Gia

Sitting behind my desk, I typed away at my computer on the latest contract I prepared for a huge construction project downtown. My company was in the running for the project. It had taken me months to convince our vendors I was not like my father. His conviction did some immediate damage to Carlini Construction. I did everything in my power to keep the company my father risked everything to hold onto.

Even though I hated him, the company was still part of me. I was the CEO, the one person everyone looked to when they needed confirmation they would still have their jobs at the end of the year. Most of the time, Angelo operated on the wrong side of the law. But I was determined to make Carlini Construction a legitimate company, one that didn’t have mobsters on their payroll.

They were the first people who got the boot, whether Angelo Sr. liked it or not. His happiness meant nothing to me. No more free rides for anyone. If they wanted a paycheck, I told Angelo Sr. they would have to work for one. A few of his men did, which shocked the hell out of me.

After I wrapped up the final details on the city contract, my phone buzzed. Kelly, my secretary, yelled into the speaker, “Gia, I have a woman here for you. She says she’s a reporter from the Philadelphia Inquirer. Her name is Monica Peters.”

Hearing the name of the investigative journalist who helped me put my father behind bars surprised me.

What was she doing here?

I hit the button on the intercom. “Send her in.”

A few seconds later, a pretty blonde in a pencil skirt and pink blouse strolled into my office with a Gucci bag clutched in one hand and a manila folder in the other.

Sonny was out for a walk with Faith, leaving Luca, the man who guarded the door, behind with us. He stood in the doorway until I shooed him away with my hand and shut the door behind him.

Monica sat in the chair across from me and smoothed a hand down the front of her skirt. “Gia, how are you? It’s been a while since we last spoke.”

The last time we saw each other was in the final semester before we graduated from Strickland University.

A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Yes, it has. I’m good. Angelo and I have a two-year-old daughter and are getting married in a few months.”

“You two were always inseparable. I could never get near you when he was around.”

I laughed. “Angelo is very protective of me.”

She nodded. “I’ll say.”

“So, what brings you here today?” I folded my hands on the desk in front of me and leaned forward.

Her visit was not a social call. Even though she started off with an icebreaker, I could see through the facade.

She dropped the folder in her hand onto the desk and slid it in my direction with her index finger. “I know you were the one who sent me the package.”

I tried to hide my surprise and smiled through it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“The one that helped me bring down your father.”

“I had nothing to do with that. My father was a bad man. He had plenty of enemies.”

“I heard about what happened while he was in the infirmary. I’m so sorry, Gia.”

My face remained stoic. “Thank you.”

The day I left the prison my father no longer existed. He was dead to me long before his death. I knew Angelo had something to do with his passing, and I didn’t care. Every time I wanted to break down and cry, I thought of my mother being blown to bits. I had no room in my heart to love or care about the man who would do that to the woman he supposedly loved.

“Open it.” Monica motioned her head at the folder she pushed in front of me. “It’s a gift for helping me climb the ladder fast at the Inquirer. The exclusive on your father was something most reporters wait their entire career to get. If ever. And you dropped it right into my lap. There’s no way I can ever repay you. But this can. Maybe this will give you some closure.”

I flipped open the folder and scanned the documents inside. Bank account statements showed five thousand dollar wire transfers each month for the last twenty-three years from my father. Monica had traced the transfers to an account in Las Vegas in the name of Savannah Locke.

I glanced up at Monica, confused. “Why was my dad sending money to this woman?”

“Because she’s your half-sister.”

A chill ran through me, tightening every muscle in my body in the process. My mouth fell open in shock, unable to hide it this time. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. Look at the last page.”

I shuffled through the stapled pages and found a copy of a birth certificate. My father was listed as the father along with her mother, a woman named Rhiannon O’Shea, the oldest sister of the head of the Irish Mob. She’d fled when she was in her early twenties, supposedly to escape from the wrath of the underworld. At the time, Angelo Sr. was in the middle of his war with Jimmy Scaglione.

Was her escape nothing more than a front to cover another one of my father’s mistakes?

My heart sunk into my chest. No wonder my father was so close with Sean O’Shea. He was the father of his niece.

“You have a sister, Gia.” Monica pushed herself up from the chair, hovering over my desk. “I thought you’d want to meet her now that your family is all gone. She’s only a few years younger than you.”

“I have all the family I need.”

She smiled. “Well, it was nice to see you, Gia. Good luck with everything.”

“Thanks.”

I walked her to the door, and as I was opening it, Sonny barged into my office with Faith in her stroller. Monica waved one last time before she disappeared into the hallway. The second I laid eyes on Faith, I knew I had to find my half-sister. Not for me but for Faith. I lifted my daughter from the stroller and hugged her tight against my chest.

“My little princess,” I whispered into her ear, rubbing her back with my hand. Then, I kissed her on the forehead, looking over at Sonny. “I need you to find someone for me.”

Sonny moved closer to us. “Who?”

“My sister.”