Page 77 of The Godfather’s Christmas Twins

Maria shifts the towels, waiting for a response, but I can't form words. She gives a small nod and continues down the hall, leaving me alone with the crushing weight of my choices.

Gia’s face haunts me. That final look of disappointment when I failed to speak up and confess to Nic, to claim Gia and our children. Failed to claim what was mine.

The kids had begged to stay, looking at me with those sweet eyes, and I'd stood there, mute as a statue, spouting empty promises about visiting.

"Fucking coward," I mutter, taking a long pull of scotch. The burn does nothing to ease the excruciating ache in my chest.

I'd had my chance. Right there in front of Nic. One moment of courage could have changed everything.I love your sister. Have for years. The kids are mine.Simple words. But I couldn’t get them out.

The scotch sloshes as I grip the glass harder, remembering how Gia's expression hardened when I stayed silent. How she'd turned away without another glance, herding the kids, our kids, off to pack. Even then, I'd told myself it was for the best. That I was protecting everyone by keeping quiet.

What a joke. The only thing I was protecting was my own reputation. My carefully constructed world of control and order. A life of control and order is empty, lifeless, painful.

I drain the glass wondering what amount I could drink that would temper this pain. I decide there isn’t enough booze in the world for that.

The quiet of the house is my punishment. No squealing laughter from the playroom, no patter of small feet in the hallway, no warm presence of Gia moving through my space like she belongs here.

Because she did belong here. They all did. And I let them walk away.

I’m not a man to wallow in pity, though, so I drag myself from my chair, determined to get my shit together. I still have a job to do.

I head to the shower to wash away the long night, and perhaps my guilt, although I know it will be with me, stronger than ever, for the rest of my life. The hot water pounds against my shoulders, doing nothing to ease the tension knotted there.I focus on the mundane, washing my hair, scrubbing my skin, mechanical movements that require just enough attention to keep my mind from wandering.

I dress methodically—crisp white shirt, dark suit, polished shoes. The familiar routine of knotting my tie grounds me in the present. This is who I am. Massimo Giraldi, underboss of the Nardone Family. Not a father. Not a lover. Just a soldier doing his duty.

My reflection in the mirror shows the mask sliding back into place. Features schooled into practiced neutrality, shoulders squared, jaw set. There's work to be done. Benny is in custody, and there are many questions about Gia’s stalker and a traitor in the family I believe he can answer.

I straighten my cuffs, adjust my collar. The business doesn't stop for personal crises. I need to compartmentalize, push everything else aside. Focus on the immediate tasks. Interrogation, investigation, maintaining order. The rest… the rest, I'll deal with later.

Or never. Just like I always have.

Besides, they’re better off without me. After all, what kind of man lets the woman he loves marry another, knowing the horror that awaits her? Who’s cold and cruel to her because he can’t handle his own feelings? Who forces her and their children out because of duty? I'm no better than the other men who've controlled and hurt her.

Gia deserves a man who'll stand up for her, fight for her. Not someone who keeps her hidden away like a dirty secret. The twins need a father who'll claim them proudly, not one who learned about them by accident and still couldn't find the courage to acknowledge them.

At least in New York, they have Nic's protection. I imagine at some point, he may try to arrange another marriage for her. But he’ll choose someone good who’ll care for Gia and the kids.

I take one last look in the mirror, and I see what Gia sees. An aging mobster too set in his ways, too afraid of change, too wrapped up in maintaining his image to embrace what matters. I hate what I see. I’m ashamed of this man.

Once again, I try to shake off the self-pity. It won’t solve anything. It won’t figure out what Benny is up to. It won’t ferret out a traitor in the family. There's still work to be done, starting with Benny.

The drive to our holding facility gives me time to piece together what I've learned. Benny's obsession with the twins' inheritance makes more sense. If word got out they weren't Aldo's, the entire estate distribution would be thrown into question. The money, properties, and business interests currently held in trust for them would revert to Aldo's blood relatives, namely, Benny.

I remember years ago when Benny first made his claim, Gia had been willing to hand over the inheritance. Now that makes sense too. She didn’t want to take what wasn’t hers or her children’s. But as usual, Nic and I felt we knew best and she had no recourse to oppose us.

I give my men a nod as I pass through the security gate and park at the building.

“Boss,” Dominic says as I enter the office area.

“How’s Benny?”

“Mother fucking whiner.” Dominic motions to the camera we have in the room Benny is being held in. It’s much like a prison—a single room, a sink, a toilet, and a cot. Benny is sitting on the cot, dried blood crusting his split lip from our earlier session. He’s looking up at the camera saying something, but I can’t hear it.

“I turned the volume off. I was getting sick of hearing him.”

“Has he been like that since I left?”

“Nah, he slept for an hour or so. Then he started up.”