.

Once we made it five steps inside, a saleswoman approached us.

She was tall and elegant, her blonde hair coiffed in an avant-garde style that seemed fit for a Parisian runway. Her smile was professional, but not overly familiar—perfect for a high-caliber boutique like this one.

“Good day, Don Fortunato.” She gave him a warm smile. “It has been a very long time.”

Oh. He used to be a regular customer?

She glanced at me, blinked, and then fixed that expression fast. “How may I assist you today?”

“My wife is cold.”

She blinked again and then cleared her throat. “Well. . .of course. I will have Cindy get several furs for you to browse.”

“Good.” Gianni checked his watch. “And be quick.”

She hurried away.

Gianni led us further in the back and then stopped at a plush velvet seating area like he was right at home.

I perched on the edge of the seat, looking around at the beautifully displayed furs. Some were as white as snow, others a rich, deep mahogany. But all oozed extravagance.

I glanced at him. “You come here a lot?”

“I used to, when my mother was alive. She was obsessed with furs. I would buy her a new one for her birthday which happened to be on Christmas.” He took my hand and squeezed it. “I wish she was still alive to meet you.”

“How did she pass?”

“Heartbreak.” He frowned. “When my father was killed, she held on for another year, but. . .the light in her eyes was gone, the joy in her voice. . .”

I watched him.

“One night, she called me and my brothers over for dinner. She told her chef to take off and she made this amazing dinner. It was a feast, the kind only she could create, filled with love and tradition.”

I smiled. “What did she cook?”

His face brightened like he was a little boy on Christmas morning. Those sculpted cheeks lifted with his huge smile. “She started with antipasti , a spread of bruschetta with fresh tomatoes and basil, prosciutto draped over sweet melon, and Caprese salad with thick slices of mozzarella, ripe tomatoes, and a drizzle of her best olive oil.”

“Oh my. That’s quite a start.”

“For the primo , she made lasagna al forno , layered with her secret Bolognese sauce, creamy béchamel, and sheets of her homemade pasta, each bite a perfect blend of flavors and textures.” He closed his eyes. “Then came the secondo , and. . .I remember feeling just like my brothers and I were all back in her kitchen as kids. She served osso buco.”

“Mmmm.”

“The veal shanks were braised to perfection. I actually fought my brother, Corrado over the marrow in the bone.”

I chuckled.

“Of course, there were endless side dishes where she was trying to get vegetables in us.”

I switched to Italian. “And for the dessert?”

The line of his jaw twitched. “Anyone ever tell you that your accent is perfect?”

“I’m surprised. I’m still rusty.”

He licked his lips.

I nudged him. “What did she make?”

“ Tiramisu and then she poured us all a glass of her homemade limoncello. ” He touched his stomach and rubbed it as if he’d just ate all of that right then. “I almost fell asleep at the table.”

In my mind, I imagined Gianni and his brothers feasting with his mother. “How many brothers do you have?”

“Three. They were at the wedding. Don’t worry you will meet them today. Let’s see. There’s Stefan, he’s the oldest at forty. Then there’s Fabio, who’s thirty-five. I’m the next one in line, and then Corrado is the youngest at twenty-five.”

“She had a baby every five years?”

“She did.”

“Why?”

“She was from San Benedetto del Bosco. Have you ever heard of that place?”

“No.”

“It’s a small, secluded village nestled in the hills of central Italy. Surrounded by forests. Tons of centuries-old stone houses with rooftops covered in moss.”

“Sounds timeless.”

“Every time I go. . .I feel that way.” He looked off in the distance. “Anyway, San Benedetto del Bosco is a place where superstition runs deep, passed down through generations like sacred lore. The villagers still leave offerings of bread and wine at the foot of oak trees, believing that the spirits of the forest will protect their homes.”

I sat there, completely captured by his words.

“Once when we visited my grandmother there, she told me that the church bell, which rings at midnight every full moon, wards off all the evil forces that lurk in the surrounding woods.” He looked at me. “My grandmother was known as a strega —a wise woman believed to possess otherworldly knowledge. Long ago, my father’s father would fly to this village to consult with her, before making any important decisions.”

“Oh. Is that how your father met your mother?”

Gianni nodded. “That is how. He saw her tons of times as kids where they would run off and play. But as they grew up, those visits changed to heart filled ones where they would sneak off and do what teens do.”

My heart warmed from the story.

“I remember. . .” He looked back off in the distance. “My grandmother would have these red ribbons tied to her doorway. Bundles of herbs would be hanging in her windows to protect against the evil eye.”

He went silent for a few minutes and then cleared his throat. “Anyway, my grandmother told her that she should wait every five years to guarantee a healthy pregnancy, and uh. . .”

“What?”

“She wanted a little girl.”

“But she never had one.”

“She did.” This sad expression fell over his face. “I was a. . .twin.”

I blinked, and that was when I remembered him talking about being a twin at the reception yesterday.

“I had a twin sister named, Genny.”

My voice went low. “Had?”

I sat there, my hand still in his, watching as Gianni's gaze drifted off into the distance.

There was something in his eyes—a shadow that fell over him when he mentioned his twin.

The air between us turned heavy.

I squeezed his hand gently, hoping to pull him back from whatever dark place his mind had gone.

He cleared his throat, almost as if to steady himself before continuing. “It was summer and. . .we were ten. My parents took us to this small coastal town in Italy for vacation. I don’t even like to. . .”

I quirked my brows.

“I don’t even like to say the name of the town.”

I swallowed.

“But uh. . .I remember the sun was so bright that day, and the sea. . .it looked endless. Genny and I loved it there. We would spend hours running along the beach, racing each other through the sand. We were close. Mom used to say that. . .”

I watched him.

“Mom used to say that when we were babies, and I would cry that. . .Genny would nuzzle me and just like that I would stop crying. When we got older and started walking, if she fell, I would run to her at two years old and soothe her. Hug her with my tiny arms. Smile.”

“You both sound adorable and loving toward each other.”

“Oh man. She would have loved you.” He grinned. “She wanted to be a ballerina. Had tons of classes. Wore this tutu over her jeans on the weekend until it would be so dirty that Mom would yell at her to take it off.”

My heart warmed.

"Anyway. . .that summer. . .that day. . .we were playing near the water, and I remember I got distracted with this snail. I had a stick poking at it and. . .Genny. . .she ran ahead, into the waves. She always loved the ocean. She was fucking fearless. I yelled at her to wait for Dad to come out. He had fallen behind because he was holding Corrado.”

I squeezed his hand again, feeling the tension radiating off him.

"There was a current that day. A strong one. I didn’t realize it at first. . .but when I looked up, she was too far out. Too far for me to reach. And she was struggling to get back, moving those arms and. . .” He widened those eyes and stared at the wall like he could see that moment right in front of him. “I remember screaming for my parents, but by the time we all ran into the water. . .by the time we got to her. . .it was too late."

His words hung in the air like a cold mist.

I couldn’t imagine the horror, the helplessness.

My heart ached just thinking about it, and I could see the pain etched on his face. "I’m so sorry, Gianni.”

He didn’t respond at first, just stared at the wall.

However, his hand gripped mine like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. "My parents. . .they never forgave themselves. My father, he was always this strong, untouchable man, but after Genny. . .something in him broke. And my mother. . ." He exhaled slowly. "It took many years after that for her to even smile again. For the first two to three years none of us really laughed or. . .I don’t know. My brothers and I. . .we were angry. . .It was like all the joy had been buried with Genny that day. And I carried. . .so much guilt. . ."

Tears welled in my eyes as I listened. "You were just a child. . .It wasn’t your fault."

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I know, but I should’ve been there. I should’ve been watching her, protecting her. I was her brother, her twin. I failed her."

I felt a lump form in my throat. “Gianni, you were ten. There was nothing you could have done. You couldn’t have known—”

"I should have known. And you know. . .I know that logically it wasn’t my fault, but I can’t get that guilt out of me or that feeling of. . .helplessness. I keep it pushed to the back of my heart, but it sits there still. . ."

I hadn’t been prepared for him to open up to me this much to show me exactly who he was so soon. But here he was and now I found my heart warming to him even more.

I let go of his hand and hugged him hard, not knowing what to say but wanting to be there for him.

When I pulled back, he looked at me and whispered, "She’s always stayed with me. But in my mind, she’s still ten years old. Frozen in time. She never grows older. She’s always that same little girl. . .laughing, playing, just out of reach."

A chill ran down my spine as I watched him struggle with the weight of those memories. It was clear now—this loss had shaped him, molded him into the man he was today. The way he protected, the way he controlled. It all made sense.

He had lost the one person he was supposed to protect, and he was determined never to feel that helpless again.

"That’s why. . ." His voice dropped lower, darker. "That’s why I have no mercy when it comes to anyone who harms young girls. If I find out one of my men—or anyone else—has hurt a little girl. . .they don’t live to tell the tale. And when they die. . .well. . .let’s just say that it is a long process."

I swallowed hard, sensing the coldness in his tone. "You torture them?"

A humorless smile curved his lips. "I make sure they suffer. I make sure they understand the pain they’ve caused to the girl, to her family."

The weight of his words hung between us, and I realized just how deep his trauma ran.

"That’s. . .terrifying, but you have a good heart," I said softly. "I can see that."

His gaze softened for the first time since he’d started the story. "You think so?"

"I know so." I swallowed. "And maybe. . .you can start to let go of the guilt. Just a little. I never met Genny, but I imagine she wouldn’t want you to carry that burden forever."

“Maybe one day.” He gave me a small, sad smile. "But anyway. . .back to my mother and that feast.”

I bit back tears.

Part of me wanted to talk about it more with him, help him heal. However, death was hard. I’d learned that with my mother. And sometimes the healing came from living.

So, I brightened up and nodded. “Yes. Back to the story that is making me incredibly hungry.”

He grinned. “I wish you were there. My mother and brothers and I laughed and drank wine the whole time. We talked about the old times. It was a good night.”

“It sounds amazing.”

His eyes watered and he turned away. “The next morning, it was my grandmother who called me. I’d given her a phone and she barely knew how to use it in that damn village that she refused to leave. . .but. . .uh. . .it was grandmother who called and told me that my mother had passed and that it would be okay because her spirit was now with Genny and my father. She said it so calm like she knew this for sure to be true.”

My heart ached for him, yet again.

“I went to my mother’s house and her maid had just found her lying in bed dressed in a silver gown with her hair perfectly done. She wore one of the fur coats I bought her—all white with this black trim. And. . .on the nightstand. . .there was a bottle of sleeping pills.”

I widened my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Gianni.”

“It has been four years. I have made peace with it.” He turned back to me and those eyes no longer watered. “I do miss her.”

“Of course you do.”

“She took off her ring and left a note that said it was for whichever of her sons got married first, and she said sorry to us, but she missed our father too much and that she still loved us.” He lifted my hand between us and gestured to my ring. “That was hers.”

“What?”

“I’m the first to marry.”

I looked down at it and swallowed. Now knowing its history, I felt a sudden rush of emotion wash over me.

“When I slipped the ring on your finger last night. . .I felt her near. . .I could feel my heart filling with her blessing from the beyond.” He nodded quietly. “She was an incredible woman, my mother.”

His voice softened. “I see a lot of her in you, and. . .I know she would have adored you.”

A lump formed in my throat at his words. It was one thing for him to want to possess me—that was the sort of men in this world—but it was another thing entirely for him to relate me to someone so dear to his heart.

Someone he lost yet treasured so much.

My bottom lip quivered.

He touched my chin and lifted my view to him. “Never will I hurt you, cheat, or treat you lower than a queen. Your finger wears my mother’s ring. You are now the only person on this earth that I will honor. The only woman I will kill for and die over.”

As we sat in that boutique, surrounded by the rich scents of leather and perfume, I found myself utterly lost in Gianni's words.

The stories he shared were more than just a glimpse into his past—they were pieces of his soul that he had entrusted to me.

Never had I felt so seen , so loved.

In fact, all my life, I had felt like I was drifting, alone and out of place in a world that never quite fit. I had always been on the outside, looking in, trying to find where I belonged.

But now, sitting here with Gianni, listening to him speak with such vulnerability, I knew I had found that place.

The way he looked at me, the way he spoke about his mother and then tied that love to me, to the ring on my finger—it was as if he had opened a door to a part of his heart that had long been sealed shut.

And he had chosen to open it for me.

Now it was my turn for my eyes to water some more. “Thank you, Gianni.”

“I love you.”

My whole body tensed with shock as I went speechless.

“You do not have to say it to me yet. I honestly don’t want you to say those three words until you truly feel it deep in your heart. Those three words are powerful and should be used responsibly.”

I shivered.

“But I do love you, and in time you will understand how much and how deeply. . .and maybe. . .be overwhelmed by that fact. . .”

Suddenly, Cindy, a petite brunette in her twenties, pushed a rack of several fur coats over. Her smile was warm and polite as she put the rack right in front of us.

What was crazy was that I’d forgotten the whole reason why we’d come there.

That was how much those stories had enthralled me.

Fuck. He’s about to make me cry in the damned fur store.

Clearing my throat, I rose and focused on the coats. “All of these coats look amazing.”

“The Siberian sable is always in demand.” Cindy pointed towards a dark red coat with an elegant black collar. “Would you like to try it on?”

“Okay.”

She brought the coat to me, and I pulled it around my shoulders.

I turned to the mirror. “Very nice.”

It was like being wrapped in a warm blanket.

The chill immediately started to recede.

Gianni studied me for a moment. “Red looks beautiful on you.”

“Do you like it?” I slowly turned.

A deep groan left him.

I chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Gianni glanced at Cindy. “We’ll take this now, but later bring the rest of the rack to my castle. She can have all of them.”

I shook my head. “I don’t need all of these—”

“Are you refusing my gifts, Queen?” His gaze was penetrating, yet soft—a combination that left me off balance.

“No, not refusing. . .just saying.” I trailed off, shrugging the coat more securely around my shoulders.

Gianni smiled at me and then turned back to Cindy. “As I said, I want all of them for my queen.”

“Yes, sir.” Cindy quickly collected the rack of the remaining coats with a pleased smile on her face while the elegant blonde returned to finalize our purchase.

“Don Fortunato,” she carried a newspaper and pen with her, “It's always a pleasure.”

He nodded.

“However. . .” She gave me a nervous glance. “Can I ask you something?”

I touched my chest. “Me?”

“Yes.” She let out a nervous chuckle. “I thought I recognized you when you first came in, but I shook it away. Yet. . .I had to go check the newspaper and I think I am right.”

I quirked my brows. “The newspaper?”

Sheit to me.

Shock rocked me.

Right on the front page was a huge picture of me soaring in the air in my Vampire Queen costume.

Oh shit!

The title over it read, “Where did the Vampire Queen go?”

“Oh my God.” I took the newspaper from her, and hadn’t meant to be so rude, but. . .I couldn’t believe it. “That’s me.”

“Oh my. I thought so.” She let out another nervous giggle and handed me a pen. “Evelyn will never believe me. Can you sign this for me?”

“The paper?”

“Yes. If that is okay with you and. . .” She glanced at Gianni, “And of course Don Fortunato.”

This amused look hit his eyes as he nodded. “It is fine.”

I carefully took the pen from her hand, my fingers still trembling with the surprise. I found an empty space on the newspaper near my image and signed my name. My thoughts swirled; each one echoed by the sound of my signature scratching against the rough surface of the paper.

Melanique must be so happy to have her ballet on the front page. Tons of people are going to buy tickets now.

I caught a few sentences here and there where the critic proclaimed this would be the ballet of the year, if the director could only find the original vampire queen.

Holy shit!

Once I finished, I handed the paper back to her. “There you go.”

“Yes, yes.” She took a step back. “Thank you! This is the highlight of my day. I was there, last night, right in the front row. I bought the tickets for Vaslav because that man is the very embodiment of everything that is gorgeous, but then you came on the stage, and I started wondering if I could be bi-sexual.”

Then, she shrieked. “Oh my. That was not what I meant. I mean. . .you were just stunning and so talented.”

“Wow.” I damn near swooned. “Thank you.”

“No. Thank you. I went to buy more tickets this morning and found next week is already sold out. I had to settle for the week after next week. You will be there, right?”

“Yes. Of course.”

And that was when I caught the line of Gianni’s jaw twitch, and a frown appear on his face. “It is time, my queen. We should go. We have a long day.”

“Oh yes, Don Fortunato.” She bobbed her head. “So sorry.”

“Charge my account and have the other furs packaged and delivered to the castle.” He gently grabbed my hand and guided us away.

She called back to us, “Thank you so much.”

But in the back of my mind, I kept seeing Gianni’s reaction to my saying I would be dancing next week.

What is going on in his mind? Does he think he will have some say in my career? Because. . .he won’t.

My nerves flared.