The Ones Who Saved Us

Chapter 42

Avalee's POV

Alessandro's arm was held up in front of my chest, creating an effective barrier between me and the man who I now knew was my grandfather, while the other rested on the gun that was tucked into the back of his waistband. Papa stood next to him, his face a sickly white from seeing his father for the first time in years.

My breathing was heavy, barely controlling the rage I felt as I stood before the man who abused my father, my grandmother, and God knows who else. This pathetic excuse of a man held a smug grin as if he was pleased by the reaction he had drawn by merely knocking on our front door. But I didn't give a fuck. I wanted him gone and away from my family.

Before he could hurt Papa any more than he already had.

Papa cupped my face, concern lacing his eyes. "Did he hurt you? Did he lay a finger on you?"

"Antonio, I wouldn't—"

"I wasn't fucking asking you," Papa snapped, glaring at his father. Turning back to me, he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear as he said, "Amore, you can tell me."

"He didn't, Papa," I muttered. "Promise."

Alessandro stiffened at the interaction between Papa and the man. "Dad, you know him?"

"Unfortunately."

Alessandro pushed me farther away from Giancarlo and whispered, "Stay behind me, tesoro. I don't want you getting hurt."

"Sandro, I wouldn't—"

"It's Alessandro to you," my brother said, tightening his grip on my arm. Alessandro's fingers flexed around the gun handle, his eyes never straying from the old man. "I don't care who you are, but you have no right to come to my house and speak to my sister. Now either you leave, or I'll make you."

"Doesn't a grandfather have a right to see his granddaughter?"

Alessandro's arms slowly fell to his side, his jaw tense and eyebrows furrowed.

Papa placed his arms on my shoulders as he said, "You lost that right years ago."

"Son, please," Giancarlo said. "Let me explain myself. I even brought your brothers and nephews and niece. Give us a chance."

"Fuck off," I said, drawing Giancarlo's attention back to me. There was a solemn expression on his face, not something I felt bad about. If anything, it brought me an ounce of satisfaction knowing that I may have hurt the man who hurt my father. It wasn't enough, but for now it would suffice.

Giancarlo turned back to Papa and softly said, "Just dinner. If not for me, at least for your brothers. They haven't seen you in eighteen years."

Maybe because you turned them against Papa, asshole.

Papa had a conflicted look on his face as he looked between me and the old man, a small glint of hope in his eyes. "Just dinner?" he asked with slight hesitation.

"That's all we want," Giancarlo said, his lips turning upward. "Please, figlio. Your brothers miss you." Giancarlo broke eye contact, averting his gaze to the pavement below him. "I miss you."

Papa sighed as he placed his hands in his pant pockets. "Well, if it's just dinner..."

"Papa—"

He turned to me with a soft expression, his hand cupping my cheek. Switching to Russian— a language he had picked up while in Demetri's captivity— he said, "Avey, don't worry. I know what I'm doing."