The Life: Sacrifice (The Life 3)

Because now, seeing him with Gia, I can’t imagine him getting himself involved in anything that would take him away from her. I’ve never seen him this happy, this carefree and relaxed. She’d become his entire universe, something any mother worth her salt would reject, seeing her baby being taken by the new beautiful lady in his life. But for me, it was a blessing.

I knew with her in the picture, Gabe would get himself in order and forget what I’d so foolishly shared with him in a moment of weakness and sheer madness if the truth be known. Back then, even after years of living with my husband and his love for me and my kids, I’d still been harboring that longing for vengeance.

Maybe it was seeing my son become a man. I don’t know. Something about him coming of age had unleashed all that I’d kept bottled up inside for so long. It was his right to know as well; I’d thought, and his right as my son to seek justice. But then, as the kids grew and my boy became more and more special with each passing day, I no longer wanted him touched by the ugliness of that night.

I’ve regretted a million times ever sharing that part of me with him. And in the months leading up to him meeting Gia, had worried that he might do something. Now he has her, and I don’t need to worry. I can be here in this place, take trips in the future, I hope, and not worry about him flitting away to go to Sicily.

I have no doubt he could do it if he wanted to. The boy is resilient and very meticulous in his dealings. Listening to the stories that Stella tells about all that he’d done at the Fontane residence is proof of that. He has no idea that I know what all he’s been up to there. I pretend to accept his watered-down versions of events, even though I know Stella’s version, told to her by the Fontane’s housekeeper, would be vastly different.

As I watched the girls in their excitement, a gnawing trill of doubt intruded on my otherwise peaceful thoughts. Gabe had gone to such lengths for a girl he’d only just met. In a matter of weeks, he’d executed a plan, so flawlessly I’d doubted Stella’s words until I’d seen the results with my own eyes.

That feeling of dread came back full force, and I swallowed hard around the lump that suddenly formed in my throat. What did I miss? Did I miss something? I better talk to Draco tonight when we’re in bed. But Gabe hasn’t been anything other than his usual self all day. Maybe I’m overthinking because it’s the first time we’d been this close to my old home. Just a plane ride away.

No, nothing’s going to happen. I bet Gabe hasn’t given any thought to those things in years. Nevertheless, I’d better have a word with his dad. How often I’d wished we’d never told Gabe the truth about his birth, that he was adopted by his Pop. How different would his life have been had he not known, had that blemish not been there? Why am I thinking such morbid thoughts right now?

One of my twins called out to me, and I made a motherly effort to put all other things aside and concentrate on the girls and making sure this ball, one of the most sought after by the elite, was everything they wanted it to be.

GABRIEL

The ball, the main event. I did my part well. It was no hardship; I was genuinely and sincerely blown away by Gianna when I got my first look at her in the haute couture ball gown she’d chosen from one of the leading fashion houses in Paris. Unlike other debutante balls, this one was all about introducing high fashion, and the gown she wore along with the jewelry was provided by a very well-known designer.

Words cannot describe what I felt as I took her in; her beauty, so surreal, like a picture, come to life. Not a hair was out of place, her skin flawless, the midnight blue dress that matched her eyes perfectly and hugged her curves in all the right places, she looked like a dream.

“You’re beautiful.” I kept myself in check, taking only the touch of her hand and a soft kiss to her brow for myself, though it was hard to stop there. I warred viciously, with myself internally fighting hard not to cross the line. I knew it was going to be almost impossible to let go of something so beautiful it hurts.

“Shall we?” I offered her my arm, which she took willingly, and went to meet the others. The last ball my sisters attended, they, along with everyone else, were made to wear white, which they’d bitched about because it made them feel too much like brides, and apparently, for fifteen almost sixteen-year-olds, that’s anathema.